Making the Play (24 page)

Bitterness sliced into her, squeezing the air from her lungs and making it difficult to feel anything else, choking out the joy she'd felt with Grant. She almost wished he'd just said goodbye and been done with it. He'd said he didn't make promises he couldn't keep when that's all he'd done. He'd told her he'd call, promised he wouldn't hurt her. Why had she ever allowed herself to fall for a man she'd been certain would break her heart?

“I wish I could, Maddie, but unlike some ­people, I really don't make promises I can't keep.”

G
RANT
SAT OUTSIDE
the studio with his agent while the sports show looped on the television screens surrounding the room. How in the world had he ended up here even contemplating accepting this position on a trial basis? He glanced at Bob, seated next to him, fiddling with the diamond studded ring around his finger while they waited to meet with the executives to sign the short-­term contract. Bob was the only reason he was here and that his retirement hadn't officially been announced yet. So far, the man had never steered him wrong in his career, and Grant was trusting him now more than ever.

But Bob didn't know about Bethany. Not that he'd have cared if he did.

Grant leaned over toward his agent. “You're sure about this? That this is the right direction for me to go.”

Bob sighed and dropped his hands into his lap, glancing at the gold Rolex gracing his wrist. “For the fifth time in the last twenty minutes, yes. Will you relax?”

“I'm just not sure I'm ‘on-­air talent,' if you know what I mean.”

Bob rolled his eyes. “Which is probably why they want you. You have this boyish, down-­home-­charm thing going for you. Guys all want to hang out with you and have a beer, but women want to be with you, period. It'll be good for their ratings and better for your career than being a babysitter for Wolf at some piddly bullshit salary. You're worth more than that, Grant, and these guys are willing to cough up.”

“But what do I really know about being a commentator? You know I avoid the press as often as possible.” Grant lifted his hand to run it through his hair and caught himself, letting it fall back into his lap.

“News flash, Grant, they aren't hiring you for your brains as much as they are for your looks. They want you to be yourself, that's what ­people like about you. When are you going to stop overthinking everything and realize that? I knew you were a good guy the first time I saw you play and you've only continued to prove it. ­People like you. Now's the time to capitalize on that charm instead of your athletic abilities.”

The diamonds on Bob's watch glittered in the overhead lights. His ring practically winked at Grant as he sat, uncomfortable in his slacks and dress shirt. He tugged at the tie, wishing he could just take it off and hop back on a plane for Sacramento.

He knew he'd made Bob a lot of money. He wasn't even sure how much, but with this deal, according to Bob, they'd both be sitting pretty for a long time to come. And it was only a three-­month trial. Surely he and Bethany could figure out how to manage a relationship, or come to a compromise, in that time. It wasn't perfect but it was the best option for them to make it work, somehow.

Grant would be one of four football commentators, spending several hours each weekend discussing game play and outcomes. He was the rookie of the group, the newly retired youngster, and likely the least qualified, but they'd handpicked him, certain he was the perfect man for the job. Grant wasn't nearly as sure. The only thing he was positive about was that he needed one hour to himself to get in touch with Bethany. The last few days had been nonstop flights, meetings and appointments. If Bob didn't have him schmoozing one person, they were in negotiations with another. He'd barely had eight hours' sleep in the last three days combined. He was exhausted, but he wasn't about to let another evening go by without calling Bethany. He needed to hear her voice.

She must be worried sick. He pulled out his phone to send her a quick text, to at least let her know he was still alive.

“Mr. Ribaldi, Mr. McQuaid, they're ready for you now.” The secretary waited at the door to escort them inside.

Grant tucked his phone back into the pocket of his slacks as he rose. As soon as this meeting was finished, he was getting on the phone with her, he vowed.

 

Chapter Twenty-­Four

G
RANT STARED AT
the three men seated across from him in awe. It wasn't often that he was starstruck, but two of the men across from him were Hall of Famers, his own idols. These weren't just men he looked up to but legends. Diondre Brown had been one of the best wide receivers to ever play the game of football and quarterback Michael Harvest had played in three Pro Bowls. Dale Scott had been heading up the show since its inception nearly six years ago. But all three insisted they needed new blood, someone who had a fresh take on the game and they were sure Grant was their guy.

Bob sat beside Grant, nodding his approval, reminding them of all of Grant's accomplishments, on and off the field. They looked impressed by his numerous records and accolades, but Grant couldn't help but wonder if any of it really mattered. These three men, along with the producer seated nearby in the shadows watching their chemistry quietly, were deciding his fate, and he was letting them. At any other time in his career, this might have been a dream come true, working with men he'd esteemed for years. But now, he was facing a catch–22.

He couldn't be the man he wanted to be, the man Bethany and James deserved, if he couldn't provide some sort of stability for them, but he couldn't be with them if he was here in New York permanently. Listening to the conversation around him, it wouldn't matter that he had a three-­month trial contract. Once they had his signature, they weren't letting him go unless
they
decided it was best.

“So, Grant, how does it feel to be a free man again?” Diondre asked with a chuckle.

