Page 83 of Hot Receiver

Chapter 35

Zak

Itry to focus on the charts and graphs on Ryan’s laptop screen, but my head is screaming for more pain meds. A frustrated sigh slips from my lips. I close the lid and lean my head back on the couch, my left temple thundering.

“You need anything?” Ryan asks, looking up from his iPad. “Is it time for your medication?”

“No,” I grumble, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “It’s too soon to take it again. I’ll just suffer.”

The Squawk Boxis on the television hanging on the wall across from us so I can try to get my head back into the financial zone. I raise my head enough for my eyes to follow the stock ticker across the bottom of the screen, staring blankly at the letters and numbers streaming and making absolutely no sense of them.

“Tell me again about the companies you’re evaluating.” I scrub my hands down the front of my face, take a deep breath, and sit up.

“Well, as you know, we’ve changed focus a bit and have been investigating various properties that can generatecommercial and residential income, specifically in South and West Florida. We’re working with realtors in both geographic locations to find the best spaces and focus for our investments, but there’s a lot of potential for this new fund. We target the universities—graduate program students and undergraduates—and then we…”

I try to listen, try to hear whatever the fuck it is that Ryan’s saying, but the clanging between my ears muffles every word. I don’t know why I thought that throwing myself into work would make me forget that the past few weeks happened… or the way they ultimately ended in the emergency room.

Ryan’s voice eventually trails off, probably when he sees the glazed look in my eyes.

“Zak, we don’t have to do this now.”

“We have to. I need to think about something other than football.”

“Why don’t you want to think about football?” Ryan leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Look, you did a good thing the other day before that game. Fuck that asshole Travers. He didn’t shake you at all in front of the press. You went into that locker room and did what you set out to do. You fucking inspired the team, man. You need to be proud of that. It’s the same thing you do for all of us at KCap. You inspire all the time, and you don’t even know it. Why the hell do you think we work our assess off for you?”

“Because of the boatloads of cash I pay you?” I say in a dry voice.

Ryan smirks. “The cash is nice, sure, but it’s you. Your leadership is the reason why KCap is such a market monster, why investors are looking to throw capital at us left and right. You did the same thing for your team the other day. You led them to that victory. You finally got out of your way and said what they neededto hear.”

“It felt good. But I don’t know if I have it in me to be the kind of owner they need. I don’t know how to?—”

I bite the words on the tip of my tongue and swallow them down because I can’t bear to hear myself say them.

I don’t know how to be the leader they need and constantly face the fact that the love of my life and star of the team will always be just beyond my reach.

To live with that knowledge and not be able to do a thing about it…fuck. How can I do my job as an owner and separate myself enough not to have my heart shatter every time I look at him?

“I appreciate all that, Ry. Really, I do. But one thing I realized the other night when I was afraid I might be paralyzed from that accident was that life is too damn short to not be happy.” I drop my eyes to a worn edge of the leather cushion. “I think selling the team is the only way I can give my all to the one thing I’m good at. My dad would have wanted me to be happy.”

And I need to separate myself from Matt Harrison if I have any shot of moving forward and finding that happiness.

My phone buzzes on the table across from me. I let out a groan, my head dropping backward again. “Christ, I don’t want to talk to any more investors today.”

“I’ll field questions, don’t worry about it.”

Ryan gets up and stretches his arms overhead. “I’m starving. You got any booze?”

I snicker. “Sure, help yourself.”

Staring at the television screen, I try to block out the vibrating noise that never fucking stops. “Jesus, people are relentless,” I mutter, grabbing the remote control.

I can’t listen any more about financial projections and unemployment numbers.

Ryan returns with a bottle of Pellegino for me and a StellaArtois for himself. He collapses onto the couch on my left and takes a long gulp of his beer as I mindlessly flip through channels.

My finger freezes on the remote when I land on ESPN. In the background, I still hear my phone buzzing but block it out when I see Matt’s face on the screen.

I blink fast, still not able to cut through the shock of the words I see on the bottom of the screen.

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