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“Usually,” Coach states, giving the GM the side-eye as he sits.
“Then, you tell me. What was the purpose of leaking a trade rumor that’s not actually in the cards?”
“Oh, don’t be so sanctimonious, Freeman,” McNally spits. “You fucked up. You know it. You needed to be reminded of who holds the cards. Missing the morning of a game is a breach of contract I will not stand for.”
“I took my punishment that’s stated in my contract. I paid the fine. Only a dickhead would take it further than that. That was the first time I’ve ever missed a team anything in all my years as a Wildcat.”
“That’s true,” Coach says.
“And for what?” McNally shouts.
“A personal matter.”
“That was?”
“Personal.”
McNally shakes his head. “You failing to give a good excuse?—”
“We’re not in high school. I don’t owe you shit. My mom doesn’t have to sign for my absences. The matter was personal. It didn’t have anything to do with the team, so let me ask you why you decided to make it about me.”
Coach runs his hands over his bald head and blows out an aggravated breath. “Let me get this straight. You threatened Freeman with a trade?”
“He harassed my girlfriend by starting a rumor that I was going to be traded. She was onWake Up, Nashvilleearlier and was blindsided by the question.”
“Wake Up, Nashville, huh?” Coach peers over at McNally. “Isn’t your brother-in-law some exec for that show? Is that who called you up to complain?”
“You piece of shit,” I growl, lunging for him again.
Coach barks out my name, and I freeze in place. Right now, this is a business issue. If I make it into a physical one, McNally will definitely take this further. What I wouldn’t give to clock him, though.
“Like I said, we all need lessons.”
“I suppose we do.” Coach narrows his gaze at McNally, then sits back. “I’d also like to know why my email is blowing up from players saying they support Freeman and would be happy to send letters to Big Al in opposition of you…Steve.”
McNally blinks. “Excuse me?”
“About twenty-five emails so far, but they keep coming in.” He turns his monitor so we can see the emails pop up on his screen, and I can’t help but smile. I knew the guys would get the other teammates to come through.
“Let’s look at one.” Coach clears his throat. “‘I find the behavior of threatening players with trades reprehensible, as well as involving family matters in team disputes.’” His finger works against the mouse. “Let’s see another one. ‘I stand with Freeman. Even his fine was too harsh for never missing a practice with the team before, but this talk of trade is ridiculous. If this is a scare tactic, I’m disappointed. I didn’t think Wildcats behaved like this.’” He peers over at McNally. “Should I keep going?”
“I’m the general manager.” The tone in his voice feels like he’s still desperately trying to keep power in his favor. Like a little kid who’s trying to sound tough.
“Like you said, we all need lessons. Even the GMs,” Coach says, giving him a smile devoid of anything joyous but laced with sarcasm. “I suppose you should clear things up with the team before they go to Big Al.”
“Big Al happens to really like me,” I tell McNally, knowing that the Tennessee Wildcats’ owner signs this asshole’s paychecks and has the authority to get rid of him. “It’s a shame you decided to go the personal route and involve my girlfriend. You and your brother-in-law talked, right? You came up with this scheme. One, so he could get more eyes on his show, and two, so you could send me a message. Did you realize her anxiety was that bad? I bet you all laughed about it.”
I take out the video Levi took and hit Play, making sure it’s angled toward Coach who shakes his head in disgust. “My teammates were there because we look out for one another, and none of them will be punished. I can’t say the same forWake Up, Nashville, though. You’re probably not aware of how much of a following my girlfriend has. I’m sure their viewership would love to hear how she was baited to come on the show to be blindsided.”
“Or that Al would like to hear how you talked about personal team matters with the media,” Coach chimes in.
“You’re both blowing this out of proportion.” McNally chuckles, peering between the both of us. “This is how teams run.”
“If I were you,” I tell him. “I’d take this valuable lesson and learn from it. We don’t do those things here.”
“And unless you want this to escalate further, Steve, I suggest you craft an email to the players explaining the error of your ways.”
“And apologize to my girlfriend. Meaningfully.”