Inheritance Goals: A Sports Romance

by McKenna James

  When the second half began, I took a seat next to Gus. “Do you know what the board wants?” I asked. “The team is going to make the playoffs.” He stared at the field as the Apollos scored on six plays.

  “I really don’t know, Madison,” Gus said.

  We sat in silence for several minutes. Bryce struggled on the next two possessions but threw a bomb at the beginning of the fourth quarter, putting the Hurricanes up twenty-one points. The Apollos closed the gap to within three points until the Hurricanes’ final possession. Bryce dropped back on his on forty-yard-line and threw a pass almost sixty-yards, hitting one of his receivers who ran the ball in for a touchdown. The crowd cheered and started chanting, “Bryce MVP.”

  William jumped up and down. Gus stayed in his seat and clapped.

  “I’m going to take him down to the locker room,” I told Gus.

  “You sure that’s such a good idea after the game Bryce had?” Gus asked.

  I stared at Gus, waiting for him to say something about Bryce and I having been together.

  “Don’t forget about the board meeting,” he said.

  “Come on, William, let’s go see our team.” Gus watched us leave as William took my hand, and we left the suite.

  “You like watching Bryce?” I asked William as we rode the elevator to the lower level.

  William nodded. “I wanna be a quarterback when I grow up. Like Bryce.”

  “Everyone wants to be like Bryce,” I mumbled.

  The elevator opened, and William and I started down the concourse to the locker room.

  For the first thirty-minutes, the press was allowed in the locker room before the players began showering. The last thing William needed to see was a bunch of naked football players. Me on the other hand?

  We entered the locker room, and William immediately looked star-struck. Players who passed by greeted me, commenting about the game. Several rubbed William on the head. It was no secret William would someday be owner, so the players showed him as much respect as they showed me.

  “There’s Bryce,” William cheered, pointing.

  Bryce was surrounded by reporters who had recorders, phones, and microphones stuck in his face. We stayed back while he answered questions. Luckily, none were about the two of us.

  The announcement was made that the press needed to vacate the locker room, and as they did so, William and I moved forward.

  “Bryce,” I said.

  Bryce looked up and then removed his shirt. He was going to be an asshole. “William Charles,” he said to William and sat. He patted his knee. “Come on up here.”

  William hopped up on Bryce’s knee as if he were Santa Claus. “Can I have a football?” William asked.

  Bryce laughed. “You own the footballs.” He reached back and grabbed the football sitting next to his shoes. He handed the ball to William, his chubby little hands gripping each side as Bryce pulled a Sharpie from his locker and signed the leather.

  “Come over here, sport,” Ollie said.

  William joined Ollie, leaving Bryce and me alone.

  “Hell of a game,” I said.

  “Secured a place in the playoffs,” he replied, half-naked, smiling when he noticed me eyeing his chest. “Two years in a row.”

  “Miss Charles.” The player next to Bryce nodded his greeting as he moved from his seat. He had a towel over his shoulder and soap and shampoo in his hands. I sat by his locker and turned to Bryce.

  “I’m happy for you,” I said. He nodded and looked away. “William will make a good owner when you’re done.”

  “He’s five, Bryce. William may not even want to own the team,” I said. It was the first time anything like that had come out of my mouth. I suppose, however, it was a possibility. But then who would take over the team when I was no more? I had no heirs. Not yet.

  “I’m sure he’ll develop your father’s tenacity. Or even yours if you teach him.” Bryce grabbed his soap and shampoo then turned to William. “Thanks for coming down, little man.” He gave William a fist bump then turned to me, his demeanor souring. “Thanks for bringing him down to see the team.” He stood and walked to the showers.

  I watched him go, no words to speak.

  “Give it time,” Ollie said. “It’s a challenge for both of you.”

  I nodded. “Come on, William, we need to go back to your mom.” He frowned but didn’t say what seemed to be on his mind. It made two of us not happy about leaving.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bryce

  “You were kind of a dick to her,” Ollie said. “And it was a bad look in front of William. I’m just saying you need to be more aware.”

  “I’m so fucking confused, man. Look at the way things are going. When I push her from my mind, I play like the old Bryce. The one who won the title last year. I win the game and can’t even celebrate with her without wondering what a bunch of assholes might think. What kind of relationship is that?

  I adjusted my tie and left the locker room for the news conference where they would sit me at a table alone, reporters grilling me with a load of questions I had no interest in answering.

  How do you feel about today’s win, Bryce?

  What did you think about RJ’s touchdown celebration?

  What did you have for breakfast?

  The same questions week after week. Over and over.

  Before I entered the room, I noticed William and Madison waiting near the entrance. Madison looked beautiful, motherly with William standing in front of her, her hands on his shoulders. I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the two, Madison smiling when she noticed. William deserved the opportunity to have a little nephew or niece standing next to him.

  Mike stepped from the crowd and stopped me. “If you get trade questions, be sure to send them my way.” He adjusted his tie and tugged at his cuffs. The man was always wanting the limelight. He would do the press conferences without me if I asked him. If he did, he would never mention me unless directly asked. “And don’t throw out the name of any teams.”

