On the Rebound

by Anna Albo

  “I just got up and was starved. We can go out later. Hit the clubs tonight?”

  “We’ll see,” Will lied. There was no chance of that. He had no intention of carrying his inebriated brother out of a club, or worse, bringing him home from the hospital after yet another bloody brawl.

  “I was thinking,” Jason said, following him into the kitchen, “what if I stay here permanently? There’s nothing left for me in Minnesota. Dad mentioned you might get me a job with the Falcons. I’d do anything. I’d sharpen skates all day if I had to.”

  Will pulled a soda from the fridge and took a gulp. He looked at his brother in his wrinkled T-shirt and baggy jeans. He’d lost at least twenty pounds the last few months and his face looked like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes, once full of life, were as dead as his career. Jason could have been a superstar, but he loved booze and pills more.

  “You’ve got kids in Minnesota.”

  “And an ex-wife.”

  “An ex-wife who loves you. Who’d take you back in a heartbeat if you cleaned yourself up.”

  “I need to be free. I need a fresh start. This is the best place.”

  “Why don’t you start working out again? Getting in shape. You’re young enough to get a tryout with a minor league team. You may even have a shot at the big leagues again.”

  Jason rolled his eyes. “Not this again. My playing days are over. Do you think if you hound me enough times, I’m suddenly going to change my mind?”

  Will could smell the beer on Jason’s breath. Had Jason already tied a few on? “I can’t get you a job until you clean yourself up. That means no booze. I get you a job with the Falcons and my reputation is on the line.”

  “Not you too!” Jason exploded, slamming his fist on the countertop. “I don’t have a problem.”

  “Don’t start shit with me. Dad might take it, and Mom puts up with it, but I won’t. You want to drink your life away, be my guest. But you won’t do it at my expense.”

  “Fuck you,” he spat. “I’m out of here.”

  “And where are you going to go?”

  “None of your business.”

  He stormed out of the kitchen and left, slamming the door behind him. Will knew exactly where his brother was going. A pub a few blocks away. He’d likely stay there the entire afternoon, drinking the day away. Just like every other one.

  WILL MET GRAHAM FOR drinks. He was in town a few days catching up with a new client, the one he’d wooed last time he was in town. Will was happy to see him expanding his business with more players. Graham had built up his base of players slowly and methodically and gave them all extra attention. He was easily one of the best agents in the league.

  “Will, my friend, we’ve got to get you out of this town,” Graham said, sliding onto the barstool next to him at the lounge in Graham’s hotel. “This place is a dead end. What if I look into getting you out of here? Come February, teams in the playoff hunt would love to have you.”

  Will took a swig of beer. “I like it here.”

  Graham scratched his balding head. He’d taken to subtly combing over his dirty blond hair, but that was only going to work a little longer. “I’m confused. What is it about this hellhole that you like? It’s a Midwestern, nothing-going-on town. You could play in New York, L.A., Toronto, anywhere is better than here.”

  Will shushed him. “You know people can hear you, right?”

  “They’d probably agree with me.”

  “Look, the place has grown on me. I’ve met a lot of great people and it’s close to home. I don’t want to end up in Florida or California. They’re not exactly traditional hockey markets.”

  “You’re nuts, but if you change your mind, I can find you a new team real fast.”

  “I promise that if I get sick of this place, you’ll be the first to know.”

  Graham rolled his rum and Coke. The ice cubes rattled in the glass. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about. I spent some time with Jason before we got here. I don’t think I have to tell you that he’s not doing well.”

  “Why do you think my dad shipped him here?”

  “I tried telling Sal that it wasn’t a good idea. How are you going to keep an eye on him while you’re on the road?”

  “I can’t. But Dad thinks I can get him a job with the Falcons.”

  “Doing what? Selling hotdogs?”

  The insult stung, but Will couldn’t hold it against his friend. Over the ten years he’d been in the league, including the two he’d spent in the minors at the beginning of his career, Graham had been his closest confidant. For most of his hockey life he’d jumped around from town to town during his junior career, then city to city in his professional one. The only constant had been Graham.

  “I don’t know what my dad expects. Jason is a liability. There are some scout jobs available, but those require travel. Jason isn’t stable enough to travel. He’s been here a few weeks and he’s already hitting all the bars. I’m offering him a place to stay, but that’s it. I can’t keep bailing him out.”

