Do you know what my favorite part of the game is? The opportunity to play.
–Mike Singletary
Brent
“Don’t stick your elbows out. You’ll strain your shoulder joints.” I tap Rodrigues on the arm and he pulls his elbows in.
I’m well aware of the irony here, helping a teammate avoid injury when I shouldn’t even be working out.
He finishes his reps and rolls to a stand. “Thanks for spotting me, man. And for the tips. Those grip drills really helped.”
“Anytime. I saw you on the field yesterday. You caught at least twice as many jump balls.”
We bump fists and then he wanders off to some other rookies hanging around the squat rack.
Satisfaction sings through me. Helping someone else succeed is almost as fulfilling as achieving it myself.
My phone chirps. It’s Roger.
“We got an offer from the Sharks.”
“What is it?”
“Six years, fifty-four million. I negotiated a signing bonus and over a million in potential incentives. We can go over it together tomorrow morning before you sign.”
“Right.”
My heart thumps in my chest. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning to go over the results of the MRI.
This should be fantastic news, but I can’t muster the enthusiasm I know Roger expects.
“I’m . . . in shock, I think.” I force out a laugh. “How about tomorrow afternoon?”
The clock is ticking. I can’t sign this contract in good faith. Not without coming clean. It’s not fair to the team. Right? But how could I just leave football?
“That’s great, Brent. I can see you at three.”
We hang up and I head to the locker room, rubbing my chest, trying to soothe the building anxiety.
What is Roger going to think? Dad is going to freak. I’m going to lose this contract. End my career. Dad’s company . . . they won’t want me as the face of the business when I’m no longer a sports superstar.
I wish I could talk to someone.
Bethany.
I haven’t seen her much lately. Granted, I’ve been busy helping with training, and she’s been helping the kids club organize the charity baseball game. Plus she’s got her job and I have my dealings with Dad and doctors.
Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I think she’s avoiding me.
I texted her this morning to see if she’d heard anything back from her architect friend, but she still hasn’t responded.
The other night at her apartment was . . . fun. Weird, all things and pink elephants considered, but nice.
She listened to my sob stories without judgment or pity. It’s like she actually cares about me and not what I have to offer. Which, frankly, isn’t much at the moment.
After showering, I head to the Bronx. I’ve been meaning to stop by to see if there’s anything else I can do to help with the charity event, and also to see how Bethany has been progressing.
The front office is bustling with activity. Normally, there are only a few people there, including the director, Rosemarie, but right now there are about a half dozen people sorting envelopes, working on computers, and making copies as I walk in. I recognize more than one face.
My eyes snag on one in particular.
What is Angela Sinclair doing here? Did my father—?
“Brent,” Bethany calls. She’s in the back corner, leaning over someone at a computer screen. The redhead sitting next to her is a welcome face. Charlie.
“Hey.” I weave through a few desks to reach her. “I see you’ve gotten some recruits.”
Bethany grins.
“Hey, Charlie.” I meant to contact her myself, but Bethany obviously beat me to it. When she’s not working for my father in IT, Charlie helps maintain the website for the kids club. As a good friend of Marc’s, of course she’d be here to help out in a pinch.
“Yeah, I needed someone to hack into June’s computer since no one can reach her for the password,” Bethany says. “Rosemarie has a list of people who’ve volunteered before and I recognized Charlie’s name.”
“And, um,” I tilt my head in Angela’s direction, “where did you find these other volunteers?”
Her smile is devilish. “Mr. Crawford was surprisingly forthcoming with certain people’s contact information when I told him I needed help for your charity game.”
“Uh-huh, I bet he was.” My eyes narrow but before I can question her further on why she would be helping Dad with his schemes, Angela is standing next to me.
“Hey, Brent,” she coos. She’s wearing a white polo shirt and cream pants with a sharp crease running down each leg. Her hair is pulled back into a harsh French twist, not a hair out of place. “Bethany, I finished with the mailers. Is there anything else I can help with?”
“How are you with computers?”
She shrugs. “I’ve got some experience.”
“Great. Will you help Charlie? I have something to show Brent.”
Angela nods as Bethany takes my arm and pulls me to the other side of the room.
“What are you up to?” I ask.
We sit down next to each other at one of the desks. Her laptop rests on one side and an organizer stuffed with colorful bits of paper sits next to it.
