Tim Stag arrives at the stadium a few minutes after Kioko calls. He’s a tall, stern-looking man in an exquisite suit, but he smiles as he shakes my hand and I feel more comfortable seeing Kioko greet him warmly.
“Lucy Nelson, this is Tim Stag of Stag Law. He handles all these sorts of things for us. Plus, he has a four-year-old son, and so do you.” Kioko grins. “Doesn’t that tell you all there is to know about this man?”
Tim laughs. “Great to meet you, Lucy.” We all sit on the couch and I try to let my spine relax. Tim furrows his brow. “Kioko says you have some concerns about the press conference today?”
I take a deep breath. I’m not sure how much Tawnya has told Kioko and I have to weigh what I want to reveal to my new, temporary employer for whom I desperately want to work permanently. “I’m having…custody problems with my son’s father,” I say, biting my lip and wondering what pieces Tim can put together.
“Hm,” he says, scratching at his chin. “Can you elaborate?”
I sigh. “My ex is on house arrest awaiting trial for criminally endangering our son, but his parents are wealthy and they comb through my life trying to find ways to whittle away my support, legal rights, custody, all of it.”
Tim nods as I talk, cringing. “I’m so sorry you’re experiencing that, Lucy,” he says. He shakes his head and sighs. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty familiar with how ugly these sorts of things can get. I represent a lot of professional athletes…and there are more than a few who could work on their parenting, that’s for sure.”
I briefly wonder if I’ll have to explain how they tried to make calls so that I wouldn’t get approved for car insurance, how my lawyer had to send a cease and desist letter to Nick’s family when they tried to access my medical records. Erika thinks they want to demonstrate that I’m mentally unstable. I feel mentally unstable when I consider how long I stayed in a relationship with that man.
I chew on the inside of my cheek as Tim scratches at his cheek and seems to consider the situation. “So if I’m understanding you correctly, you worry that putting yourself in the spotlight will trigger this group of individuals to somehow exploit the situation, imply you’re an unfit mother, or interfere with the financial support your son is legally entitled to? Is that right?”
I relax a little into the couch, nodding. “Yes,” I tell him. “That’s exactly it. God, it’s so validating and also embarrassing to hear you put it like that.”
He frowns. “I don’t see a way around getting your name out there, Lucy. Your name and title are already up on the Forge website with a photo.”
“I am?” My jaw drops. I never stopped to consider my information was already out there in the public record. I snort. When would I have stopped to think about it?
“I’ll attend the conference with you,” Tim says. “If any of the press questions veer away from your professional qualifications, I’ll wave a hand, and you just say ‘no comment.’ How does that sound?”
I shrug. “What do you think they’ll ask me?”
Kioko slides a piece of paper across the coffee table. “This is the press release our marketing team sent ahead of time.” I scan over it, looking at the bulleted list of my degree, previous experience. He says, “They might ask about the gap in employment.”
We both look over to Tim for input. I don’t want to bring Wyatt into this conversation at all, but I have no other explanation for that time in my life. Tim points at Kioko. “If they do that, just deflect. Interrupt, ask if anyone has more questions for Hawk. Where’s the marketing director for the Forge? Are they aware of the situation?”
Tim and Kioko call in some of the other PR and marketing staff and I sit burning with humiliation while they make a game plan to help keep the media spotlight off my baggage. I feel sure that I can kiss my chances at a permanent position here goodbye. I’m causing so much extra work for all of them, just for a press conference.
Eventually we make our way into the media room, where they’ve set up chairs in the front for Kioko, Coach Todd, Hawk and me. Tim and the marketing guy stand off to the side and Hawk saunters in looking all moody and stubbly. He tips his chin at me and sinks into the center seat at the table. I can smell his deodorant from my seat next to him and I know it’s weird, but that calms me down a bit.
It’s such a normal thing. Athletes, before practice, smell like deodorant and clean laundry. This is just another day at work. I can do this. Hawk looks over at me, and he seems like he wants to ask me something, but holds back.
“What?” I say, watching out of the side of my eye as the members of the media make their way into the room. He shrugs. I frown at him. “No sexual? Not going to ask me for my number?” Then I gasp, holding my hand over the microphone. I realize it’s not on yet and I chastise myself for being so careless, especially after I was the cause of urgent last-minute planning meetings for this conference I’m sure they thought would be par for the course.
“I always want your number, Lucy,” he whispers. And then he winks at me. I swear, I feel it in every pore of my body. I can’t decide if he means it or if he knew how much I needed the distraction. Before I have time to decide, Kioko claps his hands and welcomes the press to the stadium. Todd, Kioko, and the press corps could have heard any of this. I clench my fists and try to regain composure. I cannot talk like this with Hawk. Not here.
The questions start firing in. Is the team ready to face Baltimore this weekend? Has Hawk been able to learn all the plays in his short time here? Does the Forge feel Hawk was worth the significant financial investment they placed in his contract? “Yes,” Kioko says with a smile. “Absolutely.”
I start to relax, especially as the questions center around Hawk and his adjustment to Pittsburgh. He even shares that he became friendly with some of his neighbors, and they are giving him the inside scoop on good coffee and excellent auto mechanics. He’s charming in a way that seems to contrast the gruff exterior he’s shown on the field and interacting with the staff here.
Finally, the questions pivot to the team’s strength and conditioning and I’m called on to verify details about my background, what it’s like being a woman on the all-male staff. “Can you clarify the question,” I ask, taken aback.
The reporter frowns. “You know, everyone else is male…what’s that been like for you?”
I think of the Phe-Moms, how we often have to kick men off our field when we have the permit and they want to just show up and play soccer. Men seem to feel so entitled to spaces and fields and jobs… I try to imagine how Patty would answer this question and I say, “Well, they all seem to follow my advice so far. I have, after all, worked with male athletes in teams and individually.”
“Yes, about your former team coaching experience.” The Post reporter flips through his notepad and smirks. “Lucy, what made you resign from your position with Pittsburgh University? Does the Forge have any cause to worry you’ll step down mid-season?”
I furrow my brow, seeing Tim waving frantically from the sides as Kioko shifts in his seat. “I just got here,” I say into the mic. “I have no plans to go anywhere.” Feeling emboldened, I continue. “As you know, I’m in an interim role, but I hope the players’ improved performance will demonstrate the value of signing me on full-time.”
Kioko smiles at me and gives me a thumbs up below the table. I start to relax a little more. I almost slouch in my seat. The same reporter turns to Hawk. “Speaking of longevity in Pittsburgh…Hawk, you confirmed that you were actually born here in Pittsburgh and we were able to verify public birth records. Then we did a little more digging…care to comment on your relationship with your father, who still lives in the area?”
Hawk turns white. “We are not in contact.” He glares at the reporter, who stares at his notes, still smirking.
“That’s interesting, considering your brother seems to be handling your legal contracts and managing the negotiation to get you here on the Forge. No inside baseball with your biological family?”
I watch as the bones seem to fall out of Hawk’s body along with the color in his skin. “Excuse me?”
“Ted Stag,” the reporter says, checking his notepad. “Your father. Do you care to comment on your relationship with him? I notice you don’t share a last name.”