Race For Love Page 2

They rounded the corner toward the training rooms and passed several of the players, all towering well above Derek's six foot three inches and Zeke's six feet frame. The guys all did a round of head nods before continuing. "Usually, I'm the suspicious one. Why can't you just accept that my hard work is paying off?" But who was he kidding? Zeke's wary nature was one of the reasons they got along so well, they'd both learned to be a little distrusting along the way.

  Zeke crossed his arms over that behemoth of a chest. The former linebacker still kept in excellent shape. "That's because the system has taught me to be suspicious. Rich white dudes don't ever call me into their offices and want to give me something good."

  Derek laughed. "I'm sure when you signed the dotted line to be a Green Wave, it was in some rich white dude's office."

  His friend rolled his eyes. "That was different."

  "Yeah, sure sounds like it. Besides, this has to be about the spot for the starting trainer." The way the Jaguars worked was a little different than most other teams. Their training staff included the athletic trainers and the physical therapy staff. Derek was on the athletic training side. And while he worked with the majority of the team, the really prestigious spot was working with the starting lineup. Keeping that crew physically healthy and ready to play was paramount to the franchise's success. And he wanted to be part of that legacy.

  "The work I did on Colton Jakes brought him back stronger than ever and weeks ahead of schedule. And then what I did with LeDarius. Man, he was a head case every time he had to take a three. He never trusted that his shoulder would hold. One month with me and he's unstoppable."

  Zeke shook his head. "I'm glad you're so modest about it too."

  Derek grinned. "Well, you gotta know your strengths right?" That, and he made it a point not to be a fuck-up. The way he saw it, fuck-ups had folks all over their shit all the time. He liked his independence. If he kept proving himself, good things would continue happening and he'd have even more autonomy. Before he knew it, he'd have a head trainer job and he could write his own ticket.

  "Must be nice being a pretty boy with the Midas touch. You're one lucky bastard."

  His success had nothing to do with a Midas touch or luck. He might have gotten some lucky breaks, but he worked hard. His dad always said there was no such thing as luck. Just the right opportunity at the right time and some added hard work. Derek knew he'd grabbed some good opportunities. But he'd also put in the effort. Now this was his chance to work in the spotlight.

  "Then it's a good thing I don't believe in luck."

  Zeke nodded as he grabbed their roster for the day. Unlike most rehab centers where there was a lot of psychological work to be done to get people in the mode to push through the pain, these guys were all elite athletes. For Zeke and Derek, the hard part was keeping them from pushing too hard to come back. They had absolutely zero understanding of their bodies' limits.

  "Man, that swagger of yours, it's blinding. We could bottle it up and sell it. I'll call it ‘White Boy Charm.’"

  Derek grinned. "I like it."

  Zeke rolled his eyes. "Of course you do."

  Derek tossed his stuff into his locker then slapped his friend on the back. "Wish me luck, bro."

  Zeke's killer smile flashed. "I would, but you already have the luck of the Irish."

  "Ain't that right?"

  In the elevator, Derek leaned back against the glass and watched the passersby on each floor through the clear glass. The Jaguar Building was a sight to behold. All steel and glass and sleek modern fixtures. His first time in here he'd nearly shit himself. It was like every childhood dream come true all at once.

  He'd lied to Zeke. He was a little nervous. There was a chance the AGM would tell him that he was still too young, too inexperienced. After all, he was only twenty-four.

  Stop. You put in the work. And he had. Once his dreams of playing had been shattered, he'd taken a double course load to graduate early and do a dual masters in Athletic Training and Physical Therapy. If he couldn't play anymore, he at least wanted to be as close to basketball as humanly possible.

  When he reached the executive floor, one of the assistants led him into the smallest conference room. Even though the room was only big enough to seat five or so comfortably, it was outfitted with a solid oak center table and Aeron chairs.

