Traded

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

“Son, that’s the way things work here. You being traded is a part of life, and Phoenix is a great team, a great place to live. It’s hot, never rains, and has plenty of women to choose from.”

Jake stared into the deep-set blue eyes of Murray Donnelly, his about-to-be former coach for the Seahawks. The man had a heavily lined face and thin white hair, and he rapped his knuckles on the desk before leaning back in his chair. He had been behind this crappy old beat-up desk in the basement office for probably half a century. Hell, the team could afford better, had better, but Murray had a thing for old and beat up. Or so Jake often thought.

He squirmed in the wooden chair, and it squeaked under his weight. It wasn’t that he was overweight: Jake Wilde, the youngest of the Wilde brothers, was in the best shape, he figured, of his football career. At six foot two and packing a solid 230 pounds, all lean and hard muscle, he wondered if the chair would hold his weight. It sometimes seemed like all the furniture around him had been made for a kid.

“Look, I know you didn’t want this, but let’s get real, son. You’re young, in the prime of your life, and you’ve already been out with how many injuries?” Murray scowled and then ran his tongue over his coffee-stained teeth. He wasn’t much to look at, but he’d kicked Jake’s a*s from one end of the field to the other and had been the closest thing to a father that he’d ever had—that is, next to Logan, his older brother.

It hurt to be tossed away, turned away by a man he’d thought would fight for him.

“Cardinals are a good team. Bucky Phillips is a good coach.”

Jake wasn’t a moron. Murray always called out in great detail who was who and who sucked big time. Jake wondered if he’d had to choke out the “good” part, as Murray and Bucky were about as friendly as two hounds circling the same b***h. His lips actually twitched when he pictured them both snarling in the same undignified way.

“Look, son.” Murray fidgeted in his chair, leaning back, resting his elbow on the seat arm as he turned to the side. He pulled away just enough that Jake could tell the old man was getting nervous. Feelings were the one thing this man didn’t do, didn’t talk about.

“I know, Coach. It wasn’t your decision.” At least he hoped it wasn’t. He spied a flash of color on Murray’s cheeks. Maybe he was wrong. His stomach tightened at the thought that Coach could be responsible for sending him on his way.

He cleared his throat, which thickened when he thought too much. Reading too much into a situation was one of his flaws. “So I’m replacing Brown?” he said. “He was a second-round pick, a favorite.” He couldn’t say anything else, as he knew he had tough shoes to fill. Brown had been fast, but Jake was faster—or had been before his ACL tear. Now the Phoenix quarterback would be looking for Jake on that field, and it was their relationship, the trust between them, that would mean the difference between winning and losing and being part of that team.

“Yeah, Brown’s out. Tough card he got dealt with that last injury. Retired young, retired early. But not you.” Coach swung around, setting his feet on the ground and standing up, sticking his hand out to Jake. It was his way of saying they were done, so long, get out of here.

It was awkward and impersonal. Jake thought the old man would have hugged him after all they’d been through: the games, hotels, traveling, training. They had been closer than family at one time, or so he thought. He stood up, feeling a twinge in his knee, and shook the old man’s hand, looking down at him.

Murray slapped his shoulder with his other hand. “Get out of here, and make sure you listen to the doc. Stick with your physio. You can’t afford any more injuries, because right now the entire world is watching you.”

Jake knew what he was saying. The football world was the only world that existed for the coach. Anyone or anything else out there was a nobody.