I sat on the stool at the island in my kitchen and sighed. “What the hell am I going to do now, Butkus?” I asked my black Labrador. He didn’t twitch a muscle. He was more than content to rest. Why couldn’t I be that happy doing nothing?

I chugged my large glass of water, as I did every morning to jump start my body, and only then allowed myself to have my first cup of coffee in ages. When I worked my butt off to stay in top shape, I didn’t drink caffeine, alcohol, well—anything other than water. I didn’t have to do that anymore. I was retired.

What a strange word. Retired. I was thirty-five years old, and I had no job for the first time since I was a kid. Football was always my job. Ever since I could pick up a ball, I was the quarterback.

High school hero, College superstar, professional football future hall of famer, I worked my butt off to be the best. All. The. Time. All that was gone. I was just another retired star. The brightness of my stardom would probably fade as quickly as anyone else’s.

The wear and tear of 14 years of professional football had taken its toll on my knees. I could hardly get out of bed in the morning, let alone run anymore. When 300-pound linemen were chasing me down and tackling me from behind, I knew it was coming to the end of my time. My team of doctors did everything they could to keep me in the league for the last three years of my career and it was hell. I couldn’t take the constant pain any longer. I had to hang up my spikes.

The television caught my attention when I heard my name. I looked at the too large screen playing in the family room and the top story on the morning show was my replacement’s first day at training camp. He was a good kid, coming from a good family and a football factory college program. My team was in good hands with him, but I hated to give him the job.

I sipped the hot and bitter beverage and moaned. I missed coffee. Coffee got me through late night studying sessions in college and then after I was drafted first overall pick by the Chicago Turtles. I stopped drinking it when I became obsessed with what I was putting into my body. I wanted to be in peak physical condition and no stimulants crossed my lips.

“Johnny Martin left a big hole in offense for the Turtles this year.” Said the cute blonde as she gave her analysis. “Ken Monroe has some big shoes to fill, and he had this to say.”

I sighed and clicked off the TV. I didn’t want to hear the platitudes. Ken would say the usual stuff.

“Johnny was an all-time great and I just hope to be half the player he was.”

“The Turtles have a great team and I’m glad to be a part of it.”

“We’re gonna play one game at a blah, blah, blah.”

I knew the lines well. I used them too.

“Hey, Johnny,” my personal assistant Kendall said when she burst into the room.

“What’s up Ken doll.”

She groaned. She hated my nickname for her. “You’re just one of the peons now, buddy. Call me Ken doll again and I’ll quit and make you train someone new.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.”

The last thing I needed was a new assistant. She’d been with me for five years, and it took three of those to get her where I needed her. I didn’t mind the sarcastic wit in which she bantered with me. I enjoyed the verbal sparring we would have together; it kept me grounded. She kept me grounded.

She looked at my hand and raised an eyebrow, “Is that coffee?”

I nodded. A beautiful smile creased her oval face. Kendall was gorgeous. She had lovely auburn hair which had sun-kissed streaks of blonde highlighting it naturally. No doubt some women would pay good money to have that done artificially.

“Wow! Will miracles ever cease?” she chirped.

I laughed. “I fought living a normal life all spring and summer. It finally hit home last night that I was really done. So, I gave in and decided to expand my diet.”

It was a rough night. I drank half a bottle of Pappy Van Winkel and would have kept going if I hadn’t passed out. To say I was depressed might have been a stretch, but I was sadder than hell, I can tell you that.

She looked at me with an odd expression I’d never seen before. I hope it wasn’t pity.

“Anyway,” she chirped as she poured a cup of coffee for herself. “NBC is all over me to get you in there for a screen test.”

That made it my turn to groan. “No way. I’m not going to do broadcasting right now. I’ll do interviews and guest hits, but I don’t want to be that close to the game for a while.”

“I understand. I’ll tell them to give you a year and we can revisit it next summer.”

“Thanks, Ken ... dall.”

She glared at me but broke it with a smile.

“Knock, knock,” came the sing song voice of my girlfriend opening my back door. The sound of her ridiculous and too high heels clicked along my wood floor towards us.

“Good morning, Anya,” I smiled, as she gave me that stupid double cheek air kiss thing. God! I hated that pretentious shit.

