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.
A chilly breeze blew off nearby Lake Washington, swirling across the parking lot, around Levi’s ankles and up the length of his body. With a slight shiver, he zipped up his chocolate brown leather bomber jacket to under his chin.
Levi walked toward the entrance, his boots crunching with each step along the gravel lined surface. Though the Knights’ played their home games in downtown Seattle, the rest of the time, the team and management spent their time in Kirkland at a nineteen-acre, state of the art facility.
Most days, Levi would have headed toward the workout compound where he and his fellow Knights had access to everything and anything to help keep their bodies in tip-top shape. A swimming pool, weight rooms, a sauna, whirlpool baths, plus machines designed to measure muscle mass versus body fat.
Levi’s commute from his home was a mere thirty minutes and he took advantage of the fact daily, even in the off-season, taking pride in keeping his body in playing form—even if he never touched a football in a pressure-packed game environment.
Fit, toned and muscled, but not jacked up to the point where he lost his mobility, Levi was in better shape now than when he was in college and started every game.
Some would say he was the perfect candidate to step into the starting quarterback job. Physically, he was in top form. He knew the playbook backward and forward. Levi could recite the calls in his sleep. And he’d already earned the respect and loyalty of his team.
Theoretically, he could step in and be the leader the Knights so desperately needed.
Trouble was, football wasn’t played with theories. By every dictate of the game, Levi had too many strikes against him. At thirty-two, he was too old, too inexperienced, and too much of a has-been for anyone with half a brain to put their trust in him.
“Face facts,” Levi told himself as he rode the elevator to the top floor. “Your glory days are a thing of the past.”
Levi stopped getting his hopes up long ago. Today was no different. And while he appreciated that Coach McClain wanted to give him the bad news in person, his gut clenched. He didn’t relish the idea of sitting through one more speech about why management decided to go in a different direction.
Everyone expected Levi to bite the bullet, be a good sport, and put the team first. And, as always, he would. By now, he’d become such an expert at taking bad news, his fake smile easily
