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Josh peered up at the moon, high in the inky sky. Tonight’s bizarre ruckus had finally started to fade away to the point he could almost believe he’d imagined the whole stupid mess. But no, the bloody oval bite on Elise’s arm, his jockstrap in the baggie, Cilla’s raw swollen eyes glaring at everyone like a trapped rat… he’d never forget those as long as he lived.

He shook his head and took a deep breath of the night air. Tyler mattered more. They’d weathered crises before. This was just one more obstacle in their path, and they’d both faced worse and won. He sighed. All this craziness felt overwhelming because he was still getting used to it. Tyler was a pro. They’d find a way. He’d learn.

He headed for his car, heart lighter than before. The game ahead would not be easy, but he was playing to win.

Chapter Sixteen

TYLER RUSHED into the team conference room, late to the meeting with Boris Jarlson and the San Diego Swells coaching staff.

“Aaaand… Captain Fantastic.” said one of the marketing reps, eyeing Tyler skeptically.

Boris and the coaches regarded him with a mix of thinly veiled irritation and feigned good humor.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, slightly out of breath. He felt embarrassed by his disheveled appearance. He was unshaven, his clothes were wrinkled, and he probably smelled of stale sweat. The soreness in his muscles from yesterday’s workout made his movements stiff.

“No problem, kid, we’re just glad you could make it,” Boris said with an exaggerated smile and scratched his gray-blond comb-over.

Tyler took a seat, trying to shake off the fogginess of a poor night’s sleep. This meeting was about his future with the team, and he needed to have his wits about him.

“You see my point I’m making here.” Boris launched right into business, extending a hand toward Tyler but looking around the table at his coaches and staff. “We’re making TV dinners. I came from nothing. But a little sauce, a little sizzle, and enough pressure you can crack anything.”

Coach Fawcett, who headed up defense, leaned forward. “And we appreciate what you’re saying, but Tyler’s still breathless too soon. He’s 21 percent slower than just last season.” He nodded at the monitors, which were running clips of Tyler’s yardage over the past year. “We’re worried about meat, not sauce.” He glanced back down the table at Tyler. “Sorry, Fantana. You know what I’m saying.”

Tyler said, “I do.”

“Listen,” McBride chimed in, “your performance has been solid, but you’re not a hundred percent yet.”

“Given. We all agree.” Boris took the reins again. “But who’s a hundred percent? Right? You serve what they buy. Frozen meatloaf is a meal.”

“Sorry.” Tyler shook his head. “What is the meatloaf here? You mean me?”

“Nah. The game. Packaging. Shelf space. Customers. These I know.” Boris spread his arms like a magnanimous patriarch. “Kid, you been busting your butt the past few weeks. Hell, the past three months. Right?”

Tyler nodded. The coaches around the table nodded.

Boris shrugged and smiled. “What we got is a story.”

Tyler held up a finger. “But—”

As if heading him off at the pass, Boris lifted stapled pages. That had to be Maureen’s PT report highlighting his progress. “Mo says you’re doing way better than a normal guy would. Off the charts.”

“All due respect, that doesn’t mean I’m ready, sir. That just means I’m healing faster than Joe Average.”

Tyler knew Boris was ignoring the caveats, that he still had a long road ahead, but Maureen had sprinkled her assessment with plenty of vague positives to document how hard he’d been working. Nice thing to do, but not a clean bill of health by any stretch.

Boris seemed confused, his optimism almost delusional. “She says so right here.”

Tyler didn’t know how to counter that level of denial. “I’m still struggling to keep up, sir.” He crossed his arms and sat up. “I’m not a quitter, but if you think I can head back out—”

“No. No way. You’re too valuable. I want to send a clear message of strength. You’re hurting but you’re strong. Right, Zack?”

The head publicist and his flacks nodded.

Tyler wasn’t about to exaggerate his progress for anyone. “My speed, my reflexes, none of it. The pain and exhaustion is pretty rough, sir. I’m not using any painkillers, but it’s touch and go some nights.”

“That’s only natural after such a long break, son,” Coach McBride reassured him. “You’ll get back into it soon enough.”

“You say so.” Tyler forced a smile, grateful for the encouragement even if it seemed nuts. He knew he needed more time to heal and build up his strength before he could compete at the level he was used to. He thought back to Josh’s advice, warning him not to rush, to pay attention.