  He didn't have to wait more than five minutes before the door opened, but instead of Royce, Kallie Wintor stood in front of him. What the fuck? He hadn’t seen her in a month, since the night they broke up. "Kallie? What the fuck are you doing here?" A girl sneaking onto the premises was not new. But usually they were here for the players.

  She tilted her chin up. "Your meeting is with me."

  The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, giving him the advance warning of danger. "Kallie, I don't have time for this. I have a meeting. If you don't leave on your own, I'll call security."

  Kallie shook her head, her blue eyes mischievous. "You really should have listened to me when I said I had a plan for you. But you didn't, so here we are."

  He knew he was missing something. She was either totally crazy town or he'd overlooked something major. "Cut the shit, Kal."

  "Okay fine." She spread her arms. "If you'd just given me a chance, I would have told you that my full name is Kallie Wintor Endelstein. Roger Endelstein is my father."

  Oh shit. She was that Kallie? But Kallie and her father were estranged. Had been since Roger and her mother split. For years, she’d stayed away from anything Jaguars. His head spun, and sweat popped onto his brow. He'd been fucking Roger Endelstein's daughter? As in the fucking owner of the Jaguars basketball team. Fuck. Even though his breathing shallowed, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. "I still don't know what you're doing here, Kallie."

  "I didn't take you for being so slow, but I guess I was wrong about that. Dad's been after me for years to take a position with the team. Wants me to learn the ropes. To work and shit. So I took the AGM job last week. The guy in line for the job wasn’t thrilled, but whatever. Training staff is under my department...imagine that."

  Right now, she owned him and they both knew it. And from the looks of it, she was intent on payback. His stomach pitched. No matter what she had to say, it wouldn't be good for him. He could feel it, her glee. She practically vibrated with it. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Just do what you're going to do, Kallie." His voice was low, gravelly, as he worked to control the fury coursing through his veins.

  "First, you might want to address me as Miss Endelstein, second, watch your tone."

  The hell he would. "Listen, if you think—" But she didn't let him finish.

  "I'd advise you to stop there. Whatever you want to say, take that and weigh it against how badly you want a starters training job with any team in the NBA."

  Fuck. She knew what he wanted and she wasn't above dangling it in front of his face. "You wouldn't."

  She grinned. "Derek, it really pains me to say this because, well, I like you, but it's time for the Jaguars to let you go. You've done great work but it's time to part ways."

  He saw her lips moving, but he couldn't hear a thing after she said, "...let you go." He was fired? Everything moved in slow motion as his brain stuttered. He repeatedly looped the last few minutes, trying to make sense of what was happening.

  She's firing you. "I've given nothing but blood, sweat, and tears to this organization. I've worked with some of your biggest up-and-comers. This is a mistake."

  "You signed an at will employment contract, Derek. I don't have to give you a reason. But let's go ahead and say we were looking to take the training staff in a different direction. Maybe you can even go with differing philosophies. Or we can talk about the Deyshawn Wallace situation."

  His fury bubbled to the surface. "This is bullshit, Kallie. Deyshawn kept his injuries to himself and chose to self medicate. I caught it and put an end to it."

  "I've been looking at the file. You caught it late."

  "You
fucking vindictive—" He cut himself off before he said something that could be used against him later. He rolled his shoulders. Calm down. Be fucking calm. That was the only way to get through this. "Look, maybe I could have been more sensitive that night. I wasn't looking to hurt your feelings. But we were over, we both knew it. You can't fire me because of that."

  Her eyes went wide. "Derek, what you're accusing me of is a violation of my ethics."

  Ethics his ass. She didn't know the meaning of the word. "You lied to me, and somehow I end up paying for it. You mean to tell me, you firing me is not about me breaking up with you?"

  "Those two things are mutually exclusive, Derek. You forget the Jaguars are here because of my family. And we are making the best decision for the team."

  He planted his hands down on the table and glowered at her. "I will fight you on this." From the start, he should have listened to his instincts. He'd slept with the wrong girl and now he was paying for it.

