10. Lucas

"There's one other condition Rex and I discussed with Reed a couple of days ago in order for you to keep your spot on the team."

Fuck. A goddamn string. I should have known something was going to loop around my throat and choke me because of this whole thing.

I grit my teeth, my eyes flickering over to Ella who's in the front seat of my car. A gasp escapes her lips, and she sits straight up in her seat, her expression pained. She nearly popped a gasket when she found out about my suspension a couple of days ago. I don't know how much other "news" she can take.

I should have just ignored the damn call.

"What?" Keeping my voice light is near impossible, and my little sister is pretty damn perceptive.

"You and Maxwell need to make a statement. Together. Today."

"A statement about what? How we got suspended because a bunch of assholes weren't smart enough to keep their opinions to themselves?" I wrap my fingers tight around the steering wheel of my car and whip around slow-moving traffic on the way back home.

A quick look in my rearview mirror tells me I should thank God for Apple because Nick doesn't hear shit when he's got those noise-canceling AirPods in his ears.

Ella shakes her head, panic in her gaze. "No," she mouths at me. "Don't talk back."

But I couldn't swallow the words. It's not enough to be suspended for four weeks with playoffs coming up and to already have more hate email in my inbox than when I made my coming-out announcement?

Who knew that football fans would be so much more prickly about a player's unsolicited aggression than his sexual preferences?

"Do I have to remind you again that it doesn't make a difference what really happened?"

"No," I say through clenched teeth.

"I'm trying to help you save face and to keep you employed. This goes beyond the Crusaders. You want to keep your endorsements? Then you need to be agreeable with this."

"You said my endorsements weren't in trouble."

"They weren't as of when I said it. Now they're in question, and the only way to hang on to them is to show the companies why they picked you in the first place. They saw something in you, Lucas. Bright-eyed optimism, talent, confidence, and a drive to win."

"None of that has changed. I'm still me."

"All of it has changed because you created a new perception of yourself by throwing those punches."

I slow for a red light and slam my fist on the steering wheel. "Goddammit, I was defending myself. One of them came at me with a bat."

"The video shows him defending himself against you. The bat was his protection."

"Who the fuck carries around a bat for protection and not instigation?"

Ella covers her face with her hands at my outburst.

"Look, you pay me to help you out of situations like this, to keep you relevant, right?"

My shoulders slump. "Yes."

"Then trust that I know what I'm doing. You're going to head down to the stadium in an hour to make this statement. Wear a nice suit, practice that winning smile, and get yourself all polished up so the world remembers why they're so in love with the rookie."

"And then fall on my sword?"

"Exactly. Sorry if it cuts too deep. You want fame, glory, and huge paychecks for the rest of your career? Learn how to eat shit pie and figure out a way to convince yourself that it tastes better than anything you've ever put in your mouth."

"Fine." I take a sharp right and Ella falls against into the passenger side door. She shoots me a glare but I focus on the road because I can't meet her concerned gaze.

I can't fuck this up any worse than it already is. And I don't even want to know if Trevor will be hanging around this press conference. It's bad enough that he's checked in with me three different times since the meeting at his dad's office. As if I'm on fucking house arrest. I think he'd slap a tracker on my ankle if he could.

Greg hangs up and I pull into the private parking garage underneath my building.

"Lucas," Ella hisses. "You need to play nice; otherwise, they'll fire you."

Nick still hums along with his music, not paying a bit of attention to her strained words.

I let out a deep sigh and push open the door. "I always said I'd take care of you guys. I won't let you down. I'll do anything, even eat shit pie and smile about it."

"I'm just worried about you. Football is what you love. And you always protect the things you love, right?"

I reach over and give her a hug, breathing in the familiar smell of her strawberry shampoo. "When did you get to be so grown-up? And smart?"

"I'm the only girl in a house of boys. Someone needs to take control." She grins and winks at me. "Now get out of those sweats and find your best suit. Oh, and slick back your hair. It makes you look sweet and handsome."

I ruffle her hair. "Got it."

Twenty minutes and a whirlwind wardrobe change later, I stand near the front door and adjust my tie in the mirror over the foyer. I roll out my shoulders. On a rookie salary, I do really well. There's plenty to take care of private school tuition, an exclusive address in the city, nice cars.

But if I don't play my cards right and they pay out my contract, the money will only go so far. I grip the knot and loosen it so it, along with that dismal reality, doesn't choke me to death.

"You look good." Krista walks into the foyer, a smile on her face as she sweeps her eyes over me.

"Just make sure you smile a lot. You have a nice smile. It might help them forget why they're so mad at you." Ella wraps her arms around me. "Good luck."

"Thanks for taking over this afternoon," I say to Krista. "I shouldn't be too long."

She nods. "It's fine. I've got things here. You take care of you."

I get to the stadium with ten minutes to spare. My phone buzzes with a text from Greg with a location for the press conference. I take the elevator to the fifth floor and follow the voices that get louder and louder as I approach the conference room.

I can barely hear my thoughts because of the blood crashing between my ears. This is just a formality, nothing else. Everything will be just fine if I say what I'm supposed to say and do the community service after?—

A door on my left opens suddenly, just as I pass. My shoulder crashes into the edge. "Fuck," I mutter, clutching my throbbing arm as I bite back a louder groan.