“To be honest, sir, I feel a bit at odds and lost. I keep thinking I need to hit the gym for a workout.” The men around him laughed, with the exception of Bob who shot him a hard glare warning him to be more charismatic and less honest. “But I'm looking forward to facing the new challenge that television would offer.”

Diondre glanced at Michael and laughed. “Yeah, I remember lying and saying the same thing.”

“Oh, I know Grant pretty well,” Bob said, interrupting, “and he's ready for this new experience.”

Grant saw Dale glance at the producer in the shadows before giving a quick jerk of his head to one side. The producer, a tall man wearing ripped designer jeans and a polo shirt, rose and walked up to Bob.

“Why don't we go into my office and discuss the numbers while these four get to know one another?” he suggested.

Bob's grin spread and his brown eyes practically sparkled, making him look like an overgrown, slightly overweight child on Christmas morning. He squeezed his hand on Grant's shoulder, one last warning not to screw this up.

“I think that's a great idea.”

As the pair headed out, a door at the other end of the studio closed with a solid
clunk
and Dale rose, making his way to a table filled with catered food nearby. “I'm starving and we have a ­couple spots to film when we finish here. You don't mind if we eat, do you?” he asked Grant.

Grant shrugged and the other two rose, obviously relieved. “Here.” Diondre held out a plate for him. “You too. We'll talk while we eat.”

“Like you ever stop eating,” Michael teased, smacking Diondre's flat stomach.

“Gotta keep my girlish figure.”

They laughed together good-­naturedly and Grant wondered if he was ever going to fit in. These three had been working together for five years, and Diondre and Michael had played together before that.

“So what's the real story, Grant?” Dale asked as he sat back down. “Because we all know you wouldn't be here if you could be on that field.”

“Even if it does pay better and hurt a lot less.” Michael grabbed a bottle of water from a cooler. He sat down with a faraway look in his eyes and a sigh of regret. “I'd give my right nut to be on that field for one more game.”

“That's because you're single again,” Diondre pointed out. “I don't think I'd go quite that far. My lady likes having me home every night.”

They all turned to Grant expectantly, waiting for him to fill them in on the details of his departure. He wasn't sure how much he should tell them. Although the buyout of his contract had been finalized with the Mustangs yesterday, along with him turning down the position Wolf had offered, the news wasn't going public until their press conference tomorrow morning. It was also when he was supposed to announce his new position as a commentator.

What the hell? They'd know in a few hours anyway.

“Neck injury sidelined me and they bought out my contract at a fraction. They also wanted me to work with the rookies.”

“Damn.”

“That sucks,” Michael sympathized.

“The same one that took you out last season? And then they offered you a pity position?” Dale asked. At Grant's nod, he sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. “So, that's how they ended up getting someone as young as you?” He shrugged. “Well, you're bound to help our ratings, that's for sure.”

“Make way for the female viewers,” Diondre predicted.

Grant didn't feel young. They were making him feel like he was a rookie out of college again instead of a grown man. And, honestly, he didn't like the idea of being thought of as nothing more than eye candy for women viewers.

“Not for this one,” Dale said. “From what I hear, you're off the market now, right? Or was that just media hype?”

“What?” Grant frowned and wondered where Dale had gotten his information.

“Good, that means more ladies for me,” Michael joked with a blast of laughter. The other men joined in, but Grant felt like he was missing the punchline. “So it's about the money for you?”

“No.” Grant didn't want them to think he was only doing this for a paycheck.

Are they wrong?

If he was going to be completely honest with himself, he
was
simply entertaining this idea for the money it would provide. It was enough that he could not only replace the money he'd invested in his family but he'd be able to offer Bethany a future together, only in New York instead of Hidden Falls. Especially when she'd already said she wouldn't move. The idea wasn't setting well.

In fact, he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of sitting in the studio several days a week while Bethany and James were across the country. Even now, he was dying to get a message to her. How would it be for him not to see them for the next three months? Maybe longer.

“You don't want to be here, do you?” Dale eyed him speculatively. “Your agent told you to take this.”

He wasn't asking and Grant felt the overwhelming urge to be completely honest with them. “Was this what you guys planned on doing afterward?”

Michael laughed, coughing as he tried to catch his breath. “Hell, no. I got lucky with this. After I blew out my knee, no one wanted to talk to me. It was like I'd just disappeared. It was tough for a while, living off what I'd saved up, and I'd been smart with my money. But ­people still wanted to get paid and the bills add up fast. When no one wants to hire you and there are no endorsement deals . . . well, the sharks come out when they smell blood in the water. But this guy,” he said, jerking his thumb at Dale, “saw me at a charity event and hooked me up.”

“He pulled me in too,” Diondre said, throwing a head bob at Dale. “But I've heard it's not like that now. How many endorsements have you got lined up?”

“There are a few but they're pretty small. Everyone wants a QB,” Grant admitted. “Bob thought this was a better path, more exposure and marketability.”

