The Star (Charleston Condors Book 1)

RILEY WASN’T JUST GOING to puke. Nope, he was way beyond throwing up from nerves. Nausea was something he could handle, knew how to handle, but this…this constant buzzing under his skin, anxiety spiking whenever he so much as thought about the game tomorrow?

It was a freaking nightmare.

He was currently pacing in his hotel room, too keyed up to do anything as mundane as sit on the bed and watch TV or read or even scroll through Instagram.

After the walk-through, he’d walked with Landry to the elevator, and Landry had given him a quick peck before anyone else had joined them. “Just in case,” he’d said, “I don’t get to do that later.”

They hadn’t talked about sleeping together tonight. Riley wouldn’t be surprised if Landry had some idea he didn’t want to bother him the night before one of the biggest games of his career.

Because while last week had been undeniably great, everyone had already put an asterisk next to it—it was a preseason game and therefore didn’t count as much as it might.

But tomorrow was a regular season game. It would matter. There wouldn’t be an asterisk next to it. In ten years, most people would believe this was his first game, not the one he’d played in last. And, unlike last week, which didn’t count for the Condors’ standings, this game would count towards their win-loss record for the season.

Nobody expected them to do anything. The Condors were in something way more drastic than just rebuilding mode. Then, even worse, they’d lost their original starting quarterback to injury before the season had even begun.

If they lost, and then lost again, and lost another ten times, nobody would even be surprised.

But Riley already knew he refused to accept that.

In the last two weeks, he’d gotten to know the team better, the coaches, the staff—and he knew they wouldn’t accept that either.

But how to reconcile all that inevitable pressure with his need to shed it like a skin the moment he took the field tomorrow?

He nearly picked up his phone and texted Aidan. He’d know how he felt because he’d been in this exact same spot so many times. Once, he’d even admitted to Riley how anxious he got before games, but somehow, he always managed to shed the nerves the moment he needed to.

You can’t call him. You can’t call him anymore. You need to learn how to do this shit for yourself.

But even the thought of all that weight on his shoulders made him want to bow to the pressure.

Then, suddenly, it occurred to him that he wasn’t alone.

He might not have Aidan in his corner anymore—had he ever really had his brother in his corner? Riley wasn’t sure—but he had someone else.

Landry.

He threw on a hooded sweatshirt, tucked his room key and his phone into the pocket of his shorts, and slipped out of his room.

He knew what room Landry was in because he’d passed it on the way to his own after the walk-through. He glanced up and down the hallway. It wasn’t like this was expressly forbidden, but leaving your own room after curfew was definitely not encouraged. Especially not if you were doing it for what Riley wanted.

Sex, maybe. If only so he could get out of his own mind, even for a few minutes.

But comfort, definitely.

Riley didn’t see anyone, so he hesitated at the door. Then knocked. Softly. And then a bit louder.

A few moments later, the door opened, Landry’s face framed in the gap between the door and the doorframe.

“Everything okay?” Landry asked, looking concerned.

Tomorrow, he had to put on a good front. Look like his confidence went bone-deep. That it was unshakable. But tonight, with Landry, he didn’t have to be any of those things. He could be himself. He could be vulnerable.

“I wanted to see you,” Riley said. Hesitated. “Needed to see you.”

“Oh.” The concern on Landry’s face melted into affection. “Come in.”

He pushed the door open wider, and Riley glanced down as he passed by him in the tiny hallway leading to the main part of the room.

“You really came to the door like that?” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow at how little he was wearing.

The bed was unmade, and the TV was on, but only on a low volume, like Landry hadn’t really been watching it.

Riley pulled off his sweatshirt, and he watched as Landry’s eyes dilated as his bare chest was revealed.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Landry teased. “Though maybe I was hoping for you.”

Riley sat down on the edge of the bed. Couldn’t deny he was enjoying the view of Landry, too, clad only in his boxer briefs, those thick, muscular thighs, and big, broad chest on full display.

He wanted to nuzzle him like a big teddy bear.

Like his teddy bear.

“You didn’t say,” Riley said reproachfully.

“I know,” Landry said, dipping his head down as he sat down next to Riley. “I didn’t want to distract you. I know how important tomorrow is.”