“Hi, honey, hi, Carol,” she sang.

“Kendall,” I said correcting her, as Kendall spun away to avoid saying something inappropriate. I knew Kendall hated her. She thought Anya was fake. She wasn’t wrong either. Anya had her own little Instagram famous world in which she shared every detail of her life.

I met her at a club, a year before, and within a week she was never too far from my side. She parlayed dating me into a storm of Instagram posts that would make a Kardashian’s head spin. Before I knew what was happening, she had made a small fortune from clothing and jewelry companies. At first I felt used, but Kendall told me that if she had her own money, she wouldn’t be after mine. That made me feel only slightly better.

“Whatever,” Anya sighed. “What are we doing today?”

“I was going to watch Sports Central this morning. Later, I think I have some interviews. Kendall?”

“10:05, 11:30, 1:20, and 4:40. The producers for each show will call you on your office line. I have a breakdown of each host and how rough they’ve been on you over the years.”

I laughed and thanked her. “Sorry, Anya. I’ll be tied up with interviews all day.”

“Whatevs!” She cheerily shrugged. “Let’s go out to dinner tonight?”

“Okay. You make the reservation...” she started clapping, “ ... somewhere lowkey. I don’t want a circus.”

“Of course, baby. See you later.”

She bounced out the back door and I flopped onto the couch. Kendall laughed, “You’re such an ass. When are you going to cut that girl loose and find someone your mom will approve of?”

“Hey,” I chided, “show a little respect for my girlfriend, will ya? You know I can fire you.”

She laughed at me. “You can’t fire me. You’d be lost without me. And screw her. She knows my name and I know hers. It’s fucking Anna. Not An-ya.”

I shook my head. Who cared if Anya changed her name? I didn’t care because she made me happy. Well, most of the time anyway.

She was a stunning bleached blond with long legs that squeezed the hell out of me when she orgasmed. She had a model’s beauty and after I found her in that club, she took every opportunity that flew her way. She became quite famous in her own right.

It was true my mom didn’t like her. I didn’t know why; I guessed some people just rubbed each other the wrong way.

A month later, I was already bored out of my mind. The season was going to start in another month, and I’d been doing a lot of interviews, but they were slowing down. At that point, I wasn’t even doing one a day. Kendall had my calendar organized to the extreme, and I started playing video games to bide my time.

I walked into the kitchen one morning and saw an issue of a fantasy football magazine on the counter. Kendall must have been reading it. I picked it up and read through the rankings. It surprised me that they weren’t that bad. I’d always thought of that stuff as a joke, but I realized I never looked that hard into it. I couldn’t play fantasy football when I was a player as the league considered it gambling.

I sat in my recliner and downloaded some apps. Before I knew it, several hours had passed and Kendall was leaving for the day.

“Have you seen my...” I tossed her the magazine and she smirked. “Gonna play this year?”

“Maybe. I was looking at some apps and I’m thinking about it.”

“You should. I’d invite you to my big money league, but we’re at max teams already.”

“Big money?” I smirked.

“Big money for us, Mr. Millionaire. It’s a $500 entry. That’s not pocket money for us common folk.”

“Come on, Kendall. You know I’m not like that.”

She nodded and smiled. “Yeah, I know. I wouldn’t work for you if you were.”

She left and I decided to do something I never did; I went out for a beer.

It was strange for me. All my friends were on the team and my only other so-called friend was my agent. He lived in California, so I was on my own to go out.

I drank so little in public; I didn’t know where to go. I decided to drive around and stop at the first bar I saw. It was a little dive bar called, “The Gym.” I smiled at the clever name. I could envision a beer-bellied middle-aged guy telling his wife, “Hey, honey, I’m going to the gym after work today.” I was easily amused.

I walked in and I was glad it was dark. I wasn’t in any kind of a disguise, but on a Wednesday night, I didn’t expect it to be too busy. I hoped I wouldn’t be recognized too often.

I couldn’t walk in a crowded mall or store without a mob of people approaching me. Restaurants were hit and miss. I think a lot of people didn’t want to bother someone when they ate. Lately, Anya was posting when we were out somewhere, and a crowd would show up before we left. It drove me crazy.

