Focused Page 5

  Beside me, Molly kicked at my foot, a silent warning that her boss couldn't see over the expanse of her desk.

  Logan dropped his elbows to his knees and buried his head in his hands.

  I pinched the tip of my tongue between my teeth so tightly that I tasted the bright coppery tang of blood.

  "Are we excited to get started?" Beatrice asked, as happy as I'd seen her.

  "Yup," Molly said.

  Logan let out a muffled curse, then lifted his head.

  Beatrice stood. "Excellent. Gentlemen, I have another meeting to get to. Molly, please figure out the next couple of days with Noah before he heads to practice." With a demure smile toward the woman sitting to my left, she nodded regally. "Dealing with Amazon is officially your responsibility."

  She left, and the thick vacuum of silence at her exit practically pulsed with all the things unsaid.

  "This is the worst idea I've ever heard," Logan ground out. "Molly, you cannot be serious right now."

  "You don't get a say in it, Logan. Coach mode, remember?" She folded her arms over her chest.

  He stood, spreading his arms out. "When have I ever been able to shut off being your brother? Never. And I won't apologize for that."

  I leaned forward with a groan. This was my fucking nightmare.

  Molly stood and faced him, jaw set mulishly and eyes ablaze. "Logan, outside, now." Then she pointed a finger at me. "You, stay here. I'll be back in thirty seconds, and if you've moved from that chair, don't think I won't hunt you down at practice. Those guys don't scare me."

  Logan's eyes were as wide as mine before she grabbed him by the elbow, and even though she was almost a foot shorter and a decade plus younger, she dragged my coach from the office.

  Chapter Seven

  Molly

  Someone from the front office passed us, grinning unapologetically at the way I manhandled my big brother into the hallway.

  Logan slicked his tongue over his teeth, ripping the hat from his head with an agitated tug of his hands. "This is a terrible idea," he said again. Like I hadn't heard him the first time he complained about it.

  "What would you have me do?" I asked him, not even attempting to keep the heat from my voice. "Beatrice is practically daring me to screw this up. You're not helping me think she's wrong."

  His mouth fell open. "I don't think you'll screw it up, Molly."

  "Don't you? If you trusted me to do my job, you'd be able to keep all those judgey big brother thoughts in your head." I swirled my finger toward his face, currently frozen in a frown.

  Logan groaned, tipping his chin up to the ceiling. "Cut me some slack, okay? It's ... it's him." He gestured helplessly back at Beatrice's office. "The last time Noah was around for any extended period—"

  "I was sixteen," I whispered fiercely, my face hot. If he hadn't dropped his eyes apologetically, I would've punched him in the balls. "That's categorically unfair to assume I'd react the same way. You think I don't know how stupid it was what I did? How lucky we both were that his dad walked in when he did? I get it, okay? But you need to check your impulse to remind me of your opinion every single time something big changes in my life."

  I was breathing hard, my chest heaving and my throat tight.

  It was hard enough to sit next to Noah, knowing he hated me, knowing he wanted nothing to do with me, and knowing that my big shot with my boss was now partially in his grasp. What I didn't need was my big brother treating me like a teenager again.

  Logan sighed heavily and pulled me in for a tight squeeze. "I'm sorry," he said into the top of my head.

  I clutched my hands around his wide back and allowed myself to relax into his embrace for a moment. Logan might not have been my father, but he was better than the one I'd been born to. And for almost twelve years, he'd been the one assuming the legal role.

  "I'm sorry too," I said quietly. Pulling back, I glanced at his handsome face with a shy grin. "Hazards of working together, huh?"

  He laughed and slipped the hat back on his head. "I suppose."

  "You're lucky you apologized," I told him.

  "Yeah?"

  "Yeah. I was ready to tell Paige what happened to that picture she bought for the dining room that mysteriously shattered."

  His eyes narrowed. "You promised to keep that a secret."