“For me, yeah, but for you, too.”

But Riley knew it wasn’t the same. Landry wasn’t the leader of the team. Landry was well into his NFL career and would go down as one of the best tight ends to play the game—the fact the Condors had spent so much money on him when they didn’t have much, to begin with, and had chosen to put him front and center on their marketing materials said everything.

Landry didn’t have to make his career here. Whatever happened with the Condors would just be the cherry on top of all his success.

“Yeah, but I know how nervous you are. I can see it in your eyes.” Landry put a hand on his knee. Squeezed it. “And don’t worry, I don’t think anyone else can see it, but I do. Because I know you. Because I care about you.”

It was impossible not to be cut down to the marrow by that look on Landry’s face. Impossible not to tell him the truth. “Why do you think I came to you?” Riley said, hearing how raw his voice sounded.

“Come on,” Landry coaxed, and a minute later, they were lying in bed, Riley in what was becoming a familiar position, his cheek resting on Landry’s pectoral muscle.

It was a surprisingly good pillow.

“You know, you’re gonna be okay,” Landry said softly. “I know what you’re capable of, and you’re going to go out there tomorrow and kick ass. I’ve been seeing it all week.”

“Yeah.” Landry wasn’t wrong; practice had gone well all week.

“At the very least, the Falcons don’t have a corner as tenacious as Rex,” Landry said, chuckling. “We can run that play.”

“I’m counting on it,” Riley said.

For a long time, neither of them said anything.

Riley had never been with anyone he could just be with, the way he was with Landry. Didn’t feel pressured to be funny or charming.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” Riley said, finally breaking the silence.

Landry’s arm tightened on his back. Not in panic, because when Riley glanced up at his face, there was no alarm there whatsoever. Instead, all he saw was satisfaction.

“I hope so, ‘cause I’m in this,” Landry said. “I’m…well, you gotta know how I feel about you, Riley.”

He had an inkling. At least if it was anything like what he was feeling.

“Same,” Riley murmured. “And not just cause you lived rent-free in all my adolescent fantasies.”

Landry laughed. “You should tell me about some of those sometime.”

“Hell no,” Riley said. “They’re all super embarrassing.”

“Exactly,” Landry said.

“It feels good to know it’s me and you together…against whatever we’re against,” Riley finished awkwardly. “I don’t know how long we’re going to have to keep this under wraps from Coach or from Mr. G. I don’t know how we’re going to tell Aidan or when, but…it still feels good. No matter what the fallout is.”

“I don’t know about when we’d tell Coach or Mr. G either, but as for your brother…I was sort of thinking we’d tell him when we saw him in two weeks,” Landry said.

Riley was surprised at the certainty in Landry’s voice. He’d clearly been thinking about this.

“Yeah,” Landry continued. “I’ve given it some thought.” Like he’d read Riley’s mind. “I don’t know how you feel about it—he’s your brother, after all, and you’ve had the majority of the issues with him—but I know I don’t want to keep it from him. Not for a long time. This is…well, you’re too important for me to keep a secret. Not from someone I care about, too, like Aidan.”

Riley didn’t know what to say. When he’d said, I guess we’re really doing this, he hadn’t really considered what that meant.

Now he was.

Yes, that meant telling Aidan.

Was it crazy that he was more afraid of his brother’s reaction than the one they’d get from Coach Kelley or from Mr. G?

Yes, it was. But then, Aidan was a beast of a whole different color.

“Yeah, he’s my brother, but he’s your best friend,” Riley said cautiously. “We can tell him then, if you want. The only thing that’s non-negotiable is that we do it together.”

“A united front, maybe prevent him from deciding one of us seduced the other one?” Landry sounded amused.

“I kinda think we seduced each other, though it wasn’t like I didn’t make a very earnest effort,” Riley teased. “And then there’s you, who walked around without clothes on every chance you got.”

“Maybe I just do that all the time, even when you’re not around,” Landry protested.

“Hey, if I looked like you, I’d do that, too.”

“I wasn’t the one in only a towel in the hallway,” Landry argued, amusement rippling in his tone.

“Oh, you liked that, huh?” Riley’s face hurt, he was smiling so hard.