I found a booth in the back that had a view of a baseball game and waitress service. It wasn’t bad inside. There was plenty of room to hide away.

“What can I get you, honey?” the well-worn older woman in way too short of a skirt asked.

“Lite beer and do you have wings?”

“Best damn wings in the state.”

I laughed and said, “Okay, give me an order of wings.”

“What kind of sauce?” she asked looking away at someone else.

“Hot?” I asked.

“Ranch or bleu cheese dressing.”

“Bleu cheese.”

She walked away and I looked around. There were only a handful of people in the place. A couple of guys at the bar, and two couples sitting at tables. I smiled when I saw the dartboards in the corner. I loved playing darts when I was in college. I never had time to play once I made the league.

“Here you go, honey,” she said as she put a pitcher of beer and a glass on the table.

“A pitcher?” I asked confused.

“Pitchers are five bucks on Wednesdays. A bottle or draft is three bucks. You don’t have to drink it all.”

She walked away as if it made the most sense in the world. I suppose it did. If I drank two beers I was ahead, but more importantly, she wouldn’t have to walk over to my table as often. It was presumptuous of her though.

She brought out my wings and I savored every one of them. I never ate fried foods, but since I was retired, I could indulge. And I would indulge more often; they were amazing.

I finished the wings and my pitcher, looked around again, and saw that there were some guys playing darts. I looked at my waitress on the other side of the room and gave her the universal sign for another beer as I walked over to the dartboard.

“Hey, bud,” I said to the older guy sitting at the table. He fit my mind’s description of that guy telling his wife he’d be at the gym. “Can I throw a game with you?”

There was another guy throwing and the one who was at the table didn’t look up but said, “Sorry, dude. We have league tonight and we have to get ready.”

I shook my head at his rudeness but understood. I knew all about having to get ready for a game, albeit on a higher level compared to them having a couple of beers and playing a couple of games to loosen up their arms.

“No problem, guy. Do you mind if I join you and watch? I used to play in college and miss it.”

He looked up at me and his mouth dropped so far open his gum fell onto the table.

“Hi, I’m Johnny,” I said as I offered my hand. He was frozen but his friend walked up.

“You look familiar, are you on the other team?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I wanted to play but I don’t want to interrupt you guys warming up. I’m Johnny.”

“Hi, Johnny. I’m Al and that’s Dan. Dan, you okay?” Dan was stuttering. I smirked.

“Juh ... Juh ... Juh ... Johnny fucking Martin,” Dan finally got out.

Al’s head spun and I nodded.

“Holy shit!” he shouted.

“Easy, guy. I don’t want the whole world to know I’m here. Maybe it’s better if I take off. It was good to meet you, sorry to bother you.”

I was about to leave when Dan said, “Wait! No. Don’t go. Sorry, I uh...”

“Don’t worry about it. Believe it or not some people get starstruck when they meet me. It’s the strangest thing,” I laughed at my own bad joke.

“Do you want to play, Johnny?” Al asked. “I’d love to throw a game with you.”

“No, you have to warm up. I...”

“Bullshit. I can warm up while I’m playing with you.”

“Okay then. I hate to ask, but can I borrow your darts?”

“You can have them,” he laughed. “I have some extra sets with me.”

We started a game, and I was having the best time I’d had in a long time, then the other team showed up.

“Sorry, man,” Al said. “We have to let them warm up too.”

I patted him on the shoulder and said, “It’s all good. Can I stay and watch your match? I’ll buy the beers.”

He laughed and said, “Hell yeah.”

I was shocked when the other team didn’t recognize me. Al and Dan were cool and didn’t make a big deal out of my being there either. They refreshed my memory on how the games were played and what the format of their doubles league entailed, and I enjoyed myself watching and bantering.

After a while, we got to talking about football. I loved to talk football; it didn’t matter with whom, but they were knowledgeable. At one point I told them I wanted to get into fantasy football but had no idea how to find a league to join.

Dan smiled and said, “Join ours. Al’s the commissioner.”

Al nodded and said, “We’re full, but I have guy at work that wants to get into the league. it pays pretty well, and we’re always full. If you want to join, we’d have twelve teams, which is fine, and he can finally get in.”

