Last Play: Book 1 The Last Play Series

W
hen Roman Young
, the Dallas Destroyer’s quarterback, boarded the flight to Salt Lake, he kept his hoodie on, not wanting to be recognized at the moment, which was unusual for him. He was just settling into first class when his phone buzzed.

“What?”

“Dude, you can’t leave.” Jake, his long-time agent and friend, spoke with clipped words. “Your team just won the championship game and there are a bunch of parties and photo ops.”

Roman stared at the shiny new ring on his finger and cringed. It should have been him out there, throwing the winning touchdown, but the coaches had refused, saying they wouldn’t risk his knee. He frowned. His knee was fine now. Better than fine. “I’ll be back in a couple days.”

Jake hesitated and then let out a long, irritated sigh. “Has Sheena roped you into something?”

Roman’s breath hitched at the sound of his ex-wife’s name. “No, it’s not Sheena. It’s…my uncle.”

“Who?” Jake’s voice had a sharp edge to it.

Clutching his fist, Roman let out a whiff of breath. “He passed away two weeks ago, but the attorney was told not to contact me until after the championship game.”

Jake sighed. “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

He unclenched his fist, seething. “It’s…fine.”

“You’ve had a rough couple of months.”

Leave it to Jake to point out the obvious. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait!”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“Hey, did you see the headlines today?”

He’d purposely not picked up a paper or opened up his news app today. The last thing he needed to see was Sam Dumont’s cheating face on the front page—with his cheating ex-wife at his side. “Can’t say I have.”

A soft moan escaped Jake. “No wonder you’re so bugged.”

“I’m bugged because my uncle died.” Which, to Roman’s surprise, was actually the truth.

“I know. I know. But, the owners put out a statement that they still haven’t decided if you or Dumont will be their starter for next season.”

That got his attention. “Even after the game?” The game where Dumont had risen to the challenge of being starting quarterback and taken the Destroyers to a championship game victory?

Jake laughed. “Right.”

The ache in his chest eased a bit.

“I guess they attribute most of the team building of the last few years to you. They said it was your leadership that got them to this point and they think your knee injury is temporary.”

Relief surged into him. “‘Bout time they realized it.”

“Ahh,” Jake let out a sigh. “There’s the cocky ego maniac I know and love. You’ve been absent lately.”

Roman tugged back his hoodie and motioned to the pretty flight attendant. “Could I have some Pierre water please?”

“So why don’t you hop off that plane and come to my office. We’ll talk strategy.”

Roman hesitated, the previous relief instantly evaporating. “I can’t.”

“Roman, you can’t do anything crazy. I need you back for the meeting with the owners in four days.”

“I won’t do anything crazy.” His mind flashed to four months ago, the night he’d been charged with a DUI after swerving into the other lane and hitting a woman and her son. He took the water from the flight attendant and nodded. He’d never been a drunk before, but after that night, when the woman and child had walked away with minimal injuries that could have been much worse, he’d vowed he’d never drink again. His uncle had been the one to re-focus him. He pressed a hand to his forehead and squeezed. He had to stay focused. This could be a new beginning. “Don’t worry, I won’t blow my chance. I’ll be back.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Okay, but keep your head down and stay out of the headlines. We need to have the owners completely convinced that Roman Young is ready to take his rightful place leading the team next season.”

“I’ll be back in a day or two tops.”

“I’m holding you to it. You’re not the only one that gets a windfall when you sign a contract.” He let out a whoop. “Back to the top, Roman Young..... that’s where you’re headed.”

Roman leaned back into the chair and closed his eyes. The whirlwind of his football career flashed before his eyes. After graduating from T & M he’d gone straight to the Destroyers, touted as the top draft pick that year. The Destroyers had paid big for Roman Young, and he’d paid out for them—in spades. He’d taken them to the top and won it for them for three consecutive years. He had felt unstoppable during that time. It was like nothing could go wrong. He’d been the sweetheart of the media and the whole state of Texas.

He’d met Sheena, his ex-wife, at one of the highbrow parties that football players go to and where there are lots of women. Especially the crazy kind.