“You drove me insane,” Landry said roughly. “Which you probably know. In any case, yes, we’ll do it together. And the rest…”

“I don’t know how Coach Kelley is gonna feel about it, but I do know Mr. G said he wanted to model the Condors on the Piranhas, and it’s not like they ever booted anyone out for being queer and together.”

“Hardly,” Landry scoffed. “Look at my brother and Dylan. The quarterback and his coach. The head coach married a guy. In the middle of the freaking season.”

“Exactly.” Riley was quiet for a moment. “How about…I just want to have a game or two under my belt. Feel like I belong to this team, make it harder for them to freak out and boot me out.”

“Riley, you belong,” Landry insisted. “But I get it. I do. We can wait to tell Coach Kelley and Mr. G if you want. However long you want to wait, I’m good with it. I know your position is not the same as mine.”

Riley hadn’t known beforehand, but he realized how glad he was that Landry had admitted that. If Landry, so far into a successful NFL career, tried to claim he occupied the same semi-precarious position as Riley, he wouldn’t have loved him so much. Landry was undeniably kind and fair—but more than anything else, he was honest. Even if the honesty wasn’t necessarily comfortable.

“I don’t want to wait forever,” Riley said. “What kind of relationship can we even have if we’re keeping it under wraps for months and months? I don’t want that.”

“Me, either,” Landry said.

“Even if it means you’re…well, that you’re out?”

“Riley.” Landry pointed out patiently, “Has it ever seemed like I gave a shit if people knew I liked guys, too? If I was queer, just like my brothers? Just like you?”

“No,” Riley admitted. If he was being honest, that was really attractive. Like Landry needed any more reasons to be insanely, irresistibly attractive.

“I care about you, and I don’t care who knows it,” Landry said with absolute certainty. “We’ll tell your brother when we see him because I do think that conversation is probably better to have in person.”

“What, so Aidan can punch you in the face?”

“Hey, I’m not looking for an excuse to kick his ass or anything,” Landry said wryly. “But I think…maybe he won’t be as pouty about it if he knows how we feel. If he sees it.”

“He’s gonna be pouty about it no matter what,” Riley said matter-of-factly. “But that will be one hundred percent his issue.”

“Yeah,” Landry agreed. “And as for the rest of the team and the coaching staff and Mr. G…that decision is up to you, Riley. I trust you to do what you feel is right for you, and for us.”

Riley marveled that there was an us.

And that the us was him and Landry.

He wanted to say those three little words so badly they were right there on the tip of his tongue.

But he didn’t.

He wasn’t necessarily afraid anymore, but it didn’t feel right, yet. And the need to do it immediately, the moment he’d felt it, had passed because now he knew he’d get a hundred chances to say it. A thousand chances to show it.

Landry wasn’t going anywhere, and he felt the warmth of his love, even if he never said the words, radiating through him.

“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” Riley asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“I’ve never wanted anything else,” Landry said.

If Landry hadn’t witnessed Riley’s nerves for himself last night, the uncertainty in his eyes and in his voice, the terror he might let everyone down revealed just for him to see, he’d never have imagined he was anxious about this game at all.

Today, under the harsh lights of the visiting locker room, he jumped on a low table and addressed the whole team.

“Nobody thinks anything of us,” Riley said, “nobody thinks we can win any games. Nobody thinks we’re worth the money Mr. G paid for us. That we’re just a worthless group of people who aren’t ready or willing to give up yet. I don’t know about you—but I’ve heard this bullshit my whole damn life, and not only am I tired of hearing it, I’ve been ready forever to put it to bed. Let’s give everyone who doubted us—me and you and this whole freaking team—a reason to look stupid Monday morning. Let’s go out there and show everyone that we’re not just untried and undersized and washed-up. That we’re not just rebuilding. That we’re not just recovering. That we don’t need one year or two years or three years. That we’re here, now.”

Deacon clapped and whooped.

Landry gave a shout and pumped his fist. More players joined in, and Riley’s face, gorgeous even with eye black smeared over it, broke into a bright, confident grin.

Like he knew, just as Landry had told him the night before, that he had this.

Usually, Coach gave a speech, too—at least he had in the preseason games.