I smiled and said, “Okay. Count me in.” Then I thought about my anonymity. “Do you think I could do it under a fake name? I’d rather it didn’t get out that I’m doing it.”

“No problem at all. We draft online and you can call yourself whatever you want. They’ll know your email though, so you might want to create one just for the league that will hide who you are.”

“No problem,” I said. We exchanged phone numbers, but I gave them my office line. “Please don’t give that out okay?”

“Never.” They both said and laughed.

“My assistant usually answers it during the day, if she’s there, but I get the messages if I’m not around.”

We shook hands, I laughed and paid anyway when they tried to refuse my paying their tabs and I left feeling better than I had in a while.

Time flew by and it was draft day. I was anxious but ready. Kendall had been picking on me for studying and trying to learn as much as I could, but she was a great resource for the little nuances of playing. I relied heavily on her for drafting process tips, but I was disappointed when she couldn’t be with me for the draft. She had one at the same time.

“Labor day weekend is huge for drafts. Preseason is over and injuries are usually settled,” she explained. It made perfect sense to me.

“Would you like to do yours here with me? I could bounce questions off you if I need you?” I begged.

She laughed. “No way. I have my set up at home and I need my comfort zone. You can text me if you need me though, but I’m gonna consider it a workday.”

“Of course, you would,” I laughed.

I looked at the clock and saw it was fifteen minutes until the draft. I logged in and saw the countdown on the monitor. I scrambled to grab the two magazines I bought where I scribbled notes, I grabbed my tablet and made sure it was fully charged, I grabbed my six pack of Alpha King beer, my pita chips, and roasted tomato hummus. I was ready.

I saw a box on the side where people were talking with each other. I typed in, “Hey, if Johnny Martin was still playing, what pick would you take him?”

I was shocked when some jerk named, KenBaller, said, “Johnny was washed up two seasons ago. I know for a fact that he took more shots numbing his knees than Lindsay Lohan drinks on a Saturday bender.”

There was some banter making fun of me and I got pissed. I had to defend myself and typed, “How can you say that when he threw 40 touchdowns last season?”

KenBaller typed, “LOL. The last five were against shitty teams not making the playoffs. They probably gave them to him as a parting gift.”

I threw my empty beer bottle against the wall. It shattered and I yelled, “Fuck!” If that asshole had to take the hits I took after I threw the ball, they’d be crippled.

I took a deep breath and typed, “If you had any idea of what it took to play a second in a pro game, you’d sing a different tune, asshole.”

My office line rang, and I answered it by screaming, “What!”

“Johnny, it’s Al. Settle down if you want to stay anonymous.”

“Sorry, you’re right. Sometimes, even I go on ego trips.”

He laughed, “Good luck, bro.”

KenBaller typed, “I know exactly what it takes. My cousin’s friend was a landscaper for a linebacker on the Turtles. He tells me all the time what he sees.”

That pissed me off. Privacy and secrecy are paramount with the people we hire. We live our lives afraid of the slightest slip up that someone could use against us. The people that work for us are expected to treat that bond with the greatest seriousness. It made me think of the people that worked for me. I liked to think I treated every employee well. It was a piece of personal pride for me that I wasn’t a diva or difficult to work for.

I sent a text to Kendall. “Hey. Am I a good boss?”

Then I panicked and sent, “I mean, people that work for me like me right? They don’t think I’m a jerk?”

She called me and I answered, “You didn’t have to call.”

“What’s going on, Johnny? What happened?”

“I just want to make sure the people who work for me don’t think I’m an asshole.”

She laughed. “You’re fine. Shouldn’t you be drafting?”

“Yeah, it starts soon. Good luck with yours.”

“Johnny?” she asked.

“Yeah?” I answered.

“I wish I could draft you again.”

I sighed, “Me too, Kendall. Me too.”

I thought the draft went well. Kendall showed up the next day with five different drafted teams. I laughed at her and said, “I’m not gonna look at them.”

“Show me yours,” she begged. I shook my head.

“Nope. But hey, just so you know, I got into a big money league like you.”

