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Tyler turned in the doorway with a question on his face.

“I’m doing a couple covers for Condé Nast this month. Everybody needs good grease, right? I could hit up some other celebs.” He shrugged. “See if they’d be interested in helping out.”

Tyler shook his hand again. “That’d be amazing. I really appreciate it. I’ll send you the details.” After a wink and a salute, he jogged down the staircase to the street, feeling excellent about surprising Josh with some outside celebrity muscle.

“Breathe. Find the path before trying to run,” Tyler whispered to himself. Josh kept reminding him. No matter the pressures from the team, the media, even the fans. Because deep down, all he wanted was to protect his heart, in every sense, and find his way back to the man who had captured it so completely.

Tyler headed for practice that morning feeling a little better.

Right after the Qualcomm Stadium had been rebuilt as the Snapdragon, Boris had spent $190 million to build the Swells a fancy compound. He’d bought eleven acres southwest of I-8 and erected a mirrored office tower, a state-of-the-art gym, and a full training facility near Mission Valley East, all just ten minutes from the new stadium.

Practice was… fine. He participated in about half the drills. The coaches gave him enough grief that he started to believe they actually still wanted him on the team.

To their credit, all the coaches seemed to be keeping a close eye on him through the agility drills and dummy tackles routines. McBride and Janowitz made him sit out the strenuous bits, just to be safe. All of them offered encouragement that felt sincere, even when Tyler wondered just how irreplaceable he was.

A couple of hours later, the Swells offense wrapped up for the day. Tyler wandered back toward the locker room, muscles pleasantly sore and loose from the morning workout. As his cleats clicked across the tiles, he traded friendly insults and shoulder checks with some of the guys from his practice squad.

“Hey, gramps, hope we didn’t bust your catheter,” jeered Odell, a cocky second-year quarterback with dreads and braces. He’d transferred in from Detroit and had golden hands. “You still hit plenty hard.”

“Sorry if I knocked the tit out of your mouth, junior,” Tyler fired back with a grin. They jabbed at each other and chuckled.

As always, the camaraderie with his younger teammates energized Tyler. Their competitiveness made him feel like part of the team again, not just some battered charity case.

After Tyler rinsed off and returned to his locker, some of the veterans came over to check in.

“How’s the ticker holding up, pa?” asked Calvin, a starting linebacker.

“Still ticking,” Tyler replied. “We’ll see if it stays that way whenever I go full contact.”

“Don’t push it too fast, Fantana.” Calvin lowered his voice. “You listen. Ain’t no shame in taking your time, no matter what they tell you. We need you at a hundred and one percent, not the glue factory. You’d best pay attention to that heart.”

Tyler nodded, appreciating the candor. The coaches wanted to fast-track his return, but his teammates seemed to understand the risks. Their concern meant everything right now.

After toweling off and pulling on dry shorts, Tyler headed to the training room for his biweekly PT session. Maureen, his physical therapist, put him through a gauntlet of exercises, massage, and soaks to continue rebuilding his strength and mobility.

“Damn, take it easy on me, lady!” Tyler joked after a brutal set of squats with resistance bands. These exercises started out like nothing, but the ache snuck up on you.

“Got to get you back in shape if you want to survive out there.” She poked his side.

He nodded. Humor and honesty—with so much pressure coming from all directions, they helped him remember what mattered.

“I can’t believe they dragged you back so fast.” Her expression turned serious. “Take your time. You know your limits better than anyone.”

“You sound like Josh.” Tyler nodded. “I’m trying to listen to my body. Just hard to say no when they all think I’m ready to rock.”

Rolling his legs to one side and then the other, Maureen adjusted his hips expertly and then quickly cracked his back three times for good measure.

“God, that feels good. You got to teach me how to do that.”

“Once you’re back to a hundred percent. I mean it. Keep trusting yourself. Only you really know what you can handle.”

She popped a towel over his shoulder and gave him a thumbs-up. “Tuesday. Hot tub for thirty minutes. I’ve set it hotter, but you can adjust if you need.”

He nodded. He skinned out of his shorts and briefs and slid into the scalding bubbles. Maureen was a proponent of old-fashioned Epsom salts, and over the years he’d come to associate the smell with practice days. Tyler leaned back in the hot tub, letting the heat penetrate his sore muscles.

As the water pummeled him with delicious pressure, Tyler sighed and sank deeper, wishing Josh was here with him.

He ended up soaking for an hour and a half because he knew it was helping his muscles, and when he finally hauled his big butt out of the tub, his entire body was steaming and wrinkled. By the time he reached his condo and got upstairs, the sky was dark over the Pacific Ocean.