“Fuck off,” Dylan said and pushed his way past Levi.
Suppressing a chuckle, Levi followed. The room was large and filled with flowers. The overdone floral arrangements reminded him too much of a funeral for comfort, but that was his opinion—one he planned to keep to himself since he was certain the senders meant well.
When the sound of laughter greeted them, Dylan shot a look of surprise at Levi. They’d expected something a tad more somber. Instead, Monte was surrounded by a jovial group of men close to his age.
“Look who’s here,” Monte called out from his bed. “Levi and Dylan. Come and meet my posse.”
“Posse?” Dylan whispered out the side of his mouth. “They look more like white rapper rejects.”
Levi covered his laugh with a cough as he shook hands with the group of friends. His gaze turned to Monte. The young man didn’t look half bad, all things considered Then again, he didn’t look great, either. Depended on which point of view a person chose to take.
“How are you feeling?” Dylan asked.
“Royally pissed,” Monte huffed. “Between the faulty brakes on my car and the asshole cop who screwed up the sobriety test, my lawyer says I have good grounds for a couple of lawsuits.”
Dylan made the right call, Levi thought. Bad brakes and a messed-up breathalyzer. While it seemed unlikely Monte would get too far on either claim, delusional jerks tended to grasp at the most minute straws.
“One thing I can’t complain about is the service.” His cocky grin firmly in place, Monte rubbed his chin. “I have a pretty little nurse who can’t do enough for me. She happily shaved my handsome face without a single nick. Can hardly wait for my sponge bath.”
Monte’s skeevy laugh—echoed by his cohorts—made Levi’s skin crawl. He made a mental note to stop at the reception desk on the way out and strongly recommend the hospital give their celebrity patient in room 455 a male nurse from now on.
“What’s the damage?” Levi asked as he nodded toward the pair of casts on Monte’s right arm and left leg.
“A couple of clean breaks,” Monte said. “Doctor thinks I should be ready for action before the end of the season.”
With only ten weeks left—eleven with the bye week—Levi doubted that such a quick recovery was possible. Doctors tended to give conservative estimates which made him wonder if Monte hadn’t heard what he wanted and ignored the rest.
“Better to take your time, do a thorough rehab, and make certain your injuries are fully healed before you try to make a comeback,” Levi reasoned.
“Listen to the old man,” Monte scoffed. His affable expression turned sour. “Think you’ll finally get your shot at starting QB? I’ll eat my cleats if management isn’t on the phone right now lining up someone younger and more talented.”
Levi could see the tension enter Dylan’s body. He shook his head, telling his friend not to make a scene. While the support was appreciated, for once, Monte was probably right. The truth stung, but he’d dealt with this kind of situation before and the result was always the same.
Fans wanted wins and teams wanted their fans to be happy. Bringing in someone with more experience, preferably with a recognizable name to boot, made sense from a business standpoint. Hell, if Levi ran the team, he’d do the same. Sentiment for an old veteran with little playing time under his belt held little sway when the bottom line was ruled by dollars and cents.
Resigned to his lot in life as a perpetual backup, Levi couldn’t help but feel like an old wound had been ripped open—just a bit. In the past, he’d lived with the pain and disappointment and didn’t see any reason why this time should be different.
Levi’s phone rang. Glad for the distraction, he glanced to see who the call was from and sighed. Chances were, he knew what was coming but that didn’t mean he had to let Monte Oliver bear witness.
“I’ll be going.” Levi motioned toward Dylan to follow. “Take care, Monte.”
“Damn, I’m glad to get out of there,” Dylan said as he and Levi exited the hospital room. “Thank whoever is on the phone for me.”
“It’s Mac,” Levi said, referencing the Knights’ head coach.
Silently, Dylan held up both hands. Every finger was crossed.
“Coach.” Levi cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“Where are you?” Joshua McClain asked in a brisk voice.
“Just finished visiting Monte,” Levi answered.
“That son of a—” Mac took a deep breath. “I saw him earlier. Prognosis is good.”
Levi's lips quirked into a half-smile. In his younger, hotheaded days, Mac’s response would have been much less circumspect. As a player, he had a well-earned reputation as a hothead. The time between his career-ending injury and the day he was hired to lead the Seattle Knights, he’d learned to handle his emotions, channeling them with positive energy, not negative. However, when your starting quarterback pulled a major bonehead move, keeping his temper in check had to be a challenge.
“I admire your restraint,” Levi said.
“You and me both,” Mac said, his voice grim. “Since he isn’t at death’s door, Monte Oliver is rock bottom on my priority list. I need you to get your ass over to Knights’ headquarters, ASAP. Meet me in the GM’s office.”
“Wilco, Coach.”
“Wilco?” Dylan asked with a snort. “When did you become G.I. Joe?”
“Wasn’t thinking.” Thoughtfully, Levi returned his phone to his pocket.
“Since when? Your brain never stops thinking,” When Levi didn’t respond, Dylan’s teasing expression turned serious. “What did Coach say?”
“He wants to see me at Knights’ headquarters. ASAP.”
“Good news.” Dylan perked up. “Coach wants to name you starting QB face to face.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Levi said.
“Why not? Now that Monte did us all a favor and put himself out of commission, you’re the next in line,” Dylan reasoned. “Damn certain you’ve paid your dues.”
“Ever seen a movie where the lead guy is waiting to hear if he has a terminal decease? If the prognosis is good, he gets the news over the phone.” Levi sent Dylan an ironic smile. “Bad and our hero is told to come into the doctor’s office.”
“Just to be clear?” Dylan asked. “Coach is the doctor and you’re the hero?”
“Yup.” Levi nodded. Slowly, he exhaled. “Something tells me what’s left of my football career was just put on life support with a do not resuscitate order attached—just in case.”
CHAPTER FIVE
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LEVI PARKED HIS car near the entrance to the Knights’ headquarters. Adjusting his sunglasses against the glare of sunlight streaming from the impossibly bright November sky, he rolled his long frame out from behind the steering wheel.