“Good afternoon, Mr. Reynolds.” Terra Cray said with a smile as he approached her desk.
Assistant to Darcy Stratham, the Knights’ first-year general manager, Terra was ruthlessly stylish, loyal, dazzlingly efficient, and a barracuda when it came to protecting her boss. All attributes Levi found admirable and slightly terrifying.
“How do you get younger when the rest of us continue to fight the ravages of time?” Levi asked, sending the older woman a smile.
Shaking her head, the ends of her dark bobbed hair brushed her shoulders.
“How do you manage to get more charming by the day?” the receptionist countered.
“Everyone needs to be good at something,” Levi said as he raised her hand to his lips.
“Only you can pull off the hand kiss without looking cheesy or lecherous.” Terra chuckled with a teasing glint in her eyes. “Or both.”
“Men like me are a rare and dying breed,” Levi admitted, tongue in cheek. “I may be the last of my kind.”
“Oh, I hope not.” Terra sighed. “Go right in. They’re waiting for you.”
Levi reached for the door, then paused. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Want to give me a preview of what’s to come?” he asked.
Terra simply stared, blinking exactly once. Levi sighed. The woman had the kind of poker face a professional gambler would covet.
Raising a hand, he rapped his knuckles against the office door.
“Come in, Levi,” Darcy Stratham called out.
In college, Levi was known as the QB with nerves of steel. Nothing rattled him. Yet, with a decade more of living under his belt and even though he was prepared for what he knew was about to come, his fingers shook like an untried virgin on his wedding night as he turned the doorknob.
Stepping over the threshold, Levi barely managed not to trip over his own feet when he saw the group of people assembled.
Darcy, he expected. She was the general manager, after all. Made all the sense in the world that Joshua McClain, the Knights’ head coach, would be there. Mac was the teams’ on-field general, the strategist, and the one who personally kicked ass to motivate his players.
Besides, Mac was the one who summoned Levi to Darcy’s office in the first place.
What gave Levi pause—what put a lump the size of the hope diamond in his throat—were the other assembled bodies.
Riley Preston, the team’s owner smiled at him from the sofa. Gaige Benson, the Knights’ legendary, long retired quarterback leaned against the far wall, an enigmatic expression on his handsome face. Next to Gaige, as he had been for the entirety of his playing days, stood Sean McBride, onetime wide receiver and future NFL hall of famer.
Finally, to Sean’s left, Levi spied Logan Price. In his day, the star running back was dubbed the Comeback Kid after he returned to football after what everyone thought to be a career-ending injury during his rookie season.
Slightly shorter, a bit stockier than Gaige and Sean, like his fellow ex-Knights, Logan had the look of a man who defied the aging process. Fit and trim, they all possessed the looks of men who could walk onto the field again and play the game at its highest level without missing a beat.
And honestly, who would stop them? They led the Knights to their first Super Bowl, coming away champions. As far as Seattle fans were concerned, the three men were sports Gods who could do no wrong.
As Levi’s gaze circled the room, lingering on each face, his heart soared and sank to his feet all at the same time. Had he assessed the situation incorrectly? Perhaps it wasn’t his career that was terminal, but him.
“Tell me straight. Am I dying?” Levi asked, only half-joking.
“Yes,” Sean said with one nod of his head, his dark eyes somber.
Levi felt his legs turn to rubber. He wobbled toward the nearest chair and sank onto the cushion like a lead weight.
“Sean!” Riley admonished with a stern look. She leaned over and patted Levi’s leg. “Don’t mind him. “Unfortunately, my husband’s sense of humor has never progressed beyond that of a thirteen-year-old boy.”
“Am I wrong,” Sean asked, looking to Gaige and Logan for support. “Aren’t we all dying?”
“Sean has a point,” Gaige said with a shrug of his broad shoulders.
“Can’t argue,” Logan agreed, his lips forming a half-smirk, half-smile. “Fingers crossed that the process is long, slow, and as pain-free as possible. But history tells us, the journey ends the same for us all. Six feet under.”
“Unless you choose cremation,” Gaige mused as he rested his blond head against the wall.
“Or a Viking sendoff,” Sean piped in. Thoughtfully, he scratched his chin. “Does the law let you burn a body? Ceremonially, of course.”
“Jesus,” Mac scoffed rolling his eyes. “I’m freaking relieved I never had to coach such a set of jokers. I don’t know how my predecessor survived as long as he did without permanent brain damage from banging his head onto his desk.”
“Harry Coleman was old school,” Sean said of their retired head coach. “When in doubt, he saved himself a headache and banged our heads together.”
Without a word, Darcy surged to her feet, automatically commanding everyone’s attention. From behind her desk, she crossed her arms, the look in her blue eyes leaving no doubt who was in charge. The men outweighed her, could have easily overpowered her, and yet with the rise of one of her perfectly arched brows, their rotating banter quieted immediately.
“And that, my friends, is why I hired Darcy Stratham to run my team,” Riley said with a delighted laugh. “How could I resist a woman who can make grown men cower like chastised puppies.”
“We aren’t cowering. Just didn’t have anything else to say,” Sean insisted. Gaige and Logan nodded their agreement.
“Anyway,” Darcy said, giving her full attention to Levi. “I apologize for the unrehearsed comedy routine. I invited Gaige, Sean, and Logan to lend support, not to regale us with their best Three Stooges impersonations.”
Levi entered Darcy’s office resigned to his inevitable fate. In a short blink, he’d gone from nervous, to panicked,
