The Game

Chapter 7

“The last thing we need to talk about is Sports Illustrated.”

Sports Illustrated“What about it?” I asked.

Beau Fallon, VP of Publicity, tapped his pen to his notepad. “They still want you for the cover. The president of the conglomerate that owns the magazine called me himself to ask what it would take to get it done.”

“Like I told you, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to have a high profile right now. I need to make friends with the people who work here, not alienate them further by flashing my face all over and acting like I think I’m a rock star.”

“I know, and I agreed when you made that decision. But I wanted to raise the issue again because they brought up a good point—you’re the youngest person to ever own a team, and a woman. It could be inspiring to other young women to know someone who looks like them is on top at an unlikely place.”

I shook my head. “Maybe down the road, but now isn’t the right time.”

He pulled something out of his leather bag on the floor and plopped it on the table. It looked like a stack of magazines wrapped in plastic.

“I’ll let them know. But they sent me these and asked that I give them to you.”

“What are they?”

“Some of their issues with trailblazing women in sports on them.” He pointed. “Billie Jean King, Serena and Venus Williams, Katherine Switzer…”

“Who’s Katherine Switzer?”

“She was the first woman to complete the Boston Marathon, back in ’67. Women weren’t allowed to compete, so she entered as KV Switzer. During the marathon, one of the refs realized a woman was running and tried to chase her off the course. But she was the first official female entrant to complete the race.” He pushed the stack of magazines forward. “You just made the point they were trying to make by giving you these. People don’t know about women’s accomplishments unless their stories are told.”

“I can definitely appreciate that it’s important to tell women’s stories. But I’d like to actually accomplish something before being hailed.”

Beau smiled. “You sound like your father.”

“I do?”

He nodded. “The man had made it to the NFL, broken a dozen records during his career, and then amassed a fortune through wise investing in oil and gas—enough to buy a team by the time he was forty. Yet he never felt like he deserved accolades.”

I had so much trouble reconciling the positive things I heard about John Barrett with the father who didn’t step up to take responsibility when I was born. But so many of the people who worked here revered him, so I kept that thought to myself.

“Anything else we need to discuss?”

Beau shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by. I had meetings with the legal department and operations team, and then sat in on the sales-team meeting. It was after five by the time I walked back down the long hall that led to my office. On my way, a photo I’d passed a dozen times finally stopped me. It was of my father and Tiffany and Rebecca. They were holding the Super Bowl trophy in the air, while ticker tape rained down all over them. I studied my father’s smiling face, again trying to figure out who the man was. A minute or so passed…or maybe it was longer. I was so lost in my head that I really had no idea until a man’s voice snapped me out of it.

“That was one hell of a crazy day.”

I hadn’t even heard Christian approach. “Oh, hey.”

He lifted his chin to the framed photo. “Did you watch that game?”

I shook my head. “I doubt I even knew the game was being played or what teams were in it.”

“I like how honest you are.”

“You might be the only one in this building.”

Christian smiled. “Apologies for being late getting up here. My knee was swollen today, so PT made me go for a scan.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Probably pushed it a little harder than I should’ve in therapy. You ready for Bruins people training 101?”

I shook my head. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“I know, but I want to.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that answer, so I tilted my head toward my office. “Come on.”

Inside, Christian pointed to the couch. “Mind if I sit there and prop my foot on the table? I need to elevate it to reduce the swelling so Doc doesn’t have a heart attack on me.” He stopped and put his hands up. “Wait, will that freak you out because you’re a germaphobe?”

“I’m not a germaphobe. Why would you say that?”

“You held your breath when someone sneezed yesterday.”

“Oh, that. I just don’t like sneezing. Did you know pathogens can fly from the human body at almost a hundred miles an hour and travel up to twenty-seven feet?”

“That’s a great little factoid. Do you spring those on people at parties? No wonder you need people training.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Put your foot up, wiseass.”

Christian chuckled. “You’re cute when you’re tough. Especially with those crooked spectacles.”

“Oh my God. Again?” I took my glasses off, bent one side a bit, and put them back on. “Better?”

Christian smiled and lifted his foot up on the table. “Nah. I was only screwing with you before. But now you really made them crooked.”

“You are such a child.” I fixed my glasses a second time, then grabbed a notebook and pen, along with my trusty algorithm binder, and sat down across from him.

“So what do you want to start with?” he asked. “The players or the corporate crew?”

I was about to say whatever he preferred when I noticed the stack of magazines on the coffee table from earlier today. It reminded me of what Beau had said—how I was so much like my father. “You knew John pretty well, didn’t you?”

“Barrett? Your father?”

I nodded.

“I think so.”

“What was he…like?”

Christian looked back and forth between my eyes. “He was a great guy. I’m not sure if that’s what you want to hear, considering how he handled things with you. But it’s the truth.” He shrugged. “At least from what I knew of him.”

I said nothing for a long time. “If you had to pick one word to describe him, what would it be?”

“The first thing that comes to my mind is honorable. Which doesn’t seem right to say to you. But the man I knew was a man of his word. There’s a lot of posturing and gambling in sports. Owners and coaches want to put together the best team possible, and that often means stepping on someone to get where you want to be. Everyone is always searching for the next best player. You can be the king one year and traded for a new royal the next. You’re only as good as your last game. There’s not too much loyalty. But when my first contract was up for renewal, and John put his hand on my shoulder and told me not to worry about it, I didn’t.”

I shook my head. “I guess I’m having trouble reconciling the man people around here talk about and the man who would let a child be passed around to different homes after the death of the only parent she ever knew.”

Christian frowned. “I don’t blame you. I am also.”

