Page 1 of Go Deep

Prologue

VINCE

The massive blow drives my body about ten feet into the air.

Goddamn you, Willie Toth.

I feel myself defying gravity, still conscious enough to know what comes next – me hitting the ground.

Hard.

Bright flashes zip back and forth in front of my eyes. Cameras, football stadium lights…maybe they’re hallucinations, since I might’ve just suffered blunt force trauma to the temple. I’m still contemplating, still mid-air, hoping time just stops before I land because there’s nothing cushy on the field to break my almost certain spine-shattering fall.

I thought the defensive end’s hit was the worst part. It wasn’t. It was like a fucking orgasm compared to the crash. Every single nerve ending explodes on impact. I’m assaulted by a pain so intense, it makes my eyelashes and fingernails hurt. My brain rattles against my skull, and my memory is wiped clean like a fried circuit board.

Everything is blurry. I can see… barely… foggy swirls of red, white, and pink flash in front of me. They may be faces, but my brain is bleeding, so who the hell knows? Sounds are muted, colors dull and lifeless.

Kind of like me.

The adrenaline rush of the game does nothing to blunt the agony commanding every cell of my being. My body screams in anguish. Death would be preferable, welcome almost.

My eyes drift closed, all light fading to blackness. A final moment of clarity emerges from the sea of confusion.

This is the end. And I haven’t even gotten a chance to live…

Chapter 1

Vince

“Just a little harder… yeah.” It’s close, so damn close. Relief is imminent, and I’m teetering on the brink. “Ahh. You’re almost there.”

“Mmm. Okay, be patient for once.” Katarina’s nimble fingers massage gently at first, in circular motions, making me want to scream bloody murder. “I’m going to press it in, nice and slow.”

“Slam it in. I can’t take it anymore.”

Torture in its worst form. Twelve hours of searing pain, shooting from my lower back to my calf... a bottle of Motrin couldn’t relieve a shred of the agony. But Katarina, my massage therapist, always has the magic touch.

Pop!And just like that, the disc is in, all aches instantly eradicated.

I collapse onto the table, arms dangling over the sides, spent like I’d just shot a massive load. Guess I pushed too hard during my workout yesterday. My back is always all kinds of fucked up since Willie Toth hammered the final nail in the coffin of my NFL career ten years ago.

When the team doctor told me to pull back after my first injury, did I listen? Nope. I was a cocky rookie, determined to start, destined for the Hall of Fame. No way would I let a bullshit knee pull screw up my first season on the field. I’d worked too hard and for too long.

And I don’t tolerate weakness.

It’s something that’s been drilled into me for as long as I can remember.

So I pushed myself, as always.

Until I finally broke.

Ironically, it wasn’t the knee that ultimately got me. It was a spinal cord injury that almost paralyzed me and took me out of the game permanently at the age of twenty-three.

Regrets? I have plenty. The number could probably rival the number of cells in my battered body.

But that’s me. Impulsive, impatient, a pretty shitty listener, just a few of my many shortcomings. I can catalog the rest, but it won’t be long before they shine through and speak for themselves.

“Vince, you need to go easy.” Katarina wags a finger at me. “Do you want to end up in traction?” It’s kinda cute, her Russian accent making it sound more like “trak-shee-on.” Screw it, she can say whatever she wants, however she wants, as long as those fingers are on retainer.

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