  "Secrets have a funny way of coming out when big brothers act like overprotective bullies at work," I said innocently.

  "This is Paige's influence," he mumbled. "You four weren't so savage until she showed up."

  I laughed.

  Logan set his hands on his hips and regarded me carefully for a few seconds. "It's hard for me sometimes, you know?"

  "What is?"

  "Remembering that you're a grown woman," he admitted quietly. "I was nineteen when you were born, Mol. That's not that far off from how old you are now and ..." He paused, looking a little melancholy. "My world changed when you were born. As much as I wish for you and your sisters that your mom hadn't left, selfishly, I'd never want to give you four back. But it's hard for me to forget what it felt like the day you were born. Even as you're standing here, smart and capable and independent, I think about how little you were, all wrinkled and red and wrapped in that ugly hospital blanket."

  "I know, Logan. You're the best thing that could've happened to us." I glanced over my shoulder to make sure we were still alone in the hallway. "But you can't protect us forever."

  He nodded slowly. "Doesn't mean I won't want to."

  I gave him a smile. "I know."

  "I'll bench his ass if he messes this up for you," he promised.

  Again, I laughed. "No, you won't."

  "No," he admitted grudgingly, "but it doesn't mean I wouldn't want to."

  My hands swept down my shirt and straightened the ends. "Okay. I should get back to work."

  Logan lifted his chin. "You've got this."

  The change in his tone and posture, and the pure respect I saw in his eyes were enough to make my nose burn with unshed tears. "I'll be so mad at you if you make me cry."

  "No crying in football, Ward," he snapped. "That's an order."

  I rolled my eyes. "Go coach your team, please."

  He winked and left me alone in the hallway. Before I joined Noah again, I sank against the wall to gather myself.

  Noah wasn't my boss, but it was my responsibility to keep this process as painless as possible for him.

  And I wasn't his boss, but he'd need to respect my role, nonetheless. Film when I said he needed to film, cooperate with the crew from Amazon, and trust that he'd be portrayed positively. And more importantly, that he'd be reflected honestly.

  Those things didn't always go hand in hand, not in our industry. The best player in the world could be a raging asshole to the people around him. But as much as Noah had rubbed me the wrong way in the elevator, he was still respected by his teammates and coaches. Maybe he wasn't universally adored because of the stoic exterior, but even the iciest person thawed occasionally. And at the end of the day, it was up to me to make sure the world saw that.

  Sitting in the too-small chair in my boss's office was a man who had dedicated his life to the same game I'd loved for all of mine.

  They called him The Machine because the game of football—brown leather and white laces, cleats and turf and helmets and pads and sweat—was the thing he existed for.

  "What's behind The Machine, though?" I whispered.

  Before I went back into Beatrice's office, I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It might take Noah weeks to thaw to my presence in his life, but thaw he would. He'd have no choice in the matter because the cameras didn't lie, and the reason he agreed was to allow a rare glimpse behind the curtain. It reminded me of my favorite movies, The Wizard of Oz.

  If Noah Griffin was the wizard, all powerful and too big to comprehend for all that he was able to accomplish, then I'd have to be the unsuspecting Dorothy who unearthed the truth, one day at a time, no matter how out of place I felt do
ing it.

  Ruefully, I glanced down at my nude-colored ballet flats and clicked the heels together. Didn't have the same effect as ruby red slippers that glistened in the light, but it would have to do.

  When I opened the door, he stood staring out of the window in the corner, which overlooked the sprawling suburbs where the Wolves training facilities and front offices were located. Off to the southeast, the jagged lines of Mt. Rainier were visible. His shoulders were held so rigidly in place that he didn't give the slightest indication he’d heard me enter, but something at the back of my neck and with the way the hairs lifted on my arms, I knew he was fully aware that we were alone again in the same way I was.