  "You're welcome to try. But you do, and there go your chances of ever getting another job in the NBA. You wanted your independence, now you have it." With a smirk, she left him in the conference room.

  In the span of ten minutes his dreams lay in ashes at his feet.

  3

  Sunlight streamed into the brightly lit room and Derek rolled over in bed, dragging the floral covers up over his head. It was too fucking early to be awake. He'd been up half the night and needed another hour of sleep at the least. Unless of course, there was a basketball game. He would get up for some basketball.

  He'd been back home in Hope, New York, for exactly two weeks and he was already losing his mind. He loved being back in the chaos of his family. But being at home also meant it was never quiet. It meant there was always someone there, in his face, asking him if he was okay. Giving him the look. The one that was part pity, part, “Well now what the fuck is he going to do?"

  He still couldn't believe Kallie had actually fired him. He'd rationalized his fling with Kallie because, well, he'd been thinking with his dick. Idiot. She'd made things sound so easy. He'd wanted to believe her when she said she only wanted super casual, no strings. So he'd ignored his brain, and his instincts, and he'd gone with it. She'd been just another girl to fill an empty hole.

  And then he'd found out that she'd broken his one rule. She was like every other woman he'd ever met who used sex to control men. They were both fucked up, and he'd been in his rights to call it off. But this wasn't some random girl whose calls he could avoid. This one came with claws...and fangs and was intent on taking a piece out of his ass.

  The worst part of it was the trumped up reasons she'd used for his dismissal. She'd called into question every decision he'd ever made. Left him with no legacy. The trainers and athletes were all under the General Manager's purview. That should have been Royce's call. But, no doubt, she'd called in her trump card of being the owner's daughter.

  Kallie. The evil bitch had fucking pulled the trigger. All because he'd dumped her.

  Right after the perp walk through the training facility, he'd called his father, the only lawyer he knew, and had filed an appeal. They'd tried to file for an injunction too so he could keep his job while they waited for the appeal, but no dice on that. So home he'd come. The damn appeal could take months and that would mean he'd miss the season and he could kiss all hopes of a starting trainer position goodbye. She'd killed his dream. For nothing.

  If he'd just slept with her again, he could have had whatever he wanted. There was no suppressing the involuntary shudder. He liked his independence far too much. He'd made the right choice. Life was just gonna suck for a while. Because not only had she fired his ass, she'd essentially blackballed him. With his credentials, he should have had his pick of jobs. He'd reached out to numerous teams, but so far, not a single call. It didn't matter how many favors he was owed. No one was calling him. He was a pariah.

  There was a sharp knock at the door, then it immediately opened. There was only one person who did that, his father. From under the covers, he growled, "Jesus, Dad, I'm not a kid anymore, you can't just bust in when you feel like it." Then he yanked the covers down to give his father a glare that said he meant business. Too bad it didn't work on the old man.

  Derek stared at the man who would essentially be his reflection in about twenty-five years or so. He was the spitting image of his father. From their height of six foot three, to their jet-black hair and blue eyes. His father's hair had more salt than pepper now, but they were pretty much the same.

  "You think I give a shit how old you are?" John Donovan might have talked tough, but he still glanced over his shoulder to see if his wife was around and Derek smirked to himself.

  His father had married Sarah when Derek was eight and she was pretty much the only mother he remembered. She was warm and giving, but was also a force with a diabolical streak. And she had a rule about cussing in the house where the younger kids could overhear and there was hell to pay if her rule was broken. Like back breaking yard work kind of hell. Or toilet scrubbing hell. Or his least favorite, teenager chauffeur kind of hell. She always tailored the punishments for each of her kids, depending on their tastes and their infractions.

  Feeling ornery, Derek muttered, "You want to say that louder, so Mom can hear you?"

  "Never you mind about your mother hearing me. She'd agree with me this time. It's time for you to get your ass out of bed."

