Chapter 1
Junior
September
“Cary Pierce?!”
Ty nods, his eyes never leaving the road in front of us. “That’s what I heard.”
I blink, forcing my vision to focus but my head still spins. “No way. That’s impossible.”
“Before he retired, he said he’d like to coach a college team.”
“Most professionals say that on their way out,” I argue. “They usually don’t. There’s no way Cary Pierce is our new coach. Why would he even bother with a shitty school like ours?”
Ty grins and tilts his head, taking his eyes off the road for several dangerous seconds to glare at me. “Wanna bet?”
I’ve known Ty for two years now, ever since our freshman year. This is his gotcha face; his I know something you don’t know face.
“What do you know?” I ask.
“Make a right turn,” his phone speaks, highlighting an upcoming road on the GPS map.
Ty barely slows down in time and makes a hard right turn. The car lurches and my guts shift as I grip my seatbelt a little tighter.
“I know,” he begins, “that my cousin, the real estate agent, just sold a big house just outside the city —” he points the map, “this big house — and had to sign a non-disclosure agreement before he met his client.”
I pause. “Really?”
He nods. “But we went out for drinks last night and he said he’d fucking kill to be in my cleats right now because our new coach is a retired, four-time pro football champion—”
“You are so full of shit, dude,” I scoff.
“Hey…” He holds up his hands and the wheel curves gently left, sending the car along with it. “Don’t believe me if you want but you’re gonna be sucking my dick later.”
“Just watch the road, man,” I urge, shifting in my seat to get a little more comfortable.
A suit and tie aren’t usually my style but the invitation the team received insisted on us looking our best to meet the new coach in order to pay respect to the last one — Marty Duncan. He’d been the university football coach for the last two decades until he finally keeled over last week — just two weeks before the first game of the season. The gentle, relieved sighs of the school board could be heard throughout campus for days as they celebrated the idea of bringing in some new blood after begging him to retire for years.
But Cary Pierce blood? Not a fucking chance.
Still, a bit of doubt seeps in as we round the dirt corner and the house comes into view. Scratch that — it’s not a house, it’s a damn mansion with a large, black gate surrounding it.
“Holy shit,” I say. “I didn’t even know this was out here.”
“Me neither,” Ty mutters.
We come to a stop at the front gate where a security guard emerges out of nowhere. He grins at us as Ty rolls down his window, flashing a pair of old, stained teeth. “Welcome, boys!” he greets. “Come to meet the new coach?”
“Yeah,” Ty says, scavenging into his back pocket for his invitation. He holds it out and the man waves us through.
“Have fun!”
The gate slides open slowly, adding even more annoying anticipation toward finding out who this mysterious new coach is. As Ty drives forward, his smug grin dances a little more on his face. Could he be right? Could we be driving toward professional football royalty right now?
I shake the thoughts away. We’re smack in the middle of a damn fly-over state. Cary Pierce is from New York City and he probably retired there as well, along with his millions.
“Whoa-o-o!” Ty laughs as we swing into the circle drive. His eyes flash around, taking in the perfect lawn and the huge fountain at its center.
Even my jaw sags a little. I grew up about a half a block from the bad part of town in a neighborhood that pretended to be nicer than it really was. My family got by just fine but never in a million years did I think I would ever step foot in a place as nice as this.
A man in a vest charges down the front steps and meets us at the end of the drive, signaling for Ty’s keys as we climb outside.
Ty passes them off, his grin stretching out even longer. “Valet parking,” he remarks, staring at me.
“It’s not Cary Pierce’s house, man,” I say, although I’m not even sure what to believe anymore. The valet drives off. “For all you know, that guy just stole your car.”
“Joke’s on him. Thing ain’t worth shit. He did me a favor.”
I chuckle and the front door opens before we even reach it.
“It’s about time, guys! The team is waiting on you!”
My jaw drops and I glance over at Ty as his mouth slides into a thin smirk.
Cary Pierce. The Cary Pierce. Four-time champion Cary Pierce, a man I’ve looked up to since I was ten years old, is standing in front of me. He looks exactly the way he did when I was a kid with the small exception of his black hair looking a little thin around the edges and the slight wrinkles taking hold of the skin around his eyes.
No fucking way.
He waves us in with a thick hand. “Well, don’t just stand there.”
We step forward and Ty takes the lead, shoving forward to shake hands with a legend. “It’s awesome to meet you, sir,” he says. “I’m Ty Fisher.”
“Fisher?” Pierce asks. “You know a Sal Fisher?”
“Sal’s my cousin.”
“Good man! He gave me a decent deal on this house.”
“And what a beautiful house it is!” Ty winks.
Pierce gestures him inside and his eyes fall on me. “And you must be Junior Morgan.”
I blink, taking his hand. “How did you know?”
“Process of elimination. You’re the only one I haven’t met yet — and you’re gonna have to work on that grip if you’re going to be my quarterback.”
My cheeks bleed red. I just gave the world’s daintiest handshake to Cary freakin’ Pierce.
“Sorry, sir!” I laugh, giving him a hard squeeze. The steel band of his championship ring presses into my skin.
“That’s much better! Maybe the tales of your legendary arm are true after all.”
He pats my shoulder and I feel like a little kid. He’s so much taller than I thought he was. I’m 6’2” myself, making him nearly 6’6” by my estimation and close to two-hundred and fifty pounds. He’s a damn truck.
“Well, I don’t know about that—”
“Never tone down your strengths, Junior,” he says, leaning in. “Even if you have to fake it.”
“Yes, sir.”
He shakes his head. “None of that sir stuff. Coach is fine.”
I beam like a damn jester in the presence of the king. “Thanks, Coach.”
“Come on out back,” he says. “We’ve got a lot to go over tonight.”
Ty and I follow him through the foyer toward the back, passing through a huge kitchen before stepping out onto the lawn. The air is thick with the scent of barbecue and burning charcoal. A perfectly landscaped garden rests in the center, along with a large pool and a pool house on the other side of it.