She smiled and chirped, “Whatevs,” and bounced out of the room.

The third week of the season, I played against KenBaller in our league. He had been blowing up the chat room with obnoxious shit talking and I grew to hate him even more.

He sent me a direct message that read, “Ready to get your butt kicked, rook.”

I hadn’t been called rookie since I was a rookie in the league, and it pissed me off.

“Listen, chump. How about we put a wager on it. How about five hundred?”

It took a long time for him to answer back. I was sure he was checking his bank balance and what bills were coming up to make me a lower counteroffer.

“Deal.”

I laughed and typed, “Good luck, asshole. You’re gonna need it.”

I got a text from Kendall, “Hey, wanna watch the games together today?”

I smiled and answered, “Yeah, I’ve got nothing planned. Here or at a sports bar?”

Kendall answered, “Who needs a sports bar when we have your basement?”

“Okay. See you soon.”

My man cave was state of the art and had all the toys one would expect a millionaire’s playroom to have. I had four main TVs and could have four different games on simultaneously. I had two smaller TVs at the bar that could have two other games on. It was the best place in the neighborhood to watch the games.

The first two weeks of the season, I had my neighbors and some acquaintances over. I realized that I hated watching football in a crowd. I couldn’t stand their shouting at the TV and the flat-out wrong analysis of the play calling. I decided that was enough of an experiment, and I’d watch them alone.

Kendall wanting to join me was welcome, however. She picked up a lot about the game from working for me and knew what she was talking about most of the time. Anya was the opposite. She never got football and avoided watching it at all costs. She would never stoop so low as to watch the games with me.

I had a tablet I used for following my fantasy score. She used her laptop and her phone. With five games to follow, I understood why she needed the extra help.

For all the years she worked for me, we never watched games together. Mostly that was because I was playing in them, but even if I were home on a bye week, she never watched a game with me. I quickly regretted that; she was an absolute joy.

We sat on opposite recliners, yet we talked easily. She seemed to be watching the same games I was at the same time and would comment on bad calls or great plays. I knew she was knowledgeable, but she proved to be even more than I imagined.

As the day went on, my game against KenBaller was too close to call. We volleyed the lead back and forth and after the last game I was down 9 points. Kendall seemed to be on the edge of her seat for the Sunday night game and actually cheered when the tight end for the Arizona team scored a long touchdown to win the game.

Because of the way fantasy scoring worked, he got six for the touchdown, one for the catch, and three for the yardage, which gave him ten fantasy points.

“I take it you had him on one of your rosters?” I asked her painfully. KenBaller had him and that stole the small lead from me. I still had my kicker playing on Monday night, so I hadn’t lost yet, but I needed a good night.

“You bet your cute ass I do,” she said as she typed something on her phone. She continued, “I’ve got him on three teams.”

Then she blushed and said, “Um, it’s late. I think I’ll take off.”

She didn’t wait for me to walk her to the door and hurried out. My tablet buzzed with a notification from KenBaller messaging me.

“Good luck, tomorrow. You’re gonna need it.”

I nodded in agreement. Yeah, I needed a lot of kicker scoring. If the team scored eight touchdowns and no field goals, my kicker could only get one point for an extra point for a maximum of eight points. Field goals were worth three up to 39 yards, and 40-yard field goals or more were worth four points. I needed field goals.

Kendall was quieter than normal on Monday, and I felt like she was trying to muster up the courage to talk about something. I was proven right just before the end of her workday.

“Johnny, can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Of course,” I said as I muted the TV. “What’s up?”

“Johnny, I need an advance on my next paycheck if that’s okay.”

“Really? It’s no problem, but is there something else going on? I can help...”

“No, I just need you to advance me a thousand. That will take care of everything. I’m sorry to ask.”

She looked forlorn.

“Kendall, it’s no problem. Grab it from the safe.”

“Thanks,” she said quietly and walked away.

I had a safe in the office that had a few grand in petty cash and some papers related to things that Kendall would need access to. She didn’t have access to the bulk of my worth, but she had access to some cash and minor accounts and contracts.

I followed her into the office and asked, “Kendall, if I can help get you out of whatever trouble you’re in financially, let me know. I’ll take care of it for you.”