  I kept the door open a crack and walked back to my seat. My clipboard was on the corner of Beatrice's desk, and I picked it up so I could flip to the tentative schedule marked out by Amazon. Things they wanted, requests for time and interviews, and insight that they thought would go over well but couldn't be forced.

  Setting the clipboard in my lap, I wondered briefly whether I should let him take the lead in this conversation, given he was the one who acted like a giant horse's ass the last time I saw him.

  It went against every molecule, every cell in my body not to care what he thought of me. To not try to convince him that I was a safe person for him in this. That our history could benefit us and not make life harder.

  But I came to a decision as I sat there in the uncomfortable silence. It didn't matter whether Noah liked me. I just needed him to do his job, and I needed him to let me do mine. We could achieve that whether he liked me or not.

  "Beatrice thinks I got this job because of my brother," was the thing that came out of my mouth first. There'd be no filter, not for this conversation. While he and I were alone, honesty was the best thing I could give him.

  At the sound of my voice, Noah stilled even further, which didn't seem possible. His massive frame held almost preternaturally motionless. The span of his back was so broad, emphasizing the way his body tapered at the waist and hips. A true athlete, no one would ever look at him and question that he was born to do this.

  I knew the kind of dedication it took, and the sacrifices that people like him made to reach that kind of strength and stamina. It was why I did what I did, worked where I worked, and why I'd overlooked his opinion of me and Beatrice's doubts in order to do my job.

  "Is she right?" he asked.

  I smiled. "I'm sure it helped me get my internship in college. But they never would've given me a job and they definitely wouldn't have kept me around if I sucked at it."

  Noah didn't answer, and he didn't turn to face me. I preferred it that way.

  "The only way I'll prove to my boss that she's wrong about me is by doing. There aren't enough words in the English language to convince her that I'm not the sole product of nepotism, and this job, this opportunity, is the platform she's allowing me to do that." I stared intently at his back. "To prove that I earned my place here by my actions."

  His face tilted in my direction, enough that the light from the window caught the sharp jut to his jaw. The muscles under his skin popped, and I found myself staring at that little square of skin, marveling at how something so tiny could be so potent.

  "Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

  Leaning back in my chair, I folded one leg over the other and chose my words carefully before saying them. Noah wasn't yelling, he wasn't making a scene, but his annoyance at being in this position was loud and clear, like a blinking sign over his head.

  "I didn't pick you for the documentary, Noah. That was Beatrice and Amazon. It's not my choice to be stuck with you. I actually tried to tell her I thought the rookie from New England would be a better choice."

  That made him turn. A slow pivot with his hands bracketing his hips. "Why's that?"

  Ah, there it was, a bright burst of irritation behind his eyes, probably because I insinuated that someone else would be more interesting than him. If there was one truth in this industry you could take to the bank, it was the competitive nature of these men. God bless their predictability in this single regard.

  "My reasons don't matter because they went with you."

  He must have clenched his teeth because his jaw did that thing again. I tore my eyes away.

  "Sorry to disappoint you," he said.

  "You'll only disappoint me if you get in my way."

  His eyebrows lifted slowly. "That so?"

  My hands shook slightly, and I tightened them in my lap. He couldn't see the frantic bouncing of my foot, but if he had, it would have betrayed whatever badass version of myself I was trying to portray.

  I had one shot. I thought about what Beatrice said in our very first meeting. That we rarely had the chance to revisit someone’s first impression of us.

  One chance to rework whatever definition he had in his head about me.

  One shot at this conversation that would set the tone for us to work together.

  To prove Beatrice wrong.

  "You think you're the only person who understands pressure?" I asked. I stood from the chair and dropped the clipboard onto the desk with a sharp slap of sound. He didn't need to tower over me like an overbearing ... whatever he was trying to be right now. "I'll forget our interaction in the elevator yesterday because we were both taken by surprise." I lifted my chin. "But it's been almost ten years since you've seen me, Noah. I'm not the same girl, and you are not tempting enough to risk the opportunity that's been given to me. If I can get over what happened, then you need to too. It's not like I'm ripping my shirt off and begging for another chance."

