Page 148 of The Backup Plan
Sarabeth grazed a fingernail lightly over Jordan’s forehead in panel ten. “I’ve always been supportive of Isaac’s dreams, and I always will be, but?—”
“But Isaac has the safest gear available, and the best reason to stop playing if he ever feels the risk is too great,” Avery said. “There’s no shame in leaving because you don’t want to risk another injury. He knows that. We’ve seen some high-profile players quit after just a few years because they’d rather not chance their health. Isaac’s smart. He’ll know when it’s time to go.”
“I’m a little jealous, Avery. You and Cam will go right from graduation into happily-ever-after in some twee little cottage in France. I’ll go from my wedding to wherever Isaac gets drafted, and I won’t know anyone while he’s off to training twenty hours a day. I don’t even let myself think about the craziness that might happen if he doesn’t get drafted and we have to deal with free agency.”
“It’ll all come together. You’d be deathly bored playing lazy tourists and tracking down Cam’s distant relatives. I bet you’ll have a dinner party roster in no time. And if Isaac’s really gone that much, come stay with us for a while.”
Sarabeth squared her shoulders. “I’ll come visit with him in the offseason. Wherever we land for his team, I’ll make us a home and I’ll make us some friends, because God knows he will not want to make friends on his own. We’ll have an adventure, even if I have to drag him to the parties kicking and screaming.”
Avery grinned. “Atta girl. He’ll come home and tell you about all the fun people he met at work and then panic when you want to invite them to dinner. Probably afraid they’ll regale you with impressions of him singing in the locker room.”
“Do you know what he said to me the other day?” Sarabeth straightened panel number two. “He told me that today, this game, was his last locker room concert, because he knows how much I love when he sings for me and he wanted something to be ours alone. He wants there to be some part of him I don’t have to share with anyone else. And he just threw that out there out of nowhere, but it’s kind of sweet.”
“I mean, I can think of something he’s definitely not sharing with?—”
A familiar voice cut her off.
“Are we late?”
Avery’s jaw dropped, and she clapped her hands in amazement before darting across the room for a hug.
“What the hell?” asked another voice. “Only Cory gets the hug. It’s like I’m just a backup or something.”
“You’re the best backup in the league, Ethan.” Avery punched his shoulder. “Does Cameron know you guys are here? Is it a bye week? He didn’t say a word.”
“It’s not a bye. We’re head-to-head in Detroit tomorrow evening.” Cory inclined his head and smiled. He tapped his UND hat. “We’re traveling incognito. Surprise party for our boy.”
“You are incognito.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “No one cares who I am. At least I don’t have to wear some shitty school’s hat to disguise myself when I want to go watch an old buddy play ball.”
“Some shitty school.” Avery knocked on the brim of his orange UT hat, brighter and newer than Cam’s. “You guys haven’t met my friend. Cory Thatcher, Ethan Engel, this is Sarabeth MacMillan, Isaac Fields’ fiancée. Sarabeth, the guys.”
Sarabeth stared as Cory took off his hat, raked his hand through his golden-blond hair, settled it back on his head, and shot her the same smile he flashed in toothpaste advertisements. His height and build and the swagger of a national championship caught attention in college. Even with his bright gaze tempered and his cheeks drawn tighter by finally learning to lose a game, he was the face of New York football, and drew glances in every room he entered. Ten Jordans seemed to watch him from the panels.
“I’ve heard all about you,” Cory said. “Your fiancé’s brothers adore you. You are the standard by which Luke and Eli Fields measure all women. I have stories.”
Ethan folded his arms and tapped his foot. “I’ll have you know, we named your future husband after this clown,” he said to Sarabeth. “He was the pseudo-Cory. I think from now on, Cory should be the pseudo-Isaac. We need to take him down a peg.”
Recovering her poise, Sarabeth nodded agreement. “Yeah, I think Isaac’s a little taller.” She scanned Cory head-to-toe. “He’s got better shoulders, too. I hear pseudo-Isaac can’t sing.”
“Can’t sing for shit.”
“I feel like a piece of meat,” Cory complained. “Avery. They’re so mean.”
“Get over yourself and check out the panels,” she said, shoving him and Ethan toward the first easel. She checked her watch and strained to hear through the thin wall separating them from the media room. “Everyone can come see them after the press conference, but you get the first look. We only have a few minutes. When Cameron goes up, we’ll stand in the back to watch.”
“I’m ready for this.” Ethan rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “God, I am ready for this. Someone hold me back if I start pumping my fist and yelling.”
Cory shrugged. “That’s one way to blow our cover.”
“The big man-hug at the end isn’t going to do it?”
“I don’t think they’ll be interested in my face so much at that point, but if anyone wants to attach my name to this, they’re welcome to it.”
“Thatch, look.” Ethan gestured at one of Avery’s pieces. “You can add ‘artist’s muse’ to your stat sheet now.”
Cory clamped a hand over his mouth and turned pink with restrained laughter as he took in panel one: Surrounded by a ticker-tape of posts praising him in UND social media, Jordan kicked back in his football jersey, martini in one hand, a golden helmet at his side, with gold leaf over his entire right arm. “GoldenArm,” he murmured. “I remember thinking that. This is the ‘before’ picture, huh?”
“You’ve got it. Cam mentioned that once. I hope you don’t mind.”