CHAPTER ONE
Football. Playing in the NFL has always been my number one goal. My final destination. The be all, end all of my life. It’s also the one thing I’ve always been able to control. My blessing when everything else around me seems cursed.
Or maybe it’s me who is cursed. At least, it feels like I am at the moment. My head aches, I’m stiff from sleeping all wrong, and I can’t for the life of me peel my eyelids apart to see where I am.
A door slams in the distance, and the fog that clouds my memory of the night before begins to clear. Images slowly filter through the haze, my grin growing with each visual of my night at one of my favorite bars in downtown Seattle.
Long red hair wrapped around my fist. A fair, freckled cheek pressed into the bathroom sink counter. Skirt pulled up around a trim waist. Me, pumping into the beautiful stranger from behind.
I’m not surprised I don’t remember the woman’s name. What does surprise me is the memory that pummels me next.
A bathroom door bursting open. A furious bouncer planting his body at the entrance. My head hitting tile as I’m thrown against a bathroom stall. A fist connecting with my jaw.
Then…
My grin fades, and an ugly pit grows in my gut. Shit. I look around to find myself in a loaded jail cell with a dozen others. The aftermath of my bad decisions slams me in the chest. The woman who’d lured me into the bathroom without an ounce of resistance from me was the bouncer’s wife. Apparently, he doesn’t like to share. After he tossed me to the curb outside the club, I was arrested for public intoxication. Now, here I am. My home away from home. It’s only a matter of time before one of my teammates I was with last night bails me out of this shithole.
Just then, the familiar sound of steel sliding across a track gets my attention before the sound of my name does. “Kingston Scott, you’re free to go.”
A laugh muddled with relief shakes through me. I stand from the bench, taking one sweeping glance around the cell, and the corners of my mouth curl back into a smile. “See ya later, suckers.”
Angry curse words of my cellmates fly at me as I strut toward the exit, completely unfazed. Another night in the drunk tank isn’t going to be enough to alter my future. The memory of last night will be gone before I even step foot outside this place. I’m confident in that knowledge… until I spot Coach Reynolds standing at the counter with a look on his face that no fellow Seattle football player wants to see.
Disappointment.
Most other men on the team would grovel in shame at his feet, but not me. After three years playing football under the man, I know he has a soft spot for thugs like me. There has always been a silent understanding between us. I help him win football games, and he stays off my back when it comes to my personal life. But I can’t help but wonder if this time is different. While I know he isn’t blind to my previous misdemeanors, he’s never been the one to bail me out of one. And by the look on his face as he waits for me to collect my belongings, he sure as hell doesn’t look like someone who wants to do me any favors.
“Nance rat me out?” I practically spit my sour words while tearing my eyes from Coach and pushing toward the exit. “Or was it Balko? That son of a bitch.” I shake my head, fuming at their betrayal. Nance, Balko, and I have always been like the three amigos, bailing each other out of whatever shit we stir up for ourselves. Apparently, whatever loyalty I thought we had died somewhere between my bathroom romp and my night behind bars.
“Does it matter?” Coach quirks a brow as his dry tone grates against my ego. “You’re free to walk. Your record is clean. You get another chance to fuck it all up. Congratulations, Kingston.”
Instinct kicks in, and I want to gloat. That growing pit in my stomach has already shrunk back down to nothing, and a rush of adrenaline takes its place at the thought of avoiding yet another lawful consequence for my actions.
“Are you smiling?”
Coach’s enraged voice breaks through my thoughts, and my lips flatten back down as I meet his deadly gaze. I swallow my glee as he slams a hand against the glass door and swings it open, allowing me to walk out first.
I step outside, squinting and raising a hand to shield my eyes from the sun. “What time is it, anyway?”
“Noon.”
I detect annoyance in his tone, and I flip him a gaze and quirk a brow. “It was just past midnight when they threw me in here. You’re just getting me now?”
“Yeah, I know. Shitty of me, right?” Coach glares. “Figured I’d let you sleep it off first.” He jabs a finger toward his shiny red Range Rover. “Get in.”
Balko drove last night, but my guess is Coach already knows that since he’s headed in the direction of my home. That asshole was probably the one who ratted me out. Annoyance stirs through me. Payback will be a bitch.
I try to ignore Coach’s cool silent treatment as he drives us through the city streets toward the 520 bridge. I know the man well enough to understand just how serious his silence is. This isn’t an after-the-game-we-lost kind of fury where he rips us a new one in the locker room. This isn’t a screaming match on the football field when we run a drill that fails to match his expectations. This could mean something much, much worse.
I shift away as if the physical movement will erase my thoughts. Facing the outdoors, I roll down the window to feel the wind smack my face, providing alertness I should have felt last night before it all went sideways. I seem to always find myself in this dark place. Not here, physically, not even with Coach. He rarely interferes with his players’ behavior off the field. But that doesn’t erase my list of bad decisions. They’re stacking up so high that I can’t even see over the top anymore. Something tells me this last stunt might just be the one that makes the whole stack topple over.
Guilt isn’t something I feel often, but I feel a pang of it now. Why should I feel guilty when I’ve only ever been trying to survive? I came from nothing and was practically raised by wolves, and I overcame it all to lead a life most others would die to have. Sure, I go off the rails sometimes, but that has nothing to do with my game. I shake my head, clearing the guilt and replacing it with my most lethal weapon. Determination.
“Tell me something, Kingston. Why do you want to play ball?”
I’m so focused on my own thoughts that I almost miss Coach’s question. When I register what he asked, I turn to face him, my brows knitting in the center. “Same as everyone on the team. I love the game. And I’m the best at what I do. I’ve worked damn hard to get here.”
Coach nods. “No one can argue any of those things. But why did you work so hard to get here? I want to know what drives you.”
For some reason, his question throws me off guard. I stumble over my thoughts for a few seconds, coming up empty by the time Coach speaks again.
“C’mon, King. It’s not a hard question. Is it the money? Is it the celebrity status? Is it the women? Pick one.”
My gut reaction is to tell Coach that none of those answers are my reason, but any answer I spit out will be a lie. The truth is, I’ve never had to think that hard about it before. I just know I love football. Isn’t that enough?
“I don’t know what to tell you, Coach. You’re asking me this for a reason, and I’m not sure I can give you the answer you want to hear. I play ball because I’m good at it. It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. The adrenaline rush is a great feeling, the money is spectacular, and the women are a sweet bonus, but I’m not sure any of that is what drove me to start playing the game.”