  “You’re the man, Mike. I won’t say a word.” A lie. If someone asked about a trade, I would tell them the truth. A trade would solve all our problems.

  I approached Madison and William and stuck out my hand, noticing the half-dozen reporters watching us and taking pictures. This was the opportunity the tabloids were waiting for, hoping we would share a kiss or hug or anything they could claim inappropriate between player and owner. Madison reached out and put her hand in mine.

  “Miss Charles,” I said. “Your team is heading to the playoffs again.” We had three games remaining. Two more wins and we would secure home-field advantage through the playoffs. I moved to my haunches and shook William’s hand. “How you doing, squirt?”

  “Are you going to marry my sister like my dad said?” When I stood, he looked up at me. Kids said the strangest things at the worst moments.

  The entire concourse fell silent. Even the reporters shut the hell up. Mike moved behind Madison and held up his hands animatedly, in absolute pure shock if the pale face and look of horror was any indication. “What in the hell is going on, Bryce?” Mike was definitely causing a scene we did not need. No, I never mentioned the relationship to Mike because I knew he’d drop a bomb in an interview and ruin it for anyone.

  For the first time in my life, I froze. I had no idea how to answer, being in front of fans, staff, and the press.

  “William, honey,” Madison said. “Don’t be silly. We both work for the same team.”

  Then it got worse.

  “But dad said it didn’t matter. He said you would get married, and you would have babies.” He looked from Madison to me. “Right, Bryce?”

  “We’ll talk after I'm done, squirt,” I said. I held my hand out to Madison. “Good to see you again, Miss. Charles.”

  I entered the press conference, followed by the reporters who’d overheard William’s question. There would be no hiding from the onslaught of interrogations and scrutiny we now faced. />
  Unfortunately, the room was packed. I took a seat at the table and was then unexpectedly joined by Gus.

  “Game questions only,” Gus said. “I’ll take the first couple of questions.”

  I didn’t look at Gus or ask what the hell was going on. Thankful for his interruption, I returned to William’s question. Was I going to marry Madison? Not if we were still both associated with the Hurricanes. I’d already decided it was no longer worth the risk the relationship posed for either one of us.

  Gus received his first question, one I didn’t quite hear, and then proceeded to answer. I wasn’t sure at the time what he was up to.

  I looked around the room and for the first time in my career, I hated the spotlight. I wanted to win the game and go home to a wife and kids. Getting old? No. Maturing in what I wanted out of life.

  Gus answered another question, and my stomach knotted, knowing the questions were about to come my way. When Gus finished, he stood and looked at me. “Good game, Bryce.” He shook my hand and walked away.

  The questions came at me like bullets. All of a sudden, the reporters had lost all etiquette, speaking and yelling over each other. I heard the questions about the game, but I also heard questions about William. About his father, and then about my marriage to Madison. Be truthful, and we were all three screwed. William had taken the stage front and center with his question.

  “Okay,” I said, “one at a time.” I pointed at Tabitha Roberts, thinking it was best to get the obvious question over with.

  “We’ve heard rumors the Apollos are interested in your services. We even heard they are willing to give you a nine-digit salary. Would you like to respond to the rumors?” Tabitha sat and flashed me a smile. She knew what the other reporters would be asking.

  “I think as long as the Hurricanes will have me, then I will be here. I appreciate the interest the Apollos have shown.” I tugged at my shirt collar, the heat in the room overwhelming. “I’m hoping the Hurricanes will offer me the same type of contract.” I looked around the room for Mike, finding him in the very back, a frown on his face. “Please see my agent for trade and contract questions. He’ll be happy to speak with you.” Mike held his thumb up, but not one reporter acknowledged him.

  Tabitha stood and spoke over the other reporters who were trying to ask a non-football question. “Bryce,” she yelled.

  “Tabitha,” I said. “Go ahead.”

  “You didn’t really answer my question. Are you interested in being traded to the Apollos?” She returned to her seat and waited.

  “We’re in the playoffs,” I said. “Why would I want to be traded?”

  Tabitha nodded and shrugged.

  Steve Eisener, a reporter from The Post, stood with a smug smile. Everyone around him quieted because they knew Eisener was my most arduous critic. “Bryce, can you address the rumors that there is something going on between you and Madison Charles?”

  The room fell utterly silent. Everyone waited. Eisener smirked. At least I wasn’t caught off guard by the question. “As you know, Miss Charles is the owner of the team.” The door at the back of the room opened, and Madison entered without William.

  Eisener stood again. “We know that, Bryce, but what is your relationship with her? Just friendly or more on the romantic side?”

  Madison put a hand over her mouth. But I’d prepared for this moment for months. We would’ve been foolish to think a question would never be asked.

  “Miss Charles and I have a very cordial owner-player relationship. It has no bearing on how either of us performs.” I felt sweat racing down my sides. A bead of sweat built at my temples. “Next question.”

  Melissa Alverez of the Herald stood and waited for those around her to be quiet. “Bryce, each member of the organization signed a contract stating they would not have a relationship with any other member. If the rumors are true about you and Madison, I mean Miss Charles, then aren’t you both in breach of contract and therefore should be fired?”

