Intercepting Daisy by Julie Brannagh

steel-cage death match—two men entered, one man left. Some of the guys who didn’t make it continued on another team’s sideline, holding a clipboard and collecting a gigantic check each week for doing very little. They were every team’s insurance against injuries to the NFL’s marquee players. And those marquee players would do anything to undermine the other guy’s chances, up to and including playing while hurt so their backup couldn’t get out onto the field.
    Reed might believe it was time to hang it up. He might want to right now, when he was injured and feeling every day of his age. But he could change his mind at any time, and he might torpedo Grant’s career in order to keep the job he couldn’t walk away from. It happened in the league every season. Grant didn’t want to lose his chance because he’d underestimated the pull of a huge salary for six months’ work and international fame.
    Tom turned to face Grant and said in a low voice, “I’m giving you a gift. Don’t fuck it up.”
    â€œWhy me?”
    â€œMy kid likes you. And no, I’m not buying him one of your jerseys.”
    â€œI’ll make sure he gets one.”
    â€œNice to see you found your balls, Parker,” Tom said. “Make them pay. And kiss my ass.”
    Reed grinned at him. They bumped fists again. Reed followed the group of guys on injured reserve who would stand on the sidelines during the game out of the locker room.
    A few minutes afterward, Grant threw up in a locker room toilet before he ran out onto the field.
    Grant tried to put it all out of his mind—Tom’s comments and the fact Daisy was in the team’s suite. She’d sent him a text this morning to let him know she would be there. He would see her after the game, but he wanted to impress her. His parents had also made an exception to their rule and decided to come to a Sunday game; they’d arrived in Seattle late last night with a member of the congregation who happened to own a private jet. He’d been getting ready for bed check at the hotel last night when his cell rang.
    â€œHello, son,” his father said. “We’re in Seattle. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
    â€œYou’re here?” Grant said. He had a keen eye for the obvious. At the same time, a thrilled grin had spread across his face. His parents wanted to see him start for the Sharks.
    â€œOf course we’re here. We wouldn’t miss this.” His dad paused for a moment. “We might need some tickets.”
    â€œI’ll make sure they’re at Will Call for you. Dad, I’m really happy that you and Mom are here. Maybe we could meet up for dinner or something after the game.” He could hear the low voices and slamming doors in the hallway; the coaches were coming around to make sure everyone was in their room for the night. He had to get off the phone, but there were a million other things he wanted to say. Hopefully, he could say them tomorrow.
    â€œI’ll see you then, Dad. I have to go.”
    â€œWe’re proud of you, son,” his father said. “We’ll be cheering you on.”
    Oddly enough, they’d insisted on sitting in the stands instead of the team’s suite. Grant couldn’t think about his mom’s reaction to the language of many of the Sharks’ fans or the fact many of those fans liked to drink while they were enjoying their Sunday afternoon. He had a game to win.
    The first twenty plays went as well as he’d expected. The Sharks were attempting to establish a running game along with some short-yardage passing. They were mixing it up enough to keep the Minutemen’s defense guessing—and frustrated. He scrambled a couple of times when the receivers he was most interested in were covered and found a surprisingly large number of coverage holes in New England’s secondary. Ahhh, he could work with this.
    The adrenaline