Page 34 of Worth the Try (Atlanta Granite #1)

Ansel

I T TOOK ROSIE all of a week to get Elodie moved in with us.

She started out simple, suggesting that Elodie should have some pajamas for sleepovers. Then swimsuits for the pool. Then clothes to change into after the pool. And then the cat.

Frankly, it’s impressive, and I can’t decide if her ability to make it happen is something I should be terrified of or not.

What I do know is that, despite me being nervous as hell to explain about Lauren, she took the news pretty well, all things considered.

She’s known that most kids have two parents, and that we were different because the woman who had her decided to give her to me.

Which is a hard enough message to send without making Rosie feel unwanted.

I took it farther this time, explaining that I’d heard from the woman who’d given her to me, and that she wanted to know how Rosie was doing.

Rosie, of course, wanted to know what I told her, and I responded that I’d been truthful: that Rosie was a monster who ate bugs for breakfast. She seemed to take it in stride, and with each new question she’s lobbed at me about it, I’ve been able to answer.

We haven’t seen or heard anything from Lauren, though, and if there’s anything to truly be worried about, it’s that. It’s infuriating. I should be happy. I should be fucking ecstatic. Instead, I can’t stop the low-grade anxiety that runs through my every waking moment.

It gets worse when Coach texts me for a Sunday afternoon meeting at the Granite headquarters. He won’t tell me what it’s about, only that I need to be there.

When I walk into the conference room he told me to go to, I’m faced with an entire team of people: not just Coach, but the assistant coach Craig, the president and owner of the team, a woman who looks suspiciously like a lawyer, and Kari and her boss.

“Ansel, have a seat.” Coach gestures to the table.

“What’s going on?” I don’t bother sitting.

“It’s not bad,” Kari says, ignoring the look of consternation her boss gives her. She inclines her head to the empty chair.

I approach it like I’m coming up on a wounded animal, swiveling it out and easing into the cool black leather. “Is anyone going to start talking?”

“Coach Boden is leaving,” Scott Bland, the owner, says.

I frown in confusion and surprise.

“And I’m taking Craig with me,” Coach adds. “We’re heading to Europe. Team over there made me an offer I can’t refuse.”

“You telling everyone on the team individually?” I try to joke.

Mr. Bland folds his hands on the table, and I realize that all of them are in suits. Even Kari is polished, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she’s wearing a deep yellow suit jacket.

“We’d like you to be the interim head coach,” the owner says.

I lean back in the chair and bark out a laugh. “Me? That’s hilarious. You can’t possibly be serious.”

“They’re serious, Miles,” Coach says.

But there’s no way. “I’ve never coached,” I tell the table. “Ever. I don’t know the first thing about it.” My head pounds, uncertainty pumping through me. A glass of water is pushed my way, and I take it, gulping it down.

“I’ll get you up to speed,” Coach continues. “We’ll spend the next week going over everything before I leave.”

“You’re leaving in a week?” I nearly yelp the words. “How long have you known?”

Kari’s boss, Frank, leans forward. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that everyone at this table believes you’re the man for the job.”

“But—” I start.

“It’s just until we find a replacement.” Mr. Bland raises his palms as if he’s trying to calm me down. “It won’t be too long. Maybe a month.”

“No way,” I protest. “This is ridiculous. I don’t coach. I have never been a coach. I am the last?—”

“We’re at a critical point here. Contracts are going out in a couple of days, and we need to keep the team focused while we get someone in place. You’re the team captain. You’ve run practices. You know the drills. You can coach the team in your sleep, even if you don’t know it.”

I raise an eyebrow at him. Since when does the team president know this much about me? Since now, I suppose.

He keeps going. “Everyone looks up to you.”

My head is spinning. And even though I think this is the dumbest thing they could possibly do, I’m already strategizing. Looking for a way to maximize this opportunity for the team. “Have you decided who’s getting renewed? Which tryouts are staying?”

“We thought you might want to have a say in that,” Coach offers. “Since Craig and I won’t be here.”

My eyes nearly bug out. “There’s an exhibition game in two weeks. You truly haven’t put anyone on contracts ?”

