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My friends took care of it, though. In fact, if I were in a better mood, I might laugh at the big football players facing off against the stuffy guys in suits and the even punier employees.
Me: Thanks for taking this. I’m about to walk in.
Davis: Let us know if you need backup.
The entire way into the office, I replay Raeann’s stricken face. The complete mindfuck she was in because the head office decided to play a game. I march right past the GM’s secretary’s desk and right into his office. “Sir, sir!” the secretary calls out.
The door bounces off the hinges to an empty room. I grind my teeth together and turn, nearly running straight into the twenty-something in front of me. Nala. She’s been the GM’s secretary for a while. I always see her at team parties. “Oh, Micah.” She breathes a sigh of relief. “He’s not in there. He’s in with Coach.”
“Know anything about this trade rumor?”
Nala presses her lips together, her eyes moving back and forth to see who’s around. “I heard him watching a show this morning. He seemed to get a kick out of it.”
“Did he now?”
She nods.
“Do me a favor, Nala. He hurt someone really close to me today, and I was wondering if he did something like this again, would you mind contacting me? I’m sure you can find my number in my file.”
“I can do that.”
I nod. “The guys and I would be very grateful.” I take out my phone while I walk toward Coach’s office, sending a quick text to the group chat. If this guy wants to play, we’ll play.
By the time I get to Coach’s office, my anger is at an all-time high. He’s a good guy. I don’t think he had anything to do with this but was forced to go along with it because McNally is a pushy asshole.
Unlike McNally, Coach doesn’t have a secretary, so I walk right in. I don’t have a plan, but when I see the beady-eyed smirk of the GM, I lose it. He rises to greet me, and I push him against the wall. “You think you can play with people’s lives? Huh?”
His face turns a cranberry color as I hold him by his suit lapels, my forearms crushing him to the wall at his back.
“Freeman!” Coach barks.
I hesitate a moment, reluctant to let go, but the desperation and demand in Coach’s voice gets to me. I give McNally one last shove before I step back.
“Freeman, Jesus Christ,” Coach grinds out, throwing a few pieces of paper onto his desk.
I ignore him, eyeing the real enemy in the office. “You’re not going to trade me. You were sending a message, and you deserved one of your own.”
“Can’t trade you? I can do whatever I want.” McNally straightens his suit, looking flustered. I bet this guy was one of those smooth-talking jackasses in high school who never got his ass kicked because he hid behind people. “Especially after this.”
“You’re new here, so I’m going to tell you how we do things in Wildcats country. We talk like adults. I paid my fine.I apologized to the team. Hell, I scored a fucking touchdown. Missing the morning of the game did not impact my play at all.”
“You were in breach of contract.”
“Did you tip them off? The morning show? You knew Raeann was going to be there, didn’t you?”
The absolute terror on her face, this guy did that. My hands ball into fists again.
“Do you want to know why I’m in here?” he counters. “Because I got a call today from a studio exec saying that a few of my players were threatening staff down atWake Up, Nashville.”
“We’re notyourplayers.”
Coach shuts the door. “Can one of you tell me what the hell is going on here?”
“Are you trading me?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. If Coach doesn’t know what’s going on, he’s about to find out.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
“And the trade deadline is today, correct? So if you were trading me, you would’ve heard about it already?”