Page 55 of Playing for Love

“What the hell happened to you today, Wyatt? Is this about your mother? You need some—?”

“No, Coach.” I cut him off before he could suggest time off because that was the absolute last thing I wanted. I needed to play football. “I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s not that. Mom’ll probably give me hell tomorrow for such a piss-poor performance.”

He nodded.

I had no idea why I was letting football and my team down, but I had the sinking feeling that I was letting romance—a polite label for my obsession with Mia—interfere with the game that had sustained me. The game that I could be the best at some day. The game I loved because I excelled, and I excelled because I devoted myself to it.

What the hell was I doing? Loving Mia.

What the fuck was the right thing to do? What should come first? Football or Mia?

Coach got in my face and basically told me to get over myself.

“Not now, Wyatt. Of all times to let yourself get distracted, this is not it. We’re on a run, we’re aiming for records. The team is poised for greatness and you—you’re damn well on a trajectory for Hall of Fame. Don’t ruin that now.” He looked at me, pausing to assess my response. I kept my face as neutral as I could while every word he said stabbed at my heart until it felt like I should be standing in a puddle of blood.

In a quieter, less strident voice he said, “Son, there’ll be time for women later. After the season. It’s all I ask. All your teammates ask of you. Put us first—for now.”

Keeping my shock at his words to myself, I nodded. I didn’t bother telling him he was all wrong, because he wasn’t. “You’re right, Coach.”

It was the least I could do. Put aside Mia. Finish what I started. But what if Mia saw things differently? What if she didn’t want to wait? If she insisted I put her first now?

I turned to leave, but Coach Marini had one more thing to say in his hard voice.

“Of course I’m right. Remember, Wyatt, team first. Any one individual is expendable.”

His warning shuddered through me, making my mind go blank and my heart skip a beat. Fuck. How could I have forgotten that maxim? It was the ever-present imperative. The fallout of the competitive world of professional sports, the price of playing the game, was that you were always one game away from losing everything.

Shoving my hands through my hair as if to shove away the doubt, I realized this was exactly what a woman did to your head if you let her. She played with your motives, with your priorities, messed you up and stole your focus. Denise had been my guard against that. We were together, but not. I’d been able to keep her at emotional arm’s length, especially when she’d moved to Atlanta. But that had been messed up too. Women were hell.

“Team first,” I said, more for myself than him. “Football first, one hundred percent.” I meant it. I’d come too far, started this season with my focus and my promise to myself and the team to stay on top and I wasn’t going to let them and myself down now. Football was more than just a game to me.

I’d made no promises to Mia. Barely. I’d almost promised her everything. Thank God almost didn’t count.

“Tell that to the media,” Coach said. “You’re up first for the postgame press conference. Best to get it over with and move on. You know what to say.” He gave me an evil smile. My punishment for today’s performance.

Shit. I did know what to say, but I knew it wouldn’t be pretty, or easy. Taking a deep breath, I went back to my locker and finished undressing. Taking a record-breaking fast shower because, like Coach had suggested, I suddenly needed to get this all over with, I then dressed. Time to face the music. I opened the door to the press room and went to the podium. The shouts of the media vying for my attention, asking their questions, didn’t unnerve me. I wore my game face and they were the opponents. No matter how affable I’d been in the past, or how positive they’d been in their coverage, I knew we were on opposite sides today. They were like sharks circling with the scent of a good bloody story in the water.

And they were all asking more or less the same question. What the hell happened to you today? I gave them the bullshit story that I wasn’t perfect and everyone has a bad game now and then. Most of all, I reassured them it wouldn’t happen again, and that I was onto the next game.

I was determined as all hell that I would make no mistakes next game. There would be no distractions.

* * *

After the press conference,I shrugged into my jacket, pulled my Red Sox cap on, and shoved out the door. Slicing through the crowd, I was surprised when someone caught my arm and I turned to see Mia, her wide, deep brown, soul-wrenching eyes, her impossibly smooth skin that made her look like she was a photograph, so unreal that you needed to touch her face to make sure she was real, those lips that looked like they belonged on a grown-up, X-rated version of Cupid’s. If I wasn’t determined to be cool, desperate to be immune from her, I’d have gulped. As it was, my cock had no idea how to be cool around her and couldn’t care less about my determination.

She’d been waiting for me. I hadn’t planned on this and looked around for Fontanna, heart beating fast like I was in danger of drowning and he was my lifesaver, but I suspected he was long gone.

“Gabe,” she said, her eyes telling me more than her voice. There was no sympathy in them, thank God. But I saw the question, the support, and I felt the promise. “I hope you’re ready to forget that game.” She half smiled. I moved then, walking toward the exit, and she fell into stride next to me. The implication of her arm though mine made her intentions obvious.

What the hell was I going to do about it?

“You need a ride home?” I clarified as we went out the door to the parking lot where my Escalade was parked. It wasn’t even close to winter, only four weeks into the season and barely October, but I’d taken to driving the SUV every day so I could shuttle family members back and forth between my house and the hospital. They were all staying in the apartment downstairs now because I was close to the Mass General and they all lived twenty miles and untold time and traffic away on the north shore.

Her step almost faltered when I asked, as if she’d just realized I hadn’t planned to take her.

“If that’s a problem—”

“No problem.” Like hell it wasn’t. But then maybe I needed a test of my resolve. Let’s see if I can drop her off and not get out of my car and follow her inside to her apartment. Let’s see if I can let her out of the car without kissing her.