Dale rolled his eyes toward Diondre and Michael, who nodded in agreement. “He would. Look, if this isn't where you
want
to be, at least four days a week for twelve to eighteen hours a day, don't take this gig. There are much easier ways for a guy like you to make a buck, Grant. You're going to get the endorsements and commercials coming in; you've got the look they want.” He clapped a hand on Grant's shoulder. “I like you, so I'm going to be honest with you. I don't think this is the right fit for you. For us, sure. Your being on the show would help us out, but I'm don't think it would be mutual. You seem . . . I don't know. Torn, I guess.”

Grant ran his index finger and thumb over his chin, waiting for Dale to say more. “Look, I'm a journalist first. I've read the papers and the gossip columns, but I've also been around this business a long time. If you've got some place better to be, where you want to be, go. The money will come to you. You're a smart guy. You'll figure it out, just like you did with the game.”

Grant tipped his head at the man, curious. “I'm a fan,” Dale admitted with a grin.

“Without a doubt,” Michael agreed. “Besides, are you sure you want to hang around here talking nothing but football 24/7? These two get a bit trying.” He jerked a thumb at Dale and Diondre.

“Only because we have to listen to you,” Diondre said with a chuckle. “Seriously though, if you're unsure this is where you want to be, don't sign the contract. Negotiate it down for weekly guest spots or something. Then you're still in the limelight and good for our ratings. Besides, we'd love to hang with you.”

“Guest spots.” Grant hadn't even considered that option to be on the table. Hell, according to Bob, there hadn't really been
any
other options at all. Guest appearances would only mean a flight to New York and back. A weekend at most. He could bring Bethany and James with him.

“Now that's something we could manage.” Dale grew excited, slapping his hand on his thigh. “Especially if you'd give us the first shot at talking with you after your retirement announcement.” His voice grew more excited as he waved a hand in the air. “We could have the exclusive interview and air it right after the press conference.”

“I think that's the kind of deal I've been looking for.” It might not be seven figures but it was a plan he could work with.

“Good.” He thrust his hand out toward Grant. “Then let's go get this contract rewritten and signed.”

E
XITIN
G THE TERMINAL
doors, Grant saw his sister standing alongside his Camaro. “I don't recall telling you to pick me up, and I know I didn't tell you to drive Betty.” She unlocked the trunk, lifting it for him before she slapped the keys into his hand.

“Yeah? Well, I don't remember telling you to break the heart of one of my favorite kids, but you did that anyway, so what the hell?”

Grant frowned. He didn't have to ask who she was talking about, but it couldn't be anything that serious or deserving this kind of animosity from his baby sister. “Overdramatic much?”

Maddie shook her head and climbed into the car. “You think so? Maybe you should have called while you were gone.”

“What are you talking about?”

He twisted the key in the ignition, feeling himself relax as the rumbling purr of the engine soothed his aggravated nerves. The flight had been jam-­packed and, as his luck would have it, he was seated next to his “biggest fan” who talked nonstop and followed him through the terminal to their connecting flight. He'd caught a break when the man had received a phone call from his wife and Grant was able to sneak away. Now that he was back, he was looking forward to heading to Bethany's after a shower and some food to tell her the news.

“I'm talking about James and Bethany.”

“I know that much.” He rolled his eyes and pulled out of the airport, easing onto the highway. “I mean the calling part. I texted you guys.”

“Did you call her? Or send her a text?”

“Before the press conference. I told her I had a surprise and I'd be home soon.”

“Nice and vague.” Maddie glared at him. “Did you tell her when ‘soon' would be or that you were coming home for good? Because Steven Carter is already trying to move in on her.”

Grant felt the jealousy rise up in his gut, squeezing at his chest. He'd deliberately avoided telling Bethany anything, avoiding calling once he'd made the deal with the show, and had texted her instead so that he could surprise her when he returned. They had so much to talk about, to figure out together, including how they could make their relationship work because he was determined to make sure it did. He might not have a traditional full-­time career at this point, but he had a direction and a contract and he was excited about starting.

Right after his press conference with the network, Grant received a phone call from the Hidden Falls high school principal and the sports director informing him that they were in dire need of a new varsity football coach. The pay was minimal but with his buyout, the guest spots on the show during football season and the two endorsement deals he'd signed, the salary didn't even deter Grant. It was the first time since he'd left his doctor's office that he felt excited about his future. He would be earning enough to support the ranch and still have plenty left to start a life with Bethany and James.

Plus the coaching position offered him a measure of satisfaction he'd been lacking. He would not only have free rein to hire his own coaching staff, but he'd be shaping the entire Hidden Falls football program for years to come and motivating the players of tomorrow to find the same love of the game he still carried.

And he could be near Bethany and James.

Every decision he'd made this past week had been with her and James in the forefront of his mind, to find a way that they could stay together. Now his sister informed him that she was already going out with someone else. Someone she'd hadn't even noticed until he'd opened his big mouth

“You need to talk to her. Just drop me off at home and go to her place.”

He rubbed a hand over his weary eyes. “I've hardly slept in a week, Maddie. I need a shower and something to eat.”