the end of the season, she may not get any more players to sign with her. She’s going to work hard to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Listen to you, talking like you know about the business side of this stuff,” Jared joked.
It was Cedric’s turn to flip his teammate the bird.
“It’s about time you started to take this seriously,” Torrian said. “I’ve been telling you guys you’ve got to be concerned about more than just what’s happening on the field. There’s gonna come a time when you’re not on the field anymore, and you never know when that’s gonna happen.”
Theo, who had been studying his dominoes as if they held clues to the meaning of life, popped his head up and turned toward the stairs. “Was that the door?” he asked.
“The door? Man, what’s up with you?” Cedric asked Theo, who’d been silent through much of the conversation.
“Huh?” Theo shook his head. “Hey, are we done here?” He let the dominoes fall to the table as he rose from his seat. “I forgot I had something to do tonight.”
“We’re in the middle of a game,” Jared argued.
“We’ll finish it next Sunday,” Theo returned.
“We have an away game next week,” Cedric reminded him.
“Then just finish without me,” Theo said, shoving his arms into his leather coat.
Cedric glanced at Torrian, who had yet to voice a protest at their prematurely aborted game. Torrian balanced his chair on the two back legs and grinned at Theo.
“Kick some Cardinal ass next week in Arizona,” Theo said as he jogged up the stairs.
They all just stared at the empty stairway leading up to Torrian’s first floor.
“What was that about?” Jared finally asked.
Torrian shook his head. “I think Theo needs to figure it out for himself.”
Cedric turned to him. “Have you been hanging out with Obi-Wan Kenobi? Chill out with all this ‘enlightened one’ crap. It’s starting to freak me out.”
“Shut up,” Torrian drawled. He pushed his dominoes away and nodded toward the pool table. “Playtime’s over. Grab a cue stick. It’s time for me to school you two.”
Cedric and Jared glanced at each other and nodded. Then they both tackled Torrian to the floor.
Checking his rearview mirror, Cedric noticed the sun just beginning to rise as he took the exit ramp from I-95. He’d finally discovered the secret to avoiding traffic on this oft-repeated trip: hit the Jersey Turnpike just a few minutes before six a.m. The drive from Manhattan to Woodbridge, New Jersey, had taken him just over an hour. Not bad considering it usually took him two hours to get to the group home where his brother resided.
Cedric meandered his way through Woodbridge Township, taking in the peacefulness at dawn. At seven a.m. on a Monday morning there would be a sea of humanity clogging the sidewalks of Manhattan, but other than a couple of joggers and the occasional businessman walking to his office, Woodbridge residents were still easing into their weekday.
He turned into the parking lot of Marshall’s Place. Yesterday, when he’d made his weekly postgame call to his brother, he’d asked Mrs. Bea, the group home’s director, whether he could come in early this morning to see Derek. His upcoming schedule would prevent Cedric from seeing his twin for at least a month.
When Cedric walked to the steps of the home for the mentally and physically handicapped—which really was a home, not some sterile institution—Mrs. Bea was waiting for him on the porch. Marshall’s Place was named for her own son who’d died of complications from cerebral palsy. She took care of the patients in this home as if they were her own flesh and blood. The small, unassuming facility was touted as the best care center for cerebral palsy patients in the country.
Cedric had given the press a dozen reasons why he wanted to spend his entire career with the Sabers, but no one knew the one true reason he wanted to remain in New York. Marshall’s Place was
“Listen to you, talking like you know about the business side of this stuff,” Jared joked.
It was Cedric’s turn to flip his teammate the bird.
“It’s about time you started to take this seriously,” Torrian said. “I’ve been telling you guys you’ve got to be concerned about more than just what’s happening on the field. There’s gonna come a time when you’re not on the field anymore, and you never know when that’s gonna happen.”
Theo, who had been studying his dominoes as if they held clues to the meaning of life, popped his head up and turned toward the stairs. “Was that the door?” he asked.
“The door? Man, what’s up with you?” Cedric asked Theo, who’d been silent through much of the conversation.
“Huh?” Theo shook his head. “Hey, are we done here?” He let the dominoes fall to the table as he rose from his seat. “I forgot I had something to do tonight.”
“We’re in the middle of a game,” Jared argued.
“We’ll finish it next Sunday,” Theo returned.
“We have an away game next week,” Cedric reminded him.
“Then just finish without me,” Theo said, shoving his arms into his leather coat.
Cedric glanced at Torrian, who had yet to voice a protest at their prematurely aborted game. Torrian balanced his chair on the two back legs and grinned at Theo.
“Kick some Cardinal ass next week in Arizona,” Theo said as he jogged up the stairs.
They all just stared at the empty stairway leading up to Torrian’s first floor.
“What was that about?” Jared finally asked.
Torrian shook his head. “I think Theo needs to figure it out for himself.”
Cedric turned to him. “Have you been hanging out with Obi-Wan Kenobi? Chill out with all this ‘enlightened one’ crap. It’s starting to freak me out.”
“Shut up,” Torrian drawled. He pushed his dominoes away and nodded toward the pool table. “Playtime’s over. Grab a cue stick. It’s time for me to school you two.”
Cedric and Jared glanced at each other and nodded. Then they both tackled Torrian to the floor.
Checking his rearview mirror, Cedric noticed the sun just beginning to rise as he took the exit ramp from I-95. He’d finally discovered the secret to avoiding traffic on this oft-repeated trip: hit the Jersey Turnpike just a few minutes before six a.m. The drive from Manhattan to Woodbridge, New Jersey, had taken him just over an hour. Not bad considering it usually took him two hours to get to the group home where his brother resided.
Cedric meandered his way through Woodbridge Township, taking in the peacefulness at dawn. At seven a.m. on a Monday morning there would be a sea of humanity clogging the sidewalks of Manhattan, but other than a couple of joggers and the occasional businessman walking to his office, Woodbridge residents were still easing into their weekday.
He turned into the parking lot of Marshall’s Place. Yesterday, when he’d made his weekly postgame call to his brother, he’d asked Mrs. Bea, the group home’s director, whether he could come in early this morning to see Derek. His upcoming schedule would prevent Cedric from seeing his twin for at least a month.
When Cedric walked to the steps of the home for the mentally and physically handicapped—which really was a home, not some sterile institution—Mrs. Bea was waiting for him on the porch. Marshall’s Place was named for her own son who’d died of complications from cerebral palsy. She took care of the patients in this home as if they were her own flesh and blood. The small, unassuming facility was touted as the best care center for cerebral palsy patients in the country.
Cedric had given the press a dozen reasons why he wanted to spend his entire career with the Sabers, but no one knew the one true reason he wanted to remain in New York. Marshall’s Place was
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