But today, instead, Mr. G strode into the middle of the room.

He was unassuming, barely six foot tall, and slender. Pale skin, like he spent too much time inside, with messy brown hair falling across his forehead, as if getting a haircut took too much effort. But his hazel eyes glowed with as much confidence as Riley had just displayed.

Everyone had said he was crazy to invest all these millions in a franchise that many had claimed was finished, done. That the Condors were too broken to ever be fixed. Too broken to ever be redeemed.

He’d been the first to believe that wasn’t true.

Now they all believed, too, and at the front of the line leading them was Riley, who believed so much it practically rolled off him in waves.

Whether that belief went deep, Landry wasn’t even sure. But what really mattered was that everyone else saw it and fell in line right alongside their leader.

After all, tenacity and determination were highly contagious diseases.

“Riley’s right,” Mr. G said, raising his voice to be heard over the yells and cheers. “Nobody believes in us. Nobody even gives a fuck about us.”

Landry glanced over to where Deacon was leaning against a locker, his dark hair even messier than Mr. G’s. There was something there, a look on Deacon’s face Landry recognized deep down. A feeling that echoed inside himself.

He likes him, like really likes him, Landry realized.

“Here’s the thing,” Mr. G continued, “we can go out there and limp through the season. Fulfill every prediction they made about us. That we’re done, we’re finished, that all we deserve is to be put out of our misery. But I’m telling you now, I didn’t come here to be miserable. I came here, and I bought this team, because I refuse to accept this team, that you, are too far gone for redemption. Now, we’ve rooted out the worst of the corruption here.” Landry watched as the owner’s fists tightened at his sides. “Bravery isn’t quitting when the going gets hard. It’s putting your head down and doing it anyway. I didn’t come here to be miserable. I came here to fucking win.” Mr. G lifted his fist, clenched tight, and pumped it.

The shouts and cheers were deafening.

When he’d come here, Landry thought as he jogged out of the tunnel towards the field, he’d expected his brothers and his family to not understand why he’d made this choice. He could’ve stayed in Buffalo. Could’ve gone to Atlanta and played for Arthur Blank and the storied Falcons franchise.

But he’d chosen to join the underdog.

Why? Because he believed the same thing Mr. G did. The same thing Coach Kelley kept reminding them about.

Logan had called him up when he’d texted his decision to the family group chat.

“I knew you’d do it,” he’d said. “I knew the instant their offer came in, you’d go to Charleston.”

Landry hadn’t been able to hide his surprise. “Really?” He hadn’t even known. Not until he’d sat down and really thought about it.

“Of course. It’s the kind of guy you are. You’re not the guy who just extends a hand to the kid who just got knocked down. You’re the guy who joins that kid and fights back at his side. So of course you’d be nuts enough to go to Charleston.”

Logan wasn’t wrong.

He wasn’t here to offer a helping hand. He was here to get down in the trenches and fight back with these men by his side.

Riley hadn’t been voted one of the captains because he hadn’t even been around during the vote, but Landry had been, and to his surprise, he’d been asked, even though he was new to the team. So he joined Deacon, the defensive captain, and Ethan Miller, the kicker and special teams captain, at the center of the field for the coin toss.

They won and deferred their kickoff until the beginning of the second half.

Returning to the sideline, Landry stopped in front of Riley, sitting on the bench next to Charlie and Cole, going over the first few planned plays.

Riley glanced up at him. His gaze was steady, even, glowing with confidence.

“Go get ‘em,” Landry said and reached out, Riley taking his hand and clasping it in his.

Landry squeezed.

“See you out there,” Riley said.

It was both a vow and a promise.

For years, Aidan had told Riley that at some point, when you reached a certain level of mastery at the quarterback position, the game slowed down. Stopped racing by like an out-of-control train hurtling down a mountain. That you could control it versus letting it control you.

Riley had felt that once or twice in college. Had tasted tantalizing hints of it when he’d played in the XFL for the Pittsburgh Defenders.

Had even felt it last week.

But he’d never felt as in-control as he did this afternoon.

Ethan, the Condors’ kicker, jogged onto the field to kick off the second half.