“Miller thinks I need to stop holding a dead man accountable, or I’ll never move on. But for me, it’s less about forgiveness and more about understanding why he did what he did. I’m the type of person who can’t leave a puzzle three quarters of the way done.”

Christian nodded. “I get it. I think sometimes we feel unsettled because we’re meant to know more.”

“Exactly. Why can’t Miller understand my logic like that?”

“I take it you two have been friends a long time?”

“Since he walked up to me the second day of class in ninth grade and told me never to wear orange again.”

“Why didn’t he want you to wear orange?”

I pointed to my head. “It looks terrible with my auburn hair.”

“He just walked up unsolicited and told you that?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t mind?”

“I did at the moment. I told him to go screw himself. But then when I went home and looked in the mirror, I realized he was right. I wore green to school the next day. Miller told me the color was intoxicating on me and handed me half of the brownie he was eating. We’ve been inseparable since. He has boundary issues, but he’s the best friend a girl could ask for.”

intoxicating My cell phone started to ring from my desk on the other side of the room, so I excused myself to check whether it was anything important. Finding Wyatt’s name flashing, I smiled. “I need to answer this. I’ll only be a minute.”

“Take your time.”

I swiped and brought the phone to my ear. “What’s going on, Trouble?”

“I’m calling to remind you about Wednesday night.”

“Do I ever forget your games?”

“You missed half of the last one.”

“Yes, but that’s not because I forgot. I got on the wrong second bus. There’s a difference.”

“Is Miller driving you?”

“No. Miller wants to come, but he has a big project at work, and they can’t start on it until the rest of the office is gone for the day.”

“So you’re going to take the buses again? That’s gonna take like an hour and a half with all the stops and transferring.”

“It’s okay. I’ll have my laptop to keep me busy.”

“You know they have this thing called Uber now...”

I smiled. “I’ll be there when it starts this time, I promise.”

“My friend Andre can drive you home after. He’s a pretty good driver.”

“Does Andre have a license?”

“He’s got his learner’s permit.”

“That’s not a license to drive. I hope you’re not getting into the car with him.”

“You know, you used to be cool. Now you sound like my mom.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“You do that…”

I laughed. “I’m at work still, so I need to run. I’ll see you Wednesday, okay?”

“A’ight. Later.”

“Later, Trouble.” I brought my cell over to the couch with me after I hung up.

“You going to the Philly game?” Christian asked.

“Philly game?”

“You mentioned a game on Wednesday. The league is trying out weekday nights a few times this season. Philly game is this Wednesday.”

“Oh.” I shook my head. “No, I’m going to a high school game, not a league one. Wyatt and his mom are old friends. He actually grew up playing soccer, but when he got to high school, the football coach drafted him as the kicker. He’s really good. Hoping to get a scholarship, but he goes to a catholic high school in Queens that doesn’t get a lot of attention from colleges.”

“What school?”

“St. Francis.”

Christian nodded. He was sitting on the couch, with one arm slung across the top and one foot propped up on the coffee table. It certainly didn’t look like he was in any rush to get up, and he seemed perfectly content just talking about, well…nothing.

I tilted my head. “Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

“Why are you here?”

“You mean at the Bruins?”

I shook my head. “No, here with me at this moment. You must have plenty of other things you could be doing right now that are more fun than listening to my drivel.”

“Maybe I like drivel.”

I snort-laughed. “No one likes drivel.”

He smiled, and his eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second. “Maybe I like you.”

youI shifted in my seat to face him. “Why?”

Christian shrugged again. “I don’t know. I think you’re interesting.”

My eyes narrowed. “What about me is interesting?”

“You’re a billionaire who lives in a rent-controlled apartment over a fruit stand and tried to give the team you inherited to your grandfather. What’s not interesting about you? Given your situation, most people I know would live in a penthouse by now and take car services, not walk twenty minutes to the stadium every day after getting off the train or humping it on two buses to Queens to see a high school game.”

notI raised an eyebrow, and a grin spread across Christian’s face.

“Plus, you’re hot.”

That last part made me smile. “And technically, I’m your boss.”

His grin widened. “That makes you even hotter.”

I chuckled. “Tell me about yourself, Christian. I feel like you know so much about me, but I don’t know anything about you, other than your stats, of course.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“You think I’m hot too, don’t you?”

I laughed. “Just answer the question, Knox. Something tells me your ego gets stroked enough.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He shook his head. “No girlfriend.”

I tapped my lip with my pointer. “What do you do in the offseason?”

“Recover. Let my body heal. Sleep. Fish. I have a cabin on a lake up in Maine. Spend time with friends. Travel. Keep up with my training.”

“That sounds so…normal.”

“The season is anything but normal when you play in the NFL. It’s tough on the body and mind. You’re on the road all the time, the media follows your a*s around, women hand you underwear with their numbers written on them and sneak into your hotel room. So normal is good.”

My face wrinkled. “Women give you their underwear?”

Christian smiled. “Any other questions?”

“Am I demented if I’m curious to know whether the underwear are clean or not?”

He laughed. “Maybe. But I like the way you think.”

A little while later, Christian’s cell chimed. He slipped it from his pocket and swiped. “I promised PT I’d stop back down before they close at seven thirty for a quick recheck of my knee, so I have to run.”

I tapped the screen on my phone to check the time. “Oh, wow. I can’t believe it’s seven fifteen already. We never even talked about the players or the staff.”

“Which means I have to come back.” Christian winked and stood. “Unless you want me to come back after and we can talk over dinner?”

I smiled. “I should probably get going.”

He nodded. “Another time, then?”

“Sure.”

He walked to the door. “I’m going to hold you to that sure.”

sure