Roman had always liked women, but he’d only ever had one girlfriend all through college. The funny thing was that when he’d signed on to the Destroyers, she’d dumped him. She’d told him that she didn’t like the person he was becoming.

How could she not like that he was becoming freaking rich? That’s what he was becoming. His ex-wife, Sheena, had completely liked that part of him. It didn’t hurt that she had been five-foot-ten and building her modeling career. Blonde, curves in all the right places. She’d been perfect. At least, he’d thought everything was perfect. The romance had been hot and heavy. He’d found himself saying “I do” three months later on a Malibu beach surrounded by his team.

Thinking of the wedding brought him back to his Uncle Jim. He gripped the certified letter in his hand, the one containing his uncle’s will, and opened it. Uncle Jim had been at his wedding. He’d come to the big, white-tented reception complete with a custom-made dance floor for the beach and white lights. Sheena wanted a very public, very well attended wedding. The best designers planned everything from her dress down to the specialty-made napkins.

Uncle Jim had stuck out like a sore thumb wearing his boots, his ranch hat, and his belt buckle. Roman had been so happy to see him. His uncle was the one who had really made his whole football career possible. After his dad had left, his mother couldn’t afford all the fees required to play football in Texas, so his uncle had paid for it. When Roman’s mother had died during his Junior year of college, it had been Uncle Jim who had come and insisted he pay to bury her. It had been Uncle Jim who had held Roman at the cemetery. And Uncle Jim had been the first one Roman had called when he’d found out the Destroyers wanted him.

At the wedding, Jim had pulled him into a hug and told him how proud of him he was. Tears had pooled in his eyes. It had been the best moment of Roman’s life.

Then Sheena had whisked over, met his uncle, and pulled him away, saying that they needed to ‘work’ the event.

Looking back, Roman didn’t know exactly when he felt like he’d lost himself. It had all been a blur. The media. The team. Their marriage. The society events that Sheena always insisted they needed to be at to build their ‘brand.’

He clutched the will in his hand. At the final bit of advice from his Uncle. The Uncle that he’d failed to be there for. ‘Roman, always remember that life’s not about what you can do. It’s about who you are.’

What did that even mean? For some insane reason moisture rushed to his eyes, but he blinked it back. He’d missed it. The funeral. The burial. All of it. How could the attorney not have contacted him? It was just…wrong.

He leaned back into the seat and thought about the past six months. Everything had gone to complete crap. It had started when he’d gotten sacked and dislocated his knee. That was the beginning of the end of his fairytale life. The next blow had come after the surgery, just when he’d begun insane amounts of therapy. He’d come home early one day and caught Sheena in the act. In their bed. With none other than his temporary replacement as quarterback, Dumont. Apparently Dumont had decided to be his back up off the field as well.

After clearing his throat and watching both of them scramble for their clothes, he’d realized he was shocked, but not surprised. He hadn’t even known until that moment that there is a difference between those two feelings.

Sheena had stood, glaring at him and then sauntered to the bathroom and said, “Well, come on Roman, you can’t really expect me to hitch myself to a washed out player looking for a comeback.”

Of course, he did the cliché thing. The thing that most professional football players do when faced with a potentially career-ending injury and a cheating wife …he went to a bar. And that’s where he kept going until he’d nearly killed a woman and her kid.

That had sobered him up.

He’d called Uncle Jim. They’d talked like they hadn’t talked for three years. About Sheena. About the injury. About the accident.

Uncle Jim had been a lifeline when he’d been in a dark, dark place.

Self-hate and regret coursed through him. He hadn’t asked about Uncle Jim once in that whole conversation. He hadn’t asked how he was doing. He didn’t even know until yesterday that Uncle Jim had been in the midst of his own battle—fighting for his life.

He clutched the will and read the final lines of his uncle’s message. “Roman, I don’t know if you remember your trip to Wolfe Creek very well, but I am giving you the inn because I know it was a place that I felt the closest to you and your mom for those two summers. It needs some work, and I understand if you want to sell it and be done, but I’m not letting you off the hook that easily.”

