Page 30

Micah

“ D on’t do anything rash. Wait until I get there.”

My agent’s words linger in the car even after he hangs up.

Despite his advice, I’m already on my way to the head office.

I’ve been a Wildcat for a long time, and I’ll deal with this bullshit myself.

If they want to play dirty, I’ll play dirty.

All I needed to know from my agent is if he was contacted about a trade.

He said no, so I’m willing to bet this is all a scare tactic and a dick measuring contest.

Which would’ve been fine. Expected, even. Except Raeann got hit in the crossfire.

My phone chirps again as I pull into a parking space. I put my car in Park and turn off the engine before reaching for my phone to scroll through the group chat.

Parker: What did your agent say?

Tipper: This sort of subterfuge screams McNally. Ever since he was hired as GM, it’s all about the front office. It’s like they don’t care who busts their ass every day.

Farmer: Dude. Give them shit. This is not okay.

Levi: Don’t be mad, but I recorded some of what happened. I figured it couldn’t hurt to have.

I play the video Levi sends over, my pulse feathering at my wrist. Raeann was nearly catatonic when I reached her.

The video bounces between me helping Raeann and the rest of the guys going after the big wigs on the show.

They only care about viewers and ratings, and something like this—Raeann rendered speechless and clearly upset—would’ve had them as top news.

They’d show the clip over and over again.

All those entertainment gossip sites filled with her face…

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 at Wake Up, Nashville .”

“We’re not your players.”

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?”

“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 on Wake Up, Nashville earlier 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 for Wake 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.”

McNally’s face morphs from disbelief to anger. We’ve cornered him, and the man who thought he had all the cards now realizes he has nothing. He straightens his jacket and strides from the room.

Poor Nala. I bet she’s about to get the brunt of his anger.

“He’ll never be a true Wildcat,” Coach says, shaking his head and staring at the empty doorframe. “Sorry, Freeman. I didn’t see this coming. I hope your girlfriend is okay.”

“She will be. She’s strong. Still doesn’t mean she deserved to go through it.”

“You two have been in the public eye a lot lately. Make sure you’re staying grounded, too.”

“She’s my number one priority.”

“If it helps, you tell that girl of yours that you’re not going anywhere.

You’re the face of the Wildcats. McNally understands where to push buttons.

He wasn’t only helping out his brother-in-law, he knew the trade rumor would get people talking about the team.

Your highlights will be all over ESPN today along with speculation.

I bet I get a call from Al asking what the hell is going on. ”

“I don’t like him,” I tell Coach.

“He’ll dig his own grave. We have to wait it out.”

Patience has never been a strength of mine, but as long as McNally does what we asked, I won’t take it a step further. “I can’t promise Raeann won’t take this public, and I won’t dissuade her either.”

Coach shrugs. “I don’t see that as a me issue.”

Good. We’re on the same page.

“What are you still doing standing here? Go take care of that girl, and I’ll see you at practice.”

I give him a salute and walk toward the exit. When I pass McNally’s office, I hear him yelling through the walls. Peeking inside the glass, I spot Nala taking notes, her back ramrod straight and her mouth thin-lipped. Poor thing. Her boss is an egotistical tyrant.

When I step outside, I pull out my phone and send a text to the group thread.

Me: He folded. Expect a team-wide email thanks to you guys.

Farmer: Collective high five!

Levi: Someone tell the rookie we don’t high five. We give knuckles like bros.

Davis: Keep us updated on Raeann and give her our love.

Tipper: Jo’s absolutely furious on her behalf. If Raeann needs to talk, she’s here.

Now that’s what being part of a team is all about.