Monday, September 12, 2:15 p.m. EDT

Leesburg, Virginia

Riley dialed his phone, then slipped a hands-free device onto his ear. He always felt like a dork when he wore it, so he only put it on when he was driving. I never could understand the people who walk around all day with their little cyborg-looking command modules hanging off their ears, flashing a little blue electronic heartbeat every few seconds. They say cell phones will give you brain cancer; how about having some foreign, wireless object sticking in your head eight hours a day?

“Hyello,” a voice answered on the other end.

“Hey, Grandpa.”

“Riley! How’s it going, son? Been watching the news; sounds like you had a full weekend.”

Riley gunned around some slow traffic, then eased back into the right lane. “Yeah, it’s been a bit unusual.”

“I’ve got to say, you have us all wondering just what it is you’re going to do next.” Riley could hear the laughter in Grandpa’s voice.

Riley and his grandfather had always had a close relationship, made more so by his decision to join with Grandpa’s Air Force, rather than his dad’s Navy. Then, after Dad had been murdered two years ago by a terrorist group, Riley realized that his grandfather was the last man he had in his family. As a result, he had come to rely heavily on him for guidance and direction.

Mom was wonderful—full of love and encouragement. She was the one who sent the care packages. She was the one who was always checking up on his friends. She was a nurturer through and through.

But Riley didn’t feel comfortable burdening her with his problems. She had experienced more than her share of pain in her life. And now she had enough problems of her own living as a widow.

Grandpa, on the other hand, was the source of wisdom. He was the straight shooter. He had shoulders a mile wide that were ready for whatever Riley needed to dump on them. And he knew how to get through to his grandson like no one else.

When Riley was little, they had a yellow Lab named Princess. Once, Princess got tangled in a wire fence. Her leg got cut up pretty badly. The vet stitched her up, then gave Riley’s dad antibiotic pills to give to the dog to avoid infection. That night, try as they might, they couldn’t get Princess to keep the pill down. Finally, Dad had torn a piece of bread, wrapped it around the pill, and gave it to the dumb dog, who swallowed it right up.

Thinking of that story always brought Grandpa to mind. It might be that you didn’t want to hear about something—you refused to accept the truth. But Grandpa had a way of wrapping it all up in a tasty morsel, and before you knew it, you had swallowed it whole.

“If you really want to know what’s next, how does this sound to you? The Warriors suspended me today,” Riley said with a little more anger in his voice than he was expecting.

“Suspended? Well, yeah, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after yesterday.”

Taking a deep breath, Riley said, “Well, it actually wasn’t over what happened yesterday. They were ready to let that go. All I needed to do was formally apologize.”

Riley told Grandpa of the incident in the film room earlier in the day. He could have sworn he heard the old man stifle a laugh at the end of his recitation, but it was hard to tell long-distance.

“So, you refused to apologize, even though you knew you were in the wrong?”

“I guess you could put it that way,” Riley said, easing onto an off-ramp and up to the light.

“Interesting,” Grandpa replied, still with a lilt to his voice.

“Anyway, Coach Medley dismissed everyone from the room except me. I waited there in silence for about ten minutes until Mr. Bellefeuille came in. The two of them conferred quietly for about three minutes, then Medley asked me, ‘Do you want counseling to get to the root of your psychiatric issues?’”

“And your response?”

“Something along the lines of ‘Your mama.’”

“Classy.”

The light changed and Riley turned left, passing under the highway. “Yeah, maybe not the best choice of words. Well, Medley and Bellefeuille talked a little more, and then Bellefeuille handed Coach a piece of paper and walked out of the room—never once did he look at me.

“Medley called me down and handed me the paper that Bellefeuille had given to him. ‘This is going to be released to the press this afternoon,’ he says. ‘Read it so that you’re not surprised.’”

One more left turn and Riley was in his neighborhood. “I can’t tell you exactly what it said, but it was something like ‘Riley Covington has been an American hero both on and off the field, blah blah blah. However, the Warriors organization has seen some changes recently in his behavior. We’re concerned it could have something to do with the physical, mental, and emotional trauma he experienced, more blah blah blah. After consulting specialists in post-traumatic stress disorder, for his own sake and that of the rest of the team, we are placing Riley Covington on paid compassionate leave until he is professionally evaluated and pursues any recommended courses of treatment. Thus far he has rejected the options we have offered him, and we can only encourage him to reconsider. Our thoughts and prayers are with him, etc. The end.’”

“Hmmm, so you’re not suspended? You’re just on leave?”

Riley gave an obligatory wave to his neighbor two doors down, then pulled into his own driveway and put the car in park. After switching the air-conditioning to low, he put his head back and closed his eyes. “It’s semantics, Grandpa. Either way, I’m on the shelf.”

“But not if you were to do the evaluation, right?”

“I’m not suffering from PTSD! I’m just fed up with all the crap that comes with playing in the PFL. Football used to be fun. It used to be a game. Now it’s just a business, and I’m only a product. I don’t know. I think I’m just done with it.”

“Perfect! Then you’ve got your wish. Sounds like Bellefeuille gave you exactly what you wanted.”

“Grandpa, that’s not . . .” Riley stopped and thought a moment. You know, he’s actually right. If it weren’t for most of America thinking I’ve gone gonzo, the situation couldn’t be more perfect.

“And I know what’s going through your mind, Riles. But who cares what other people think of you? You got to make sure you’re right with God and with the people who love you. Let Him take care of the rest. You start worrying about everyone else, you’ll end up driving yourself crazy.”

Riley smiled to himself. He pulled out his pocketknife and began scraping off some dried smoothie drips from his center console.

“You’re right; you’re right,” he said as he wiped the pale orange flakes from the blade onto his shorts and continued scraping. “I guess I just don’t like people thinking I’m nuts.”

“Probably save you from having people cut in front of you in line at the grocery store.”

“And no one will dare complain if I have more than ten items in the express lane,” Riley said, wiping off his knife one more time, then folding it and slipping it back into his pocket. He licked his thumb and rubbed off the final smoothie remnants. “Yeah, I can see really making this work for me.”

“Riley, just trust God to lead you in the situation. And remember that no matter how bizarre your behavior gets—”

“Hey, that was your fault, mister,” Riley interrupted. “You’re the one who taught me that coin-from-behind-the-ear trick twenty years ago.”

“And your mom was sure to call me last night and remind me of that fact. Mea culpa, my boy. Anyway, just remember that no matter what, you are loved by your grandpa, your mom, and most of all, your God.”

“Thanks, Gramps. I love you too.”

Yeah, that’s what grandpas are for, Riley thought, as he parked the truck in the garage. Putting everything back into perspective. After slamming another dent into the drywall, he lifted his fishing pole and tackle box off a narrow workbench and headed down to the dock.