She wanted an exclusive and he didn’t really know who she was. The next Barbara Walters is what his PR person told him. Hell, he didn’t even know his PR’s name. He didn’t care either. Just some guy his dad hired to deal with the mess he’d created.“One year ago this weekend, the world watched as you and Sergeant Dylan Sunday were reunited.”“I don’t want to talk about him. If that’s the exclusive you’re looking for, you’re not going to get it.” Bo shifted to move the microphone pack that was pressing into his spine. “Football. The playoffs. The Super Bowl. What I eat for breakfast, how much I bench. Politics… Whatever… but not about him.”“Okay, Bowen, sure. Earlier tonight, you repeated your Super Bowl win from last year. Congratulations. That’s a huge accomplishment.”“Especially when most of the football world would preferred that I’d gone quietly away. I guess.” He shrugged, thinking about it. “This last season was difficult. We shouldn’t be here but we are.”“You said that most of football would prefer that you had gone away?
