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“We know. You’re right. I just get excited.” Boris nodded with a contrite expression. “We got your backside, kid. We just want to show ’em number eighty-six ain’t been eighty-sixed.” He held up his hands as if to reassure Tyler. “Couple minutes, tops. Just so the fans can see.”

Taking a deep breath to steel his resolve, Tyler finally spoke up. “Okay,” he said quietly. “I’m willing to risk it, but I’m going to need help staying alive. Even one minute out there is one dangerous goddamned minute.”

Everyone around the table nodded in agreement.

Boris grinned widely at Tyler before cocking his finger like a gun and firing it. “You got it! Whatever safety pads or special whatever you need. No matter what happens out there, we got you covered.”

Tyler hoped he meant well, but the way Boris said it, covered sounded less like safety or insurance and more like extra cameras to make sure they got the footage.

Boris knocked on the table, jolting him from his thoughts. “Don’t look so glum! Comebacks are instant classics. Everyone wants their hero back from the dead.”

Hero. Dead. The words echoed in his mind. He just wanted to get back to Josh and feel whole again.

“Right. We all want that.” Tyler nodded, though he still felt doomed. He knew the team’s motivations were about the bottom line. But he wanted to prove himself, and they wanted to help him do it. That was something, at least.

And with that, the train started leaving the station.

Boris clapped his hands together loudly. “All right, sounds like we all agree. Tyler keeps training and flexing for the cameras whenever he can.” He pointed down the table to each person as he named them. “Mike, you’re going to run him in that scrimmage. Zack, see about the cover of the Union-Tribune and the Valley News, maybe twenty or thirty billboards around town showing off his assets.”

Tyler sat numbly as Boris and his people put the periods on the meeting, their canned enthusiasm grating on him. All roads led to what they wanted: they had blithely decided he would play for a few minutes in the game against the Cowboys next week, just to prove he still could.

“Didi, Roger, you two leak some teasers to the press with some muscle shots. Nothing definite but get ’em juicy. Maybe some more library stuff if they’ll fluff a little. Human-interest crap. And if we roll sevens, then we can announce Captain Fantastic’s big return game in Dallas. That’s just over a week out.”

Tyler nodded mutely, not trusting his voice. He knew they wouldn’t listen to reason. Josh’s calm voice echoed inside his skull: don’t let fear or anger make the decision. No matter how much he wished he could walk away, the field called to him. He just prayed his heart would be ready to answer.

“Now, one last thing before you scram. I understand you’ve been seeing a new person recently? Some muscle guy. They showed me a picture.”

Tyler stiffened. What picture? How much did Boris plan to interfere with Josh? He specifically hadn’t told anyone on the team yet, wanting to keep their relationship private for as long as possible.

“I, uh…,” Tyler stammered, flushing. “Yeah.”

Boris waved a hand. “No need to be a princess! He’s a looker too. Between us, I think it’s great, two hot guys for the red carpet. You poke whoever you want. The ladies love it. We got an NFL badass dating a hometown hero who reads books. It’s a PR dream!”

The gushy blond girl nodded enthusiastically. “Crisis response confirms that Joshua Ayres is already gaining nice buzz from the paparazzi photos. Clean-cut, masculine, ideal ‘boy next door’ beefcake.” She offered a chef’s kiss. “Gossip sites are eating it up.”

Tyler’s face burned with anger and embarrassment. Privacy didn’t mean squat. They were going to exploit the only person who mattered to him? He wanted to tell Boris exactly where they could shove their PR dream, but he bit his tongue. He could feel the worst of his dad inside him, the rage wanting to loose itself on the room, the blind strength coiled like a razor snake at the base of his spine.

No way in hell was he going to let Josh get mauled by the media to sell season tickets.

“I appreciate your support,” Tyler said through gritted teeth. Violence. It coursed through his limbs, begging to be let out. His hands, his arms, his back could feel how easy it would be to lift the entire table and flip it over on top of them all. Instead, he exhaled. “But my personal life is off-limits. Josh is a private person. I don’t want him exploited or hassled in any way.”

Boris frowned, clearly displeased, but nodded. “I think that’s shortsighted, but if you don’t like it, we don’t like it. All we care about is you feeling comfortable. Of course, maybe he might like it. Who doesn’t want to be a star?”

Tyler needed to leave. His fingertips were numb, and his heart beat so hard that his vision had started to blur at the edges. He let go of the wrecked chair arms. Coach McBride looked sad, and Fawcett wouldn’t even meet his eyes.

The owner shrugged. “The offer stands if you change his mind. Ask him. Your… friend. Who knows? A lot of reality shows are booking the wives these days. As filler, you know.” He nodded, and the blond fanfic PR woman nodded back.

“Overkill.” Zack looked at Tyler with genuine fear. He must have done some quick math about how long they’d have to scrape remains off the ceiling if anyone messed with Josh. “Let’s table that, I think.” He nodded at Boris. “Tyler has given us plenty to work with.”

Before anyone could add any more fuel to the bonfire, Tyler stood up, knocking the chair back a little too hard, eager to escape before he threw someone out a window. “Thank you all for understanding. If there’s nothing else, I should head home.” Rather than wait to listen to another word, he turned and left.

“Of course,” Boris called after him from the other end of the room. “Ezra and Robin will be in touch about leaking your miraculous recovery schedule. Let’s get cracking, people.”

Tyler barreled out of the room, pulling out his phone as the elevator doors closed behind him. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the one he needed.

As he strode to the elevator, he left a terse voicemail for his agent. “Fantana. Call me back. Now.”

More than anything, he yearned to call Josh. To hear that calm, steady voice grounding him. But for the moment, Tyler didn’t trust himself to keep it together on the phone. Josh would sense his distress and know if he held anything back. Tyler refused to lay this burden on him.