But there was even more to be gained if he did.
Nichole pressed the send button and shut down her laptop.
Now she waited. Waited to see if Chase Jacobs would accept her invitation. Waited to see if Chase Jacobs could change her world this time.
CHAPTER THREE
CHASE PULLED INTO a parking space at the state park an hour north of the city, switched off the engine and focused his mind. Thirty-three wasn’t old. Never mind that he’d taken more time to get out of bed than usual that morning. He wasn’t past his prime. Despite being seven years older than most players on the field. Thirties were the new twenties. He had more experience, more knowledge and more skill.
A quick, succinct rap on his tinted passenger window followed by the words, “Come on, old man. Let’s get riding,” spurred Chase out of his truck.
Greetings came from half a dozen teammates, a mix of former and current players, waiting near the start of the 12-mile advanced mountain biking trail. One of Chase’s favorite postseason workout spots.
Chase waved and ordered his throbbing shoulder to stand down. He regarded the two men leaning against his truck bed. “Didn’t think so many people liked bike riding.”
“You asked last night on the group chat if anyone was up for a challenge this afternoon.” Beau Bradford, Chase’s backup quarterback, ran his hand through his curly hair and chuckled. “We all accepted.”
“Perfect.” Chase cleared his throat. Defiance of Mallory’s recommendation for surgery as soon as possible had prompted Chase’s impulsive text to his teammates yesterday. He had things to prove to the coaching staff, the team and himself. He had to prove to everyone—especially the doubters—that nothing had changed. He was in fact the same Chase Jacobs: a resilient and capable producer on the field. Not fragile or weak or vulnerable. Not a has-been.
Elliot Cote, his former teammate and good friend, dropped the truck’s tailgate and reached for Chase’s bike. “Hope you brought extra water and snacks. They intend to do the full trail.”
“You said yourself, the other trails on this mountain are for kids and amateurs.” Beau laughed and returned to the others.
The full trail involved jumps and steep declines on the return. Chase pressed his lips together and grabbed his helmet from the back seat. He’d always been impulsive. One day he’d learn to censor himself. Unfortunately, today was already too late. Chase fastened his helmet under his chin, accepted his bike from Elliot and rode over to the group. “This isn’t your mother’s spin class, boys. If you need training wheels, stick to the flats. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the top.”
Elliot’s boom of laughter pushed against Chase’s back like a shot of adrenaline, urging him onto the trail.
Having cycled nine miles, Chase dropped his bike in an open clearing and sucked in a deep breath of air. Held it and closed his eyes. He pictured the stadium of his first college football game. The grass freshly painted. The fifty-thousand-plus seats not yet filled. The excited rush of energy racing through his veins. No pain, only anticipation. Chase squeezed his eyes together, concentrated harder. The muscles around his right shoulder refused to relax. The imagery failed to distract his mind. The pain intensified.
Chase cursed. He opened and closed his right hand as if the pins and needles sensation stabbing into his palm was that simple to eliminate. Finished his water bottle as if dehydration caused the intense throbbing in his shoulder, not the rough terrain and tense grip on the handlebars for the past hour.
Elliot dropped his bike beside Chase’s. His gaze always perceptive and too intuitive—a gift that had made him unstoppable on the defensive line—was stuck on Chase’s shoulder before it centered on Chase. “I saw the hit.”
Chase realized exactly what hit Elliot referred to. The one that had occurred with less than thirty seconds on the clock in the divisional playoff game last month. The sack had drawn a penalty flag for roughing the passer and a gain of yards that had brought his team half the distance to the goal line. But the damage had already been done to Chase’s shoulder and the game had already been lost. One touchdown would take the point deficit to three, but not change the final outcome. Chase had taken four hits to his right shoulder the past season alone. The last hit had proved to be the most damaging. “Nothing that time won’t heal.”
“Or a doctor’s knife,” Elliot suggested.
Elliot knew Chase the best out of anyone on the field, past or present. Elliot had witnessed the sack from the sidelines. And no doubt had watched Chase’s awkward recovery on the field. Chase had rushed to the scrimmage line, called the play and waited for the snap. Adrenaline had overridden the pain. Chase had thrown for a touchdown and tied the game. Overtime had been a challenge. He’d overthrown two receivers and suffered another sack. Three plays later, their best receiver dropped a pass. Oklahoma City recovered the ball, moved into field goal range. Chase had watched the clock run out and accepted defeat. And never disclosed his injury. Today his indignant shoulder demanded his full attention and refused to be ignored.
Beau slowed his bike beside them and flashed his trademark grin, easygoing and welcoming. The grin that made Beau the guy everyone wanted to hang out with. The guy every little kid wanted to become. “Tapping out already?”
Chase had only ever wanted to be himself. But would he—as he was, injured and past his prime—be enough to secure the Pioneers’ starting quarterback position? Doubt chased along his already frayed nerves. Chase pointed at a trail that disappeared into the eucalyptus forest and steepest side of the mountain. “We’re hiking to the peak.”
Elliot muttered beside Chase.
Beau nodded at the trail, respect on his face and in his words. “We’ll take the switchbacks and see you at the top.” Beau waved for the others to follow him.
“We don’t have to keep going.” Elliot wiped the