  Derek dragged the duvet down past his shoulders, but he settled on his back, intent on showing his dad that he wasn't budging. He knew what the old man was about. He wanted to light a fire under him, but Derek wasn't moving until he was damn well good and ready. Either that, or until the Jaguars called to tell him he had his job back. "Dad, it's not like I have anywhere to be. And before you tell me that there is something to be done around the house, I fixed the gazebo yesterday, mended the screen on the back door, changed mom's oil and scrubbed the downstairs bathroom, even though it was Max's job since she snuck out last month. There's nothing around the house that needs me. And before you tell me Mom could use my help at the clinic, I already went twice this week and helped her organize the new shipment of drugs and the storeroom. I have no reason to be awake."

  The muscle in his father's jaw ticked, and the old man set his lips into a thin, firm line. Derek recognized the grim set of his father's mouth. And he should. Not only had he seen it enough growing up, but it was the same expression he made when he wasn't budging on something. Hell, he was probably making the same face. "Derek, you know what I mean. You need to wake up before noon, son."

  "For what? Is there a basketball game on?"

  His father threw up his hands. "You know what, if I thought it would get you out of bed, I'd offer to play you."

  Derek smirked, the blood in his body starting to rush at the thought of playing again. "You want a little game of one on one old man? Or do you have a client to get to."

  His father pointed a finger at him. "Don't you take that cocky tone of voice with me. Don't forget who taught you to play in the first place."

  Point noted. His father had taught him. He'd been a point guard at Notre Dame way back when. But still, Derek couldn't help a jibe. "The old back bugging you again, Dad?"

  "No, just my son who had his ego bruised and his dream trampled on. That's what's bugging me. Derek, this isn't like you. You don't wallow. You bounce. You've always bounced. Even when you were a kid."

  Derek clenched his jaw at the allusion to his mother. The day she'd left them, he'd been five. He'd been terrified his father would leave him behind too, so he'd vowed to be the best little boy, be of help and be independent. If he wasn't in the way, then maybe his father wouldn't leave. He did everything he could to be self reliant and resilient. He'd made an art of never having to need anyone. Being as helpful as he could be to his father and big brother.

  "I'm bouncing, Dad. You think I'm not doing everything I can?" He pushed himself into a sitting position and scrubbed his hands down his face. "Just
so you know, I was up at one in the morning calling all my contacts in the European leagues. I’ve called every single player I can who is good enough to vouch for me. I’ve also called every player stateside between the coasts. I'm bouncing Dad. I'm just also trying to get some sleep while I do it."

  His father's shoulders slumped. "Why didn't you say anything?"

  "Because, I don't want you guys giving me the look. 'Oh poor Derek.' I'm tougher than that. I don't need the pity."

  "Always so damned independent."

  "That's how I like it."

  His father shook his head. "Okay. Fine, I hear you. But what you don't seem to understand is that you have a whole family behind you. If you don't talk to us, we can't help you."

  "You're helping with my appeal."

  "It's more than that, son. Your sister is the best fixer in New York. I know you haven't asked for anything from her."

  "Because it's my shit to fix." And he would rather eat shit than ask for help, even though he knew Delilah would do it in a heartbeat.

  "And if one of us had a lead on a job would you accept help then or would you insist on going it alone."

  That got his attention. No way in hell he was going to tell anyone how desperate he was for a job. But he was climbing the damn walls. "What are you talking about?"

  "Well, your old man might be more useful than for just his legal knowledge. I have a friend who could use a trainer."

  He perked up. "Basketball? Shit, I'll take anything. Even high school right about now."

  His father shook his head. "No, not basketball. Racing. Cars. I played with TJ Daniels back at Notre Dame. We've kept in touch over the years. One of his drivers had a really bad crash a couple of months ago. Needs some rehab. You're the only expert I know, so I thought I'd get your ass out of bed."

  Feeling ornery, Derek glanced over his father's shoulder and said, "Hi, Mom."

  His father whirled around so fast he almost lost his balance. Derek hadn't laughed that hard since before Kallie Wintor. "Seriously, Dad, you should have seen your face. Classic."