“Me?” Her eyes are wide and innocent. Unlike Angela, Bethany’s hair is falling around her shoulders in furious waves. Strands fly around her face and down her neck, enticing the eye to follow. She’s wearing her normal, professional office attire, but there’s a coffee stain on her white sleeve.
“Why is . . .” I glance over at Angela and Charlie. They’re focused on the computer and not paying attention to us. Still. I lower my voice. “Angela Sinclair here?”
She shrugs. “I needed more bodies. She’s actually been really helpful. Look, Brent, I’m not in on your dad’s whole conspiracy. I didn’t even know you would be here, but I’m glad you came. Charlie hacked into June’s computer and it was worse than we thought. She barely has any sponsors lined up and now we have less than two weeks, but I had an idea.”
“Shoot.”
She bites her lip. The twinkle in her eyes makes her look like a devious pixie, the kind who lures unsuspecting men into the fairy world. “I was thinking about making a calendar featuring you and some guys from the team.”
My brows lift. “Okay.”
“Topless.”
I laugh.
“And holding puppies.”
“Puppies?”
“Or kittens. Maybe a bunny for April.”
“Um. Isn’t that exactly what you didn’t want me to do?”
“Exactly! Women—and men—will die to have topless pictures of sexy football men holding baby animals. I’m telling you.” Her eyes brighten with excitement. “We can tease it prior to the game and then sell the actual calendars at the event, exclusively. Plus, normally they have sponsor posters on the field and ads in the schedule, but this way we can put adverts in the calendar that people can look at all year long. It might entice some people to buy ad space.”
I smile at her. “Of course I’m in. It’s a great idea. You need me to recruit some guys from the team?”
She nods and gives me a relieved smile. “Thank you so much. I know you’ve been super busy and I hate to take up more of your time, but I swear it will be quick. I already have a photographer lined up and she can go to the players on their schedule so it won’t be an inconvenience.”
“It’s no problem. You’re doing so much to help the kids club. I really appreciate it.”
She eyes me carefully, her gaze running over my face. “Are you sure? You’ve been working a lot. You look tired.”
I scratch the back of my head and squint at the floor. “It’s always exhausting when training starts.”
Even though it hasn’t really ramped up yet. Normally, I would be fine. But the meds and the stress of my health issues . . .
“Have you heard back from your architect friend yet? You didn’t answer my text.”
“Oh, sorry. I’ve been, ah, busy.”
She’s totally hiding something. But why?
She keeps talking. “He messaged me yesterday because he has to do some research. We scheduled a video chat for tomorrow.”
“Awesome. So why are you avoiding me?”
She laughs but the sound is forced and awkward.
“You can’t lie to me.” I tap her on the hand.
“I can’t lie to anyone.” She leans closer, infiltrating my space, so near I breathe in the scent of wildflowers. “B, please don’t press me on this. I’ve just . . . needed some space.”
I lean back, struck dumb by her request. I’m not sure if I’m hurt or intrigued. Or both.
“B” is the nickname we use in our notes to each other. The term of endearment we share eases the sting of her words a little. I wish she would tell me what’s going on with her, but I don’t have the right to press.
“Okay. Show me what we’re doing here.”
She gives me a relieved smile and then we spend the next couple of hours working on details, making phone calls, and setting up photo shoots.
Then we call people who’ve sponsored the event in the past and get leads on more possible donors and people who might want to advertise in her calendar.
We run into an issue with vendors for food. No way to have decent food catered at this point.
“What about food trucks?” Bethany suggests.
“That’s a good idea. My friend Scarlett is starting up a dessert truck. The extra publicity would be great.”
She makes a note in her planner. “Do you have her number?”
“I can get it.”
She nods and drops her pen. “My brain is fried.”
“Maybe we can get some food and head home.”
“Sounds good.” She glances over to where Charlie and Angela are still working and then does a double take.
I follow her gaze. Angela and Charlie are in the midst of a fairly intense, close conversation, completely unaware of everyone around them.
Then Angela laughs and puts a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and the smile they share is . . . well, it’s . . .
Are they—? Wait. No. Are they flirting?
I whip my eyes back to Bethany and find her watching me. She’s smiling.
“Someone’s hitting it off,” she murmurs.
I glance back over at them. I swear they’re exchanging numbers, smiling and blushing at each other like high school kids.
A grin spreads over my face.
This might be the best news I’ve heard all week.