They were currently up seventeen to seven, which didn’t feel like a lot of wiggle room, but the Falcons’ only touchdown—really the only time they’d ever moved the ball at all—had come on a very deep pass, Rex losing the receiver. He’d come back to the sideline, surly and angry, kicking some equipment, before Deacon and Jem had pulled him to the side and tried to calm him down.

But on two of their four drives, the Condors had moved the ball really well, methodically marched down the field, notched first downs, and grabbed yardage one manageable chunk at a time.

Most importantly, Riley felt like he was truly leading.

He stood high in the pocket.

Every pass he threw, he was proud of.

He handed the ball off to Darius, who ate up the field, running hard.

He ran himself, but only when the situation truly called for it.

At the beginning of the second half, he didn’t feel like he’d done anything Aidan could even criticize.

You’re not thinking about him, not right now. Not today.

That was the change, Riley realized.

He’d stopped trying to live up to Aidan’s long shadow and focused hard on setting his own path.

He wasn’t a second-rate version of Aidan Flynn. He wasn’t even a better version of his brother. He was the best version of Riley.

It was third down and two; they were nearly at mid-field, and Coach Oscar called in the play, and Riley felt a thrill when he heard the words he’d been waiting for.

Of course, he’d thrown the ball to Landry a couple of times during the first half, but this was the play.

He loved the hell out of playing football; he wouldn’t have worked this hard for so many years if he didn’t. Just being on this field, leading this team, was an honor and a blessing. But throwing the ball to Landry? He couldn’t deny there was something extra special about their connection.

Riley announced the play to the huddle. Met Landry’s eyes across the middle. He nodded, and Riley nodded back.

They’d both wanted this and now they were going to get it.

It was a risk. He could’ve handed the ball off to Darius and let him get the two yards.

But Coach Kelley had stood up at halftime and announced to the team that they weren’t playing this game safe.

“We either win, or we go home just the team they thought we were. I know which one I want,” he’d said. “I know the only way I can hold my head up on Monday morning.”

Riley knew what he wanted, too.

He not only wanted to hold his head high, he wanted to prove everyone wrong who’d ever predicted he wasn’t going anywhere. That he was going to end up a washed-up running back who pretended he was a quarterback.

With Coach Kelley’s words echoing in his head, Riley clapped and broke up the huddle.

He leaned down, called out the snap count, and watched as Cole snapped the ball, where it landed in his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Landry duck the safety in the middle of the zone, lingering for just a moment.

Don’t stare him down, don’t even look at him till the last moment. Until you don’t have any choice.

The main risk of the play was, of course, an incompletion. But there was a possibility he and Charlie had discussed of the safety guessing the way it would unfold and stepping in front of the ball, intercepting it before Landry could turn and catch it.

Riley had to make sure he didn’t give the safety a single goddamn clue so he’d never guess the direction they were going.

He had to hope Landry was going to turn at the exact second. Had to trust him completely. In this play, timing was everything.

They’d practiced it relentlessly during the week, over and over again, so Riley knew the way Landry—and the other receivers, Carter and Nick and the others—ran in his sleep. Could feel their footfalls with his eyes closed.

Or with his eyes looking down Carter, double-teamed along the other sideline.

At the last possible second, Riley, giving Landry as much time as he could, threw the ball, watching as it arced through the air. Landry turned, caught it against his body, and turned back towards the end zone. With each driving step, he moved further and further away from the corner.

Until he was sprinting right into the end zone, and Riley was running, too, before he’d even realized it, hurtling himself into Landry’s arms, laughing and screeching so loud that he’d done it, probably even the fans in the stands could’ve heard him.

Landry lifted him up, and he fist-pumped in the air, once, and then twice.

His face was full of joy—and full of love—and Riley didn’t think he’d ever forget that moment.

Landry released him and then picked up the ball that had fallen to the ground. “This,” he said, over the roar of the crowd, “belongs to you.”

It felt like he wasn’t just handing him the football, the first touchdown he’d scored in a regular season NFL game, the first, Riley knew, of many. But something bigger, too.

It felt like Landry was handing him his own self-respect right along with his loyalty, his recognition, and most importantly, his heart.

‘Riley, how did that touchdown to Landry feel?”