A tear fell down her cheek and she said, “It’s personal, Johnny. I’m sorry. You can’t help me.”

I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I thought we were close enough that we didn’t keep anything serious secret, but okay. I won’t press you on it. The offer stands and I don’t care what it costs.”

I walked out and went to my basement to watch the football game. Kendall was acting weird, and I wondered what was so bad she couldn’t tell me what was giving her financial trouble. I paid her well and she should have been able to live comfortably. I couldn’t figure it out.

A half-hour later, she walked into the basement.

“Can we talk, Johnny?”

I stood and walked over to her. I held her hands and said, “You can tell me anything, Kendall.”

A tear fell from her eye, and she pulled me towards the bar. I cringed as she took an expensive bottle of tequila and poured herself a shot for courage. That wasn’t shooting tequila, but whatever.

She started, “You know my mom died before I came to work for you.”

I nodded.

“Well, we never talked about my dad. He left us when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She shook her head, “Don’t be. It is what it is. Anyway, six months ago, a guy showed up on my doorstep with a picture of my dad beaten bloody.”

“What!” I shouted.

“Wait, please,” she begged. “It was a bookie from Chicago. It seems my dad owed them a lot of money and the only way they could figure to collect was to come after me.”

“Because of me,” I sighed. She nodded. “You should have told me, Kendall. I could’ve gotten the police, I could’ve given you the money, I would have done anything to help you.”

She started sobbing, “I didn’t want to get you involved with a bookie. I could never do that to you.”

I sighed. I understood her hesitance. If anyone found out I paid off a bookie, I would have been tarred and feathered in the press.

“How much did you pay them?” I asked.

“I paid him all of my savings, which wasn’t enough. It made him happy enough to let me pay the rest in installments. I’m done paying them as of last month.”

“And your dad?” I asked.

“They let him go. He tried to talk to me, but I blocked his number.”

“How much?” I asked.

“It doesn’t matter, it’s over now. I can start to save again.”

“How much?” I wasn’t about to let her not answer me again.

“Forty-five thousand.”

“Jesus, Kendall. You never should have paid that.”

“What was I going to do? I couldn’t let them kill him.”

“They wouldn’t have killed him for that. It’s too risky. They took advantage of you.”

“I couldn’t take that chance. He was an asshole, but he was still my dad and a human being. If you saw the condition he was in, you’d have done the same.”

I sighed. “Kendall, let me give you that money.”

“No way!” she shouted.

“Please. You shouldn’t be in a position like this. At least let me give you something to build your savings back up. Call it a bonus.”

“I won’t take it, Johnny. It nearly crushed me to ask you for the advance.”

I took her hand and said, “Whatever you need, I’m here for you.”

“I know, I really do. You’re a great guy. Look, I’m gonna go. I’m not in the mood for football tonight.”

I hugged her and said, “You can crash in one of the guest rooms tonight. You know you’re always welcome here.”

She squeezed me tight then broke the hug. “I feel more welcome here than anywhere.”

She kissed my cheek and hurried up the stairs. I shook my head in disappointment. I wished she let me help her.

I grabbed a bottle of water, some baby carrots, and sat down to watch the game. I looked at Instagram and saw Anya was posting photos of her at some dance club in Los Angeles. She was surrounded by her usual entourage of party girls and various men. I recognized some of them as players for the LA NBA team.

I let that go from my mind and sent a message to KenBaller. “I hope the $500 won’t hurt too bad. I’m gonna burn it in my fireplace when I win.” It was probably too much, but I didn’t care. KenBaller was an asshole.

As the night went on, I never got a response from him. When my kicker kicked the game winning field goal to give my team, and his, the win by one point, I admit to giving paw to Butkus in lieu of a high five.

I messaged KenBaller and told him to send a check to my PO box. I figured that was the safest way to protect my anonymity.

Kendall walked into my kitchen the next morning and it was clear she was angry. She slammed a coffee cup on the counter and poured the coffee in so quickly I thought it would spill.

“What’s the matter, Ken doll?” I cringed and wanted to scream at my stupidity. I already knew she wasn’t in a good place with the money issue, and I called her by that name she hated. God! I was stupid sometimes.