  Those eyes flicked down my body, an intentionally derisive motion that took my measure in no more time than a single thud of his icy chunk of a heart.

  "Sweetheart," he drawled, "it wouldn't matter if you were."

  Heat burned my cheeks, but I refused to drop my gaze. "Glad to hear it."

  Noah's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't say anything else.

  "If you're free after practice tomorrow, my office is two doors down on the right. We'll meet with Rick, he's the Amazon producer, and go over our filming schedule for the next couple of weeks. We'll need on-field and off-field access to you."

  At that, he made a sound that could almost be confused for a laugh, if he wasn't a soulless robot with no emotions.

  Scratch that.

  Noah had emotions. They just seemed to be slight variations of irritation.

  "Off-field access to me will be pretty boring," he admitted. "But they're welcome to film it all the same."

  "Good." I held out my hand, but he didn't move closer. If he wanted to shake on it, he'd have to come to me, and based on the dangerous gleam that entered his eye, he knew it. "See you tomorrow?"

  For a second, my hand was frozen in the air, and I worried that he'd let it stay there. But then he took two steps and enveloped my hand with his. My whole arm tingled, chills slipping up my skin at the dry, hard calluses on his fingers. It had been a minute since a man had touched me, and I hated that he was the one to elicit the reaction.

  "Don't make me regret that I agreed to this," Noah said, still gripping my hand tightly in his.

  I smiled, and for some reason, the sight of it made his face darken like a thundercloud. "Right back at ya."

  Chapter Eight

  Noah

  "Hope this doesn't bite you in the ass."

  I grimaced, tightening my grip on the weight ball under my palm, then lowered slowly toward the ground in a push-up until my muscles shook. When I straightened my arms again, I rolled the ball and caught it with the other hand, setting that on top of the rubber surface for another rep.

  "It won't," I told him through clenched teeth as I did another one.

  "I thought you wanted defensive player of the year again. It's been two years since you won it. Why split your focus on something unnecessary?"

  That was my father for you. I couldn't see his face since we were on the phone, but I knew damn well what his fa
cial expression was doing. Stern set of his wrinkled brow, hard slash of a mouth that rarely ever smiled.

  He loved me, but he wasn't a warm man. But in his concern, and in the way he had always shown it, I'd learned to glean the words he wasn't saying.

  I love you, and I'm worried about you.

  Another push-up and I sat back on my haunches, rolling my shoulders as the light outside my apartment started dwindling to a bluish purple.

  "Because the front offices don't see it as unnecessary," I told him.

  "Yeah, well, they're not the ones who have to suit up every week, are they?"

  I smiled unwittingly, wondering if the grumpiness he injected into his voice was a hereditary trait. If it was, I'd inherited it.

  "No, they're not. But I don't think they're wrong either. In the end, I think it'll be a good thing." I couldn't believe I said it without choking on the words. More than that, I could almost believe that I meant them. "I met with the crew from Amazon today after practice. I like what they're trying to do. They're not sensationalizing what life is like for players or creating drama or fake story lines. It's just a clearer look at what it's like for us."

  He harrumphed.

  "You tell your mother yet?"

  I lay back on the ground and stretched my body out as long as it could go. Something satisfying popped in my back, and I groaned. "Not yet. Haven't talked to her in a few weeks."

  My parents divorced when I was in high school, old enough to decide that I'd rather live with him in Seattle than move with her and her new husband to where he was stationed in Germany. My relationship with her was ... fine. Neither parent was overly effusive when it came to their emotions, and I was the byproduct of a lifetime of that reserve.

  In high school and college, it had been my goal to be the opposite.

  I'd be fun because my parents weren't.

  I'd enjoy life because they sure as hell weren't.

  I'd be able to do both of those things while succeeding at football because my dad hadn't been able to.