Knox (Chicago Blaze 4)

Luca leads us through each aisle of the store, grabbing things and adding them to the cart. It’s ironic that the one member of our team who is stupid-wealthy is the only one who knows how to cook.

Everyone on our team, with the exception of a couple guys on the tail end of our roster, makes millions per season, but Luca’s wife is crazy successful—she makes more than all of us put together as the owner of a national home furnishings brand with multiple store locations.

“You may have to drag me into my room tonight, boss,” Jonah says to me. “I haven’t had a beer since Christmas.”

Most of us eat clean during the season. This week we all plan to let loose, eating and drinking whatever we please since it’s still early in our offseason.

“Who’s gonna drag me?” I ask him, grinning.

“You’re just gonna have to pass out on the beach.”

I shrug. “I’ve spent nights in worse places.”

“So you don’t like the physical therapist enough to invite her here with you?”

Scowling at him, I say, “We fuck every now and then. I’m not spending an entire week with her and making her think I want a relationship.”

Jonah’s eyes widen as he shakes his head. “Man, you’re what, thirty-four? And you still kinda act like a college kid.”

“What, because I don’t want a woman breathing down my neck 24/7?” I snap, regretting the words as soon as they come out, because Jonah lost his wife Lily last year. “I’m sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Nah, you didn’t say anything wrong.” He pats me on the shoulder. “And if you feel that way, you just haven’t found the right one yet.”

I give him a wry look. “I’ve got the right one, alright. It’s me. I’m a selfish prick, and I don’t plan to ever change.”

“Hey, have it your way, man.”

We wait as Luca stops at a display of pineapples. He picks one up and sniffs it, then picks up another one and does the same. Then he takes one in each hand, seeming to weigh them against each other. He puts them both down and squeezes one.

“You need to at least buy it dinner first, bro,” Rhett quips.

Shaking his head, Luca squeezes the other pineapple, too. He adds both to our cart.

“Can we fucking go now?” I ask impatiently. “I want to get to the beach before the sun sets.”

“Quit whining, you pussy,” Anton says.

A mom walking by us, pushing a cart with two young kids in tow, gives Anton a dirty look. He gives her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he says.

I shake my head, amused by his discomfort. Anton’s normally the last guy on our team who has to apologize for his mouth.

We check out our groceries and pile into Luca and Abby’s two big SUVs to drive back to the house. It’s not just a house, it’s more like a compound, but everyone calls it the beach house since it’s located right on the water.

This place is like another world. Everything is lush and green, and the views of volcanoes and the ocean are incredible. Every time I come here, I think maybe this is where I’d like to live when I retire. I could party with hula dancers every night until I croak.

When we get back to the house, Abby’s in the kitchen with Luca’s nephew Jack, who’s like a son to them. She’s peering into the massive, stainless steel Viking refrigerator, looking for something, and I have a clear view of her profile.

Holy shit. Her slightly swollen belly is unmistakable in the bikini she’s wearing, her lightweight cover-up draping open just wide enough that it’s on full display.

Abby’s pregnant. I don’t show any reaction, because after losing her only biological child several years ago, she probably isn’t ready to share the news yet.

“Mixed berry juice, lemonade or water,” she says. “What sounds good, Jack?”

As she looks over at him, she realizes her cover-up is open and she quickly grabs the sides to tie it closed. She looks around, locking eyes with me, and I try to look as casual as possible.

“Lemonade,” Jack says. “In a Star Wars cup.”

“I’ve got it, babe,” Luca says, getting a cup out of a cabinet.

“Anyone coming to the beach with us?” Abby looks around the room at all of us.

“We need to get the grill going,” Luca says.

I scowl at him, wishing we’d just ordered pizza for dinner instead. Winters in Chicago are no joke, and it seems to shift from freezing your ass off directly to drowning in rain directly to hot as fuck. There are no tropical breezes in the urban jungle, though I do like living there.

I’ve been with the Chicago Blaze for seven years now, and I plan to spend the rest of my career with them. The ownership is fair and doesn’t get involved in coaching or personal stuff.