Riley grinned at the reporter who’d asked the question. He knew press conferences weren’t always fun. But this one? After beating the Falcons thirty-five to seven, this one was going to be a freaking blast. He could already tell, especially considering the first question.

“Which touchdown to Landry?” he asked impudently.

He’d probably pay for that later, but he was feeling too good to give a shit right now.

Yep, Riley was feeling damn good. Because he’d thrown not just one touchdown but three, and two of them had gone to Landry.

The reporter grinned right back. “The first one, sorry. The first drive of the second half. That was a tricky timing play, and you’re still pretty new here to the Condors.”

“Yeah, I am, but we’ve practiced a lot together in the last two weeks. Really gotten our timing down. Not just me and Landry, though, but all the receivers. They’ve put a lot of work in, and it paid off today. That’s a tricky route for a tight end to run, but I trusted he’d do it, and he’d do it right.”

Another reporter raised their hand, and Nikki, the head of PR for the Condors, called on her. “Could that be because you’ve known him a long time? Longer than some of the other players on the team?”

“I’m assuming,” Riley said, “you’re referring to the fact he and my brother are close. Actually, though, I’m not sure I ever threw him a pass before I came to Charleston. So no, it wasn’t really because I’ve known him for a while because he’s friends with Aidan—but because of who Landry is and the kind of work ethic he possesses.”

Nikki called on a few more reporters, but the questions were all easy lobs. Nobody pressed him, not even on the few bad decisions he’d made. Not bad enough to resort to something like an interception or a fumble, but Riley already knew, despite the amazing win, he and Charlie and Coach Oscar would be back in the film room next week, breaking down everything.

But more importantly, he already knew that whatever his brother said—good or bad or middling—it didn’t matter because Riley knew the job he’d done was exceptional.

After the press conference, he followed Nikki out the door and back towards the locker room where the rest of the team was gathered before heading out on the team bus for the airport.

But to Riley’s surprise, they weren’t alone in the hallway. Mr. G was standing there, leaning against the wall, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey, Riley,” he said, pushing off from his spot and joining him and Nikki as they walked. “Great job today.”

“Thanks, Mr. G,” Riley said. He’d liked the owner from the moment they’d met and even more after sharing lunch together right after he’d been signed.

“Not that I ever doubted you.”

“Even though they called you crazy for signing me?” Riley asked archly. He’d heard the talk. He couldn’t not hear it.

How many times had he been told, Riley Flynn would be a great backup, but he’s not a starting quarterback?

But Mr. G had bet on him, anyway.

“If they didn’t see what I saw when you were in Pittsburgh, they were the crazy ones,” Mr. G said, shrugging. “I’m not a football guy, as they like to say, so I just take all those assumptions and ideas and throw them away. So what, you’re not six foot three or six foot four? Who gives a fuck? Can you throw the ball? Can you run the ball? You proved you can do both of those the last two weeks.” Mr. G put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember that if anyone gives you shit about being short.”

“Thanks,” Riley said.

“And,” Mr. G said, grinning wider, “that touchdown you threw to Landry was a work of art. You two together, you’re something else.”

“I think so,” Riley said, agreeing. Hoping that when Mr. G found out just how good he and Landry were together, he’d still be on the same page.

“And,” Mr. G said, leaning in a bit closer, his voice dropping, “it wasn’t just the way you handled yourself in Pittsburgh, but earlier. Back in college.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling he knew what the owner was getting at.

“You mean I could’ve just stayed in the closet and not hurt my draft stock? When it was already suffering?” Riley questioned.

“Exactly. You’re authentic. That’s worth more than someone who’s six foot three,” Mr. G said. “At least to me. And to this team, clearly, because you’ve already won them over, Riley.”

“Glad to hear it,” Riley said and then hesitated. Just last night, Landry had told him it was up to him. That he’d get the final say on when they told people. “Between you and me, throwing touchdowns is always great, but to have my first official NFL touchdown go to Landry…”

Mr. G grinned. “Yeah, I wondered.”

“Yeah.” Riley didn’t want to say anything else. Maybe he hadn’t really understood. But at least he wouldn’t be blindsided when the news came out. If even a fraction of the intelligence gleaming in his light hazel eyes was legit, he wouldn’t be surprised at all.

