it, looking over the old font and yellowed label. It wasn’t the first time he’d held one of Reese’s bourbon bottles in his hands. Not caring about the crowd and the attention he’d gotten, Ryder slammed the bottle to the floor, shattering it against the expensive-looking tile before he gripped the still-full glass of bourbon and threw back his shot, wondering why it didn’t burn on the way down.
4.
REESE
THERE WERE no secrets in the city. There were shadows, and things done in the dark that no one saw while they happened, but eventually, the sun rose, the shadows slipped, and you were left naked to the world.
The VIP room at Decadence wasn’t a confessional. But people did pray there—to porcelain gods, to men heralded as the saviors on the field—and their church was the gridiron. They offered redemption and hope to the people who had suffered from breaking levees and the brutal mess the Mississippi left in its wake. But there was no real loyalty to anyone in that place. The gossip was simply too juicy.
“On Twitter and Instagram two minutes after you left the club, Reese.” Gia’s voice was loud, held the smallest shriek that she immediately cleared away. But there was still fury dancing in her eyes as she waved her iPhone between Reese and Ryder on her left. “Fucking social media all over my new placekicker…” She glared at Reese, but the curl of her top lip and the bite in her voice got directed right at Ryder. “And our team captain, our quarterback, slamming a bottle against a Parisian Chequer marble floor.” She sat on her desk, dropping her phone on the top to grab an envelope that she flung directly at Ryder. The man caught the envelope and jerked a glare at the team manager but didn’t hold it when the woman folded her arms. He tore open the envelope, pulling out what looked to Reese like an invoice. The Decadence logo ran across the top of the page, and the number she spotted at the bottom was astronomical.
“You’re paying to have that replaced. You damn well can afford it.”
Ryder deflated, slipping low in his seat, fingers covering his brows and forehead as Gia continued.
“What is the problem here?” Her voice was softer now, but there was still an edge to it. “Someone mentioned you cursing at Reese on the field, Glenn.” That had the quarterback snapping his gaze at Gia, waving his fingers at her in a non-committal reply she didn’t seem to like. “You earned a Duke education throwing balls down the field. Had to have at least some intelligence to get accepted in the first place. Speak.”
He did, eventually, taking a long breath, the exhale slow as Ryder scrubbed his neck, head shaking like he couldn’t believe he was getting berated by Gia. The woman was new. She didn’t know the players all that well, and Reese suspected that Ryder, with the Steamers five years, might believe Gia had no right to berate him.
But she did. No matter what he thought, Gia had earned her spot behind the desk. She had a hell of a lot of say about who played, who got benched, and why.
Reese didn’t want to throw Ryder under the bus, and she guessed he wouldn’t want anyone in New Orleans knowing the truth about them. By the way he bounced his heels sitting next to her in front of their team manager, it looked to her like he was thinking of a way around any real explanations.
“Things…were stressful,” he tried, not sounding remotely convincing. Idiot even glanced at Reese, like he half-expected her to laugh at how pathetic those three words were. “I…”
“Gia,” Reese offered, voice calm. In her peripheral, she spotted Ryder curling his fingers on the arm of the leather chair and the foot bouncing stopped. She wondered if he was even breathing. “We…were at Duke together, you know that. My father coached Ryder.” The woman nodded, shifting her eyes between the pair of them as though she waited for the bottom to fall out, for Reese to deliver some earth shattering news. “You know I started playing my junior year, just as Ryder was finishing, and it was hard.” She crossed her legs at the ankle and tried to ignore the low grunt Ryder released. “Ryder and I, we didn’t…get along much. Guess…guess I wanted all my papa’s attention, and he was the golden boy. There were a few…” She shot him a frown when