  Madison left the room, and I almost followed her. But I had helped create the problem I found myself ensnared in. “First off, I signed no such contract. So, it’s a moot point. Secondly, my performance on the field speaks for itself. And, quite frankly, what I do in my personal life is nobody’s business.” As hard as I would try to avoid answering for Madison, the follow-up question would force me to.

  “Dwight Hightower with The Examiner,” the man said. I’d never met Hightower but figured we were about to get to know each other. I nodded for him to ask his question. “We appreciate your answer to Melissa’s question, but you didn’t address the second part. It’s our understanding she did sign a contract not to have a relationship with any staff member. Are you and Miss Charles in a relationship?”

  I thought about my answer for several seconds before answering. “I think what people do in their personal lives is nobody’s business. Miss Charles is one of the best owners in the league. She’s fair to her players, good to her staff, and the community thrives because of her.”

  Hightower stood again. “If the two of you are in a relationship, doesn’t that void her contract, nullifying her ability to continue as the owner? And then a follow-up to that. With her contract voided and her no longer the owner, does her brother, William, become the youngest professional sports owner in the history of sports?”

  Several reporters laughed before waiting for my answer. The exit opened again, but it was another reporter entering. I couldn’t answer for Madison. I wanted to, but it wasn’t my place to answer for the owner of the team. “I’ll decline comment and let her address whatever concerns people may have about personnel issues.”

  I declined any more questions outside what happened on the field after our win. Unfortunately, the subject was out there, and none of the reporters cared about the game. I excused myself and left the room, hoping Madison wasn’t waiting for me. She needed a break from me and the problem I’d helped create.

  I went back to the locker room where a handful of players were discussing what they’d just seen on TV. Ollie broke from the group and approached.

  “The guys don’t care, Bryce. Don’t let it get you down. We still have games to play,” Ollie said. “Hell, everyone knew what was going on.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “You gotta let it go.”

  “Well, well,” RJ said as he entered the locker room again. “Guess you were hitting it.”

  “Don’t, Bryce,” Ollie whispered.

  “Hightower and I go way back. Our fathers went to high school together.” RJ kept his distance but kept running his mouth. “Guess the kid will be running the team now.” He laughed, and I broke.

  I made it to him and was able to land one punch despite his attempt to flail away, hitting him square in the jaw. He staggered back and fell into the lockers. I charged after him, but several players caught me before I could throw another punch.

  “I’ll make sure you’re both gone,” RJ said.

  I looked at the security camera and felt Madison looking back.

  “Come on,” Ollie said. “You need to get home.”

  Ollie walked me to my car and when he left, I dialed Mike’s number.

  “Shit, Bryce, I had no idea you were banging the boss,” he said. “You got some set of balls. They’ll terminate her contract now.” He laughed. “At least now you won’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “Shut the fuck up, Mike.” I waited for him to shut the fuck up. “As soon as you hang up, I want you to call the Apollos. See what kind of deal they want. Then get with Gus and the trustees and make it happen.”

  “You can’t do that, Bryce. You’re in the playoffs. The Hurricanes won’t trade you.”

  “They will, and you need to make damn sure it happens by the end of the day tomorrow.” He started to protest. “If you don’t make it happen, you’re fired.”

  I ended the call with Mike and then looked at the security camera, watching the player vehicles. I shook my head and left the stadium.

  CHAP
TER NINETEEN

  Madison

  I watched Bryce drive away and then turned off the security cameras. I couldn’t watch the team, staff, or fans anymore. I’d done exactly what I said I wouldn’t do. Messed things up for myself. All I could hope was that the team still met expectations when William finally took over.

  The trustees were probably already on a conference call with Gus, terminating my contract and preparing to move Gus back to being the owner.

  I left the office and snaked my way to my car, avoiding everyone along the way. I needed a bottle of wine and a box of tissues. I’d failed William, myself, and my father.

  The radio shows were already buzzing with the news that I would be removed as owner. Tony Martin was already on the news by the time I arrived home. He gave no specifics but did say the team would be looking into the allegations. He reminded the host that the team won the title last year under Gus’ leadership. If that was what needed to happen, then so be it.

  At home, I grabbed a bottle of wine, skipping the need for a glass, and found a box of tissues. I parked my ass on the couch and began drinking. Moments later the tears started flowing.

  Everything had been lost. I was an embarrassment to the team and the Charles name. Though William was too young to understand what happened, when he was old enough, I suspected he would hold it against me. I grabbed another tissue and dabbed at the tears. When you were a goody-two-shoes your screw-ups stood out more than other people’s screw-ups.

  The doorbell rang, and I dreaded getting up. I didn’t want to hear excuses from Bryce. I didn’t want to hear how he would make everything okay because he couldn’t. As big and strong, as handsome and kind as he was, he couldn’t make this go away.

  I wiped my eyes and took another drink from the bottle. The doorbell rang again.

  “Coming,” I said.

  I didn’t want to see him. Didn’t want to talk to him. I opened the door and held out my arms. Julie stepped forward and hugged me, letting me cry on her shoulder. Like the faithful best friend she was, her tears sprang forth, and the two of us cried together. She knew what the team meant to me. Also knew what William meant to me.