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stared at the three-page eviction
notice in his hand. He glared at the paper. Yeah, he smelled a rat
when one scurried into his territory. He’d been a great renter,
kept the place immaculate. Now he had thirty days to move out.
Thirty days he didn’t have while the Jacks were making a run for
the playoffs.
The place had been sold out from under him
and he hadn’t even known his former teammate had put the house up
for sale. The former teammate who now played for a team vying for a
playoff spot with the Jacks.
The asshole was trying to screw him
over.
Brett needed to find a home for him and his
furry family while working sixteen-hour days. He’d also lose his
animal sitter, old Mrs. Styles, who took care of his animals during
the week. She loved all animals and didn’t care a bit about Bongo’s
cussing because she couldn’t hear. Even better, she liked the extra
money in her pocket for her brandy and her Saturday night bingo
sprees at the casino.
Brett sat down on the bench in the locker
room and focused on the far wall, the paper still clenched in his
hands. The Jacks had lost another game over the weekend, but they
still had one more chance, and that was all he needed. One more
game in the regular season, one more chance to prove himself, earn
a spot as a starting quarterback on his own team—with a lucrative
contract.
Heavy, uneven steps echoed across the empty
locker room floor. Brett bent his head, pretending to text message,
and prayed the guy would walk on by. No such luck. A pair of large
feet framed by crutches appeared in his line of vision.
Brett rolled his eyes and glared up at
Harris. “Go ahead, chew my ass and get it over with.”
Harris glanced at his own iPhone, tapped a
couple times on the screen, studied it, and then met Brett’s gaze.
“You sucked the first half, then the second half you settled down
and played a decent game. You’re getting better, but we’re running
out of time. It’s”—Harris consulted his smartphone again—“Monday,
late afternoon. We need to get started on the next game with the
Rams. We’ll spend tonight going over yesterday’s game then we’ll
start on the next opponent.”
Brett nodded, pushing thoughts from his mind
of becoming the first NFL player under contract to be homeless.
“It’s a short week because of Christmas, so
we’ll work Christmas day, too.”
“Sounds good.” Brett had completely
forgotten about Christmas. Like he gave a shit. To him it was just
another day. Besides, he’d be absolved from guilt about not going
to his family’s Christmas. Sorry, Mom; gotta work.
“Did you have plans for Christmas dinner?”
Tyler frowned as if the thought just occurred to him.
“Nope, none,” Brett grinned, actually happy
to avoid his family drama.
“Well, then good. You can join us. We’ll eat
and get back to work.”
“Uh, I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can. My mom and aunt love cooking
for huge groups.”
“But—”
“You’re going. It’s the quickest way to do
our Christmas duty and get back to work. You know where Derek
lives, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Be there at one. We eat at two. Now that
that’s settled, let’s get to work.”
Settled? Harris gave orders like General
Patton, and never took no for an answer. Brett decided it would be
better just to go. Besides, surely Estie would be there. Despite
how stupid it was, Brett wanted to see her, especially on
Christmas.
Brett stood, wadded up the notice, and
banked a shot toward the garbage can in the locker room.
Harris snatched the balled-up paper out of
thin air with one hand. “What the fuck is this? I told you not to
pay attention to any of that shit they put on the internet or in
the papers.” He smoothed it out and read it. Anger filled his eyes
and Brett could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Aren’t
you living in Jermaine White’s house?”
Brett nodded.
“White did this on purpose. The bastard.”
Tyler smashed the eviction notice
Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch
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