I turn to glare at the person walking out of the bathroom. With hitched breath, I stare into the hard gaze of Jase Maxwell. And fuck me if I'm lying, but the pain seems to disappear when his ice-blue eyes rake over me in my suit.

"You seem to be a pro at walking into trouble, Bentley. I'd keep my eyes wide open if I were you." He turns away from me and walks toward the crowd of people a few feet away.

"Thanks, I'm fine, by the way," I call out to him. "Don't worry about me."

He throws a look over his shoulder. "I tried that once. Won't make the same mistake twice."

I want to punch him right in his chiseled jaw so fucking badly.

Gritting my teeth, I follow him into the conference room. Greg, Rex, and Marc are talking to the press people who've forced their way into the room. Every available seat is taken. I pull at the collar of my starched white dress shirt, unable to breathe. Sweat beads are bursting on my back and drizzling down my spine.

Jase strides to the front of the room like he owns the place, like he's not afraid of what any of these reporters and bloggers can do to his career or life.

"Make sure you shake hands with Hoffman," Greg mumbles against my ear.

I nod and make my way over to him, ignoring Trevor's disarming stare. I paste a smile on my face and reach out my hand. Hoffman takes it and nods his acknowledgement before pointing to the empty seat next to Jase.

I keep the smile on my face even though I want to scream at the whole group in front of us that they're ignorant assholes for believing something is truth without even trying to verify it first. I mean, what the fuck with responsible journalism? I guess in the days of social media, nobody gives a shit about things like integrity anymore.

Marc gives the welcome spiel. "Jase and Lucas are very thankful that you took the time out of your busy schedules to join us this afternoon. They won't be taking any questions once they've made their statements."

Hoffman doesn't speak. He just watches, more Jase than me. And if Jase feels his accusatory stare on him, he ignores it, focusing only on the media circus in front of us. I wipe my clammy hands on the front of my pants, waiting for my cue.

Marc waves a hand over at us. "Lucas, do you want to begin?"

I sneak a look at Jase, but he just looks forward, his eyes glazed over, jaw twitching. His hair hangs over his eyes, almost in defiance, like nobody is going to dare control it… or how he appears to the world.

He doesn't give a damn about perception. That much is clear.

I lean forward and clear my throat, the sound echoing in the room. "Thank you all for coming today. I'd like to say I'm very sorry about the episode from the other night. It was wrong and irresponsible to act out as I did, and I hope the fans will accept my apology. I also apologize to the men involved for any injuries sustained."

I sit back in my chair, anger flaring deep in my chest. Those words tasted like shit on my tongue because that's what they were. Total bullshit. Yes, we should have walked away, but fuck them for making those comments. I know I need to set an example for all the aspiring football players out there, but they need to know that it's okay to stand up for yourself.

Just not if your name is Lucas Bentley or Jase Maxwell and you're sitting in a crowded conference room, eating fucking crow for no good reason.

Marc looks at Jase.

He doesn't say a word. He just shifts in the chair, his large body dwarfing the seat. Reclining, he lets out a deep sigh.

What the fuck is he doing?

He folds his hands and places them on the table in front of him. Flashes of light make me blink fast.

Say something, dammit. If you don't, you're going to fuck it up for both of us.

I'll be lumped together with him, punished with him. I won't get out on good behavior just because I made an apology.

My throat tightens like an invisible noose is pulling it tight.

"What happened the other night was wrong."

He finally speaks, and I let out a little bit of the breath I'm holding.

Then he leans forward, his eyes sweeping over the audience that hangs on every single word, especially Reed Hoffman.

"It shouldn't have happened. I took the first punch out of anger because of things that were said, things that somehow got deleted from the videos. I should have walked away and I didn't." He relaxes against the back of the chair again, then leans in toward the microphone once more. "Thanks for listening."

Then he gets up, pushes back the chair, and walks toward the door. The press goes nuts, more camera flashes blinding me as my jaw hits the damn floor.

Rex jumps out of his chair and takes off after Jase. Marc rushes over to Reed Hoffman who is practically purple with rage. I stand up, the entire room emptying now that Jase is gone.

Greg waves me over, but I ignore him and head out into the hallway. Jase lounges against a wall like the egotistical asshole he's known to be while Rex flips the fuck out at him. I can't hear any of it, but he's waving his hands around so much, I'd expect him to take off at any second. He finally stops his tirade and walks away.

I stalk over to Jase. "You just screwed us both because of your little power trip back there. You had one fucking job and you just couldn't swallow your pride enough to get it done." A snide laugh slips out. "I guess it shouldn't shock me. You only have one job to do on the field and you can't do shit with that either. At least you're consistent. Consistently a fucking failure."

Jase narrows his eyes. "Watch it, Bentley. You've seen firsthand what I do to motherfuckers who mouth off to me."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" I move closer so we're toe to toe… and practically lip to lip. My eyes lock on them, my tongue prickling at the idea of tasting him again. Pent-up lust floods my body and clouds my mind.

"Bring it, dickhead. I can't believe I stuck around that night because of you. I tried to do the right thing, something you clearly never do, even with our livelihoods on the line. Shame on me for forgetting what an insufferable ass you are. I won't make that mistake ever fucking again."