Roman had booked his ticket last night. He’d also contacted the attorney, Robert Burcher, in charge of his uncle’s estate and ripped him for not letting him know about the funeral. Then he told him he wanted to sell the place immediately. Burcher had told him that he already had a buyer in place. The paperwork just needed to be signed—in person and at the inn, according to his uncle’s wishes.

He clutched the thick stationary. Why hadn’t his uncle wanted him to go to the funeral? And what did his uncle think he would want with an inn anyway?

R
oman stepped
out of the airport and immediately cursed himself for not thinking about the weather. He hadn’t expected to be standing in the freezing cold as he tried catching a cab outside of the Salt Lake City airport. He hunched even further into his thin hoodie as he slipped into the cab. “Wolfe Creek.”

The cab driver turned back and frowned. “Wolfe Creek, up past Ogden?”

Roman couldn’t remember how long it took to get from Salt Lake City to Wolfe Creek, he’d only been twelve and thirteen during those visits. “Something the matter with that?”

The driver lifted his eyebrows and laughed, pointing out the window. “Have you seen this snow? It hasn’t snowed like this in a long, long time, and that canyon will be nasty.”

Roman sighed and pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet. “Look, if you take me up there, this your tip.”

The cab driver hesitated and then snatched the money and shook his head. He was older, and his grey-flecked black hair stuck out of a beanie cap. “Okay, I’ll take you, but you’re paying for both ways, and I need to see another one of these when we get there.”

“Fine.” Roman held his hands up to intercept the warm air from the vents. “Just turn up the heat.”

Rush hour traffic was thick and slow and an hour later, the driver finally turned off the freeway and headed into Ogden.

Roman watched the heavy snow falling on everything and everyone. The plows were out in full force. Roman listened to the radio that cab driver had on, telling people to stay inside, this was the next big one. People drove slowly. They passed an accident going through town and had to wait twenty minutes to be re-routed. “How much longer up the canyon?”

The cab driver turned and gave him a slow smile. “Why? Are you losing your nerve now?”

The fact that he
was
kind of doubting how they would get up there made him keep his mouth shut.

The cab driver laughed. “Look, it’s another twenty minutes on a good day, I guess it’ll probably be an hour before we get up there in all this snow … if we get up there.”

“What do you mean ‘if?’”

The cab driver motioned to the road. “What do you mean, what do I mean? This is the Rocky Mountains.”

Roman frowned. “Right.”

The cab driver looked back and laughed. “You’ve never been snowed in? Where are you from?”

The pit of Roman’s gut clenched. He couldn’t get snowed in up here. He had to be at the meeting with the team owners. “Texas.”

“Ahh.” The cab driver made it through town and started up the canyon on a two-lane road. “I hope you have family up here or know someone because you’re going to be up here for a couple of days.”

Flashing lights ahead showed a diesel truck off to the side of the road. Roman cringed. “Can you turn back?”

The cab driver slowed. “I could try to pull over and turn back if you want. You could probably at least get a hotel in Ogden.”

His uncle’s face flashed through his mind. “Never mind, just keep going. There’s something I have to do.”

The cab driver tsked his tongue. “Man, she must be pretty good looking.”

An unwilling laugh rolled out of him. “No, I’m not going up there for a woman.”

The cab driver let out a muffled laugh. “Cold and lonely, that’s a bad combination.”

The Alaskan Inn looked exactly as he remembered it. Two stories, stone around the foundation and long, round logs framed the exterior. It was definitely a rustic cabin. Somehow, it was clearly visible through the still falling snow. Roman remembered it being large and cozy, but he didn’t remember the big pine trees that stood guard next to it. He didn’t remember the turn around driveway that was, amazingly, plowed. He definitely didn’t remember white lights being hung around it, making it look like something out of a cheesy Christmas movie, well, except for a couple of lights that had burnt out.

The cab driver pulled in front of the inn and sighed. “That’ll be eight-hundred dollars, plus tip.”

Roman scoffed, “What?”

He motioned to the outside. “I’ve risked life and limb to get you up here, and I think you can pay it … Roman Young.”

Ahh. Of course. The driver had recognized who he was even though he’d kept his hoodie on the whole time in the cab. He looked into the rearview mirror and met the smirking face of the driver. “Really?”