Mr. G patted him on the shoulder again. “Still glad you’re our quarterback.”

They stopped in front of the doors to the locker room. “Honestly,” Riley said, “it’s my fucking honor, sir.”

The corner of Mr. G’s mouth quirked up. “You know, I tried to get Davis Abernathy to come back and play for us.”

Riley hadn’t known that the owner had even approached the former, quasi-disgraced quarterback the Condors had discarded, and then the Piranhas had picked up as their quarterbacks’ coach.

“I didn’t think he was playing anymore,” Riley said cautiously.

“He wasn’t. He isn’t. But I felt with the way this organization treated him under my predecessors, it was only fair I try to make it right. I couldn’t in the end, but that was okay because we cleared the air, and that was the most important thing. He’s content where he’s at, and I couldn’t be happier for him.”

“He got the raw end, for sure.”

“Collateral damage,” Mr. G said wryly. “We’ll be trying to fix that forever.”

“I think,” Riley said slowly, “the important thing isn’t how long it takes but that you’re doing it. Even when it’s hard. Couldn’t have been easy to approach Davis.”

“It wasn’t,” Mr. G said. “But you’re right. It was the right thing to do.”

Riley was still turning his conversation over in his head when Landry flopped down next to him on the plane.

“You’ve been surprisingly quiet,” Landry said, smiling as he turned towards him. “Thought you’d be dancing down the aisles.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “I saw you there in the locker room for my victory dance.”

Carter had cranked up the music, some old Notorious B.I.G. song, and the whole team had joined in, even Deacon, who’d originally claimed he didn’t dance.

But he did when they won.

“Thought you’d still be doing it,” Landry pointed out.

“I was, I am, just thinking about stuff. Talked to Mr. G after the press conference.”

“He happy with you?” Landry asked, then answered his own question. “He better be because you played fucking lights out.”

“Oh yeah, he is. Just…I think I might have hinted to him about us. He took it pretty well.”

Landry looked surprised. Not upset, though, not at all. “Really?”

“It felt right, and while I didn’t say it explicitly, I think he got the point. He’d just pointed out that first touchdown pass to you was a thing of beauty and that we worked really well together.”

“We sure do,” Landry murmured, dipping his head close. Riley knew he wanted to kiss him, but he didn’t.

Yet.

Someday, he could do it.

Maybe even sooner than Riley had imagined he could.

“And I said something about how it meant more, throwing my first official NFL touchdown to you. And he said he wondered…”

“He’s a super smart guy,” Landry said. “Observant.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe.”

“And he didn’t seem…” Landry trailed off.

“Upset? Not even in the slightest. Then…well, he told me he offered my job to Davis first. Did you know that?”

“Davis Abernathy? Really? I’d be shocked if he hadn’t just told Mr. G to fuck off, even if it wasn’t him who’d convinced the rest of the NFL he was unemployable.”

“I know, right?” Riley reclined in his seat. “But no, Mr. G said they cleared the air. I realized then—I mean, of course I knew before, but I hadn’t really put two and two together—that I’m in Davis’ old job.”

“You’re holdin’ it up respectably,” Landry said loyally.

“Yeah. I think so. I just hadn’t thought about it.” Riley heard the wry edge to his voice. “Spent too much time obsessing over being the new Flynn on the scene.”

“Yeah,” Landry said, reaching over and squeezing Riley’s hand briefly. “Yeah, but you’re handlin’ that better.”

“I am,” Riley agreed. He tipped his head back. Closed his eyes. He was tired. But happy. Really fucking happy.

“Hey, tomorrow night, you think they’re gonna hold another victory party at the Pirate’s Booty?” Landry asked.

“I’d imagine.”

“Huh. Okay. Well…”

Riley heard the weirdness in Landry’s tone and glanced over at him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Landry smiled. “I just thought…wanted to take you on a date before that. If you wanted to go out with me.”

“If I wanted to go out with you?” Riley chuckled. “I thought I’d be a pretty sure thing by now.”

“Yeah, but…I wanna do right by you,” Landry said.

“I’d love that.” Couldn’t help the thought echoing in his brain. I love you.