“I’m not going to go to some club and let some asshole I don’t know talk me to death.” There was no way. He was going to fight this. Marty hadn’t really dropped him. There was still time. His QB rating had tanked toward the end of last year, but he was still young. Everyone needed a quarterback.
“If you go and remain sober for three years, you will receive the rest of your contract.”
Trev felt his eyes widen. Ten million dollars. Just for staying sober. Hell, Trev probably couldn’t do it for all the money in the world.
Something inside him was broken. He was deeply flawed. He wasn’t sure how or why it had happened. His father had loved him. He’d died far too young, but Paul McNamara had loved his family. His mother and sister had loved him. He was the problem.
“Why the hell would you do that for me?” Trev asked, the words heavy in his mouth. He was tired. A weariness invaded his bones making him feel so much older than his twenty-six years. He was twenty-six, and his career was over. He was over.
“I believe in second chances, Trev.” Curt leaned forward, his hands on his desk. “Or, in your case, third or fourth chances. You had enormous talent. You couldn’t handle all the crap that went with it. It doesn’t have to mean your life is over. It simply means this isn’t the life for you.”
He was an idiot. That was what Curt Goff was saying. And Trev knew it. He was a dumb-ass. The only things he’d ever been good at were football and working a herd. His father’s herd was gone now because Trev had gone off to play football and left his mom and sister with no one to work the ranch. It had been sold off to some organic ranch co-op. There was nothing to go back to. He wanted to call his sister, but he couldn’t tell her how badly he’d fucked up.
The papers would do that job for him. Trev let his head fall to his hand.
“If you say yes, you can be in Dallas tonight, beginning your treatment. You would have to stay for at least a year.”
Trev’s head came up. “A year?”
“I believe I mentioned this isn’t standard treatment.” Curt pressed a button on his desk. “You need to make a decision. This offer is only available for the next five minutes. If you don’t accept it, you’re on your own.”
Anger threatened to shove aside the panic. “You have no right to do this to me.”
“If I give you time to think about it, you’ll come up with a million ways out. I’m closing off all the exits. You can fix yourself, or you’ll have nothing. You’ll walk out of here and lose your house, your cars, all those fancy clothes. You’ll find solace in a bottle. You’ll drink all you can, and when that stops working, you’ll do whatever it takes to find that oblivion you seek. You’ll sell whatever you have left, including yourself. You’ll drink it, snort it, and when that doesn’t work, you’ll inject it. You’ll do it until one day you don’t wake up.”
Trev could see it. The rest of his life was laid out in a neat pattern. He would do everything Curt said. He would use until he died. He would try to find that place where nothing mattered and no one cared.
He was going to kill himself. He was going to waste everything he’d been given, and he would never even know what it meant to really give a damn.
What the hell did he want?
“I’ll do it.” The words came out of his mouth, but they felt foreign.
“See, that’s what I wanted to hear.” A new voice spoke from the corner of the room. Trev turned and saw what he hadn’t seen before. A man stood in the corner. He was roughly six foot four with dark hair that hit his shoulders. Despite his long, slightly curly hair, the man had a military bent that couldn’t be denied.
“Who the fuck is that?”
Curt smiled and held out his hand. “Meet Leo Meyer. He’s the man who’s going to fix you.”
Leo Meyer nodded toward the door. “So, you ready to go? It’s a long way to Dallas.”
What did he really have to pack? Some clothes? He would have to sell the house and everything in it. None of it mattered.
“I can go now.”
Trev stood and walked toward a man he didn’t know but hoped would show him the way home.
He didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Bo O’Malley felt the smile come over his face as Mouse walked into the tiny church. She wore a gray skirt and white blouse. Both were a little too big for her. Her brown hair was pulled back in an old-lady bun, but she was still the sweetest sight he’d seen all day. It meant he wasn’t alone.
No one else had shown up. Bastards.
“Mouse.” He felt himself relax for the first time all morning. He never had to pretend with her. Of all the people he’d known in his life, Mouse Hobbes was the one who had accepted him with a whole heart. Her father stood beside her, leaning heavily on his cane.
She smiled shyly, but then everything she did had a shy quality to it. “Hi. We’re not late, are we?”
Only Mouse would ask that question when it was blatantly obvious the church was almost empty. Besides Lexi’s family and a few friends—including a scary, dark-haired dude in a suit who reminded Bo of a mobster—there was no one in the church. Certainly no one from here in Deer Run. Even the pastor had been imported from Dallas. Bo had heard the only way they had gotten the church was Jack Barnes’s generous contribution.
He reached out and took her hand. Mouse’s hand wasn’t as soft as the hands of some of the women he’d dated. Mouse worked hard. Strange then that he’d always liked holding hers. Mouse was the sister he’d never had.
Except that sometimes he thought about doing things to Mouse that he wouldn’t do to a sister.
“No. You’re right on time. Lexi is almost ready.” Bo turned and greeted George Hobbes. He looked frail but dapper in his suit. The suit had probably been in his closet since the seventies. George Hobbes was what people in Deer Run called an individual. It was not necessarily a compliment. “Thanks so much for coming out, George.”
George Hobbes held out his slender hand and shook Bo’s. “Anything for you, son. You always watch out for my girl.”
Bo lightly gripped the hand in his. George was under a few mistaken impressions. He believed that Bo was dating Mouse. Bo wasn’t going to correct him. Bo and Mouse had been friends since their junior year of high school when she had gotten him through chemistry. And algebra. And English. He had a high school diploma because Mouse hadn’t let him fail. He’d had a deep affection for her ever since.
And besides, George Hobbes was dying. The cancer was slowly eating away at his health, and it was only a matter of time. If believing Bo would take care of his daughter made that easier on him, then Bo wasn’t about to take that away.
“Did you manage to get your father here on your handlebars?” Bo grinned as he asked the question. Mouse wasn’t big on driving. She had a license, but she greatly preferred her bicycle.
Mouse’s face scrunched up at his teasing. “I can drive, Bo. I just do it slowly.”
“Hello, Bethany, Mr. Hobbes.” Aidan walked up looking very tidy in his monkey suit. Bo hated his, but Aidan seemed to like wearing a suit all right. He and Lucas were dressed almost identically. “It’s so nice of you to come.”
“We wouldn’t miss it. I’ve come to really like your Lexi,” Mouse replied.
In the months since Lexi and Lucas had come to live at the O’Malley ranch, Mouse had gotten fairly close to Lexi. Bo was grateful for their budding friendship. Mouse had offered to help Lexi by reading some of the stories she wrote. The two had bonded over their love of romance novels. Without Mouse, Lexi would probably feel alone.