“It’s been…things have been up in the air,” Mr. Bland says. “We made sure to pay the boys for the summer intensive you’re single-handedly responsible for,” he intones, as if it’s my fault, “but we’ve been tied up with other pressing matters.”

I fight the rising panic clawing at my chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You don’t need to know that,” he answers.

Judging from his tone, I won’t be getting any other explanation.

The last thing I want is to be operating in the dark, but at the same time, how much of this shit do I really want to know?

Because there’s no doubt that the more I know, the more I’ll be responsible for.

I unclench my fists. “Fine. Are you going to be here for the exhibition game?”

They shake their heads.

Jesus fuck. “What am I missing?” I press. “Why me?”

“Look,” Scott says, nodding at the person I presume is a lawyer before returning his focus to me, “you’re the highest-paid player in the league.”

“Precisely why I should play ,” I remind him.

The lawyer pushes a contract in front of me.

“And you will be,” Scott says. “We’ll have someone in place before the first game of the season.”

“But not the exhibition game,” Craig pipes up. “That’s likely one you’ll be on the sidelines for.”

We’ll see about that.

“We need you, Miles,” Coach says. “You’re the only one that makes sense. Look at the contract.”

I sigh, but glance down.

And barely manage to keep my jaw from hitting the polished oak table when I see the amount. It’s ludicrous. How much are the coaches paid annually if this is what I’m getting for what’s likely a month’s worth of work?

“I’ll be honest with you, Ansel,” the owner begins.

I meet his eyes across the table.

“You’re the linchpin of this team. We need you. We need you on the pitch, and we need you to do this for us.”

Well, shit. I take a deep breath and nod, trying to ignore the weight that settles on my shoulders. “Okay,” I tell them. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent.” Scott rises from the table and leaning to shake my hand. He buttons his suit jacket and looks at the table. “I’ll leave you all to sort this out, then. See you on the pitch.”

I don’t have a chance to say anything before he’s gone, and the lawyer is setting a pen in front of me.

“I’m Jade,” she says, then points at the contract and rises from the table. “I’ll give you a few minutes to review.”

“My agent needs to look at this,” I counter, but she shakes her head.

“Lewis Jones?”

I nod. I took a chance on Lewis when he was straight out of the NFL and starting his agency. He’s blown up, so busy with the rest of his clients that he barely has time for me. Lucky for him, I’m easy.

Jade continues, her brow furrowing, “I had him look at it last night. He didn’t tip you off?”

I wince. “He texted me, but I was busy.” Busy with my head between Elodie’s legs. I’d planned to call him today. In retrospect, I should have called him on the way in.

She shrugs. “Call him now if you want, but I need it signed before you leave.” With that, she opens her phone and turns away from me, the dark wooden beads on the end of her braids knocking together as she goes.

Frank slides yet another piece of paper in front of me. “This is the statement we’ll release to the media. Have a look at it and make sure you’re good with the quote we’ve written for you.”

“Once you’re finished with all that,” Coach adds, “swing into my office and we’ll work out a schedule for the week.”

The beginnings of a headache start to form behind my eyes as Kari produces a bag from beneath the table. “What is that?” I ask her.

She, at least, has the decency to look a bit embarrassed. Or at least aware that all of this might be a bit much. “Swag.”

“Swag?” I say incredulously. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” She pushes it closer. “You’ll need coaching gear for the press.”

“For the press?” I nearly choke. “I thought you were doing a press release. Surely that’s enough.”

“It’s not,” Frank states flatly. “Kari, I’ll be in my office. Get that out once he reviews it.”

I watch him go. Glancing back at Kari, I say, “He’s a prick, isn’t he?”

She gives me a wry grin. “Sort of, but look at it this way: at least he’s in your corner.”

I raise my eyebrows. “That’s supposed to be comforting?”

“Believe it or not, yes.” She claps my shoulder. “Now, read that quote.”

I look at it and shrug. “It’s fine.” Not like I could come up with anything better, frankly.

She scoops it up with a smile of thanks and leaves, leaving me with the lawyer and my coaches. Or, I guess, former coaches.

What the hell have I just gotten myself into?