  “Tough love is hard. Look, I’ve seen my fair share of Jasons in this league and most of their stories don’t end well. Until Jason seeks treatment and sticks to it, you can’t help him and neither can Sal. Honestly, it’s in Sal’s best interest to cut Jason off, but I know he won’t do that.”

  “So what do I do with him?”

  “Nothing, I guess. But if you start giving him money, you’re feeding the beast.”

  Will ordered another round. “Do you know anything about Allie Stewart?” he asked, happy to change the subject from his brother.

  “No, but she sounds related to Eddie.”

  “His niece. He hired her and she’s a real firecracker. Maybe to her own detriment.”

  “What do you want to know about her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe nothing. We’re doing foundation work together.”

  Graham grinned. “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Get involved with her.”

  “Who said anything about that?”

  Graham deliberately raised his eyebrows. “You think I don’t know you? Is she hot? Don’t answer that. You wouldn’t be asking about her if you didn’t think so. Here’s my advice. Family members are off limits. Not only are they high maintenance, but when the relationship goes south, and it will, you’ll pay the price and she’ll go back to shopping at posh boutiques and eating at fancy restaurants. You’ll be playing with the farm team in a place much worse than St. Paul. If that’s possible.”

  “She’s not like that.”

  “That statement alone confirms my fears. Will, think about your career, not your dick. Allie Stewart is forbidden territory. End of conversation.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Kyle, is there a Falcons staff meeting today?”

  He shrugged and continued to eat his protein bar and flip through the morning paper.

  Allie scrolled through emails on their shared computer, the one Kyle touched only to make up his security schedule. While sending out emails to Tiffani and her followers, Allie had found the reminder email of the meeting in less than ten minutes.

  “According to this email, they are every Monday morning at nine a.m. Do you attend them?”

  “I only go if they need me.”

  “Shit,” she muttered, frantically printing off her notes. She’d have nothing to show management. She gathered up her papers and raced down the hall to the boardroom just in time to take a seat at the end of the table. Her uncle wasn’t there; he rarely came into St. Paul until the season was well underway, so there wasn’t a friendly face to greet her. She looked around the table and discovered that she was also the only woman there, a sad fact she couldn’t deny. She also couldn’t quell the nerves circling around in her stomach. Would any of these men take her seriously?

  Dick Johnson, Director of Hockey Operations, chaired the meeting. He went through the normal procedures and asked all i
n attendance to give a report on their area of the team. Nothing exciting was discussed and the energy in the room reminded her of a funeral wake. When it came to Allie’s turn, the gazes of ten bored men fell upon her.

  “Hello, everyone, I’m Allie Stewart.”

  “Yes, we know who you are,” Dick said and yawned.

  “Okay, well, I’m new this year, and I’m managing the Falcon Foundation fundraisers. I’ve met with the foundation fundraising committee and we’re coming up with some great ideas for this coming year—”

  “Great, sounds wonderful. Let’s move to hockey operations?”

  “Wait, I wasn’t finished,” Allie said. “I wanted to discuss where I see the foundation heading.”

  Dick massaged his temples. “All right, but please keep it brief. We have a lot to get through.”

  She fought hard to keep her jaw from dropping. She’d listened in painful detail as they’d gone line by line through concession sales, and whether or not to raise the price of beer by fifty cents, yet she couldn’t brief them on their charitable organization?

  She sat up tall in her seat. Dick Johnson wasn’t going to get under her skin. “As you can see, the fundraisers raised a paltry ten thousand dollars last year—”

  Tyler Strewchuk, the executive vice-president and chief operating officer, stopped her. “I see a quarter of a million dollars.”

  “That’s with the 50/50 raffle numbers included and other charitable endeavors handled by the foundation at large. Events like the Falcons alumni game, team memorabilia auctions and the celebrity golf tournament. That money was not raised by the fundraising committee.”

  “Well, what’s the difference? It still counts.” It was Jack McIvor’s turn to pipe in. He headed up marketing and sales.

  “Those monies raised were by the team, not the committee. Those numbers are separate.”

  “I don’t see why,” Walter Springs said. He headed up media relations.

  “All teams keep those numbers separate. If it would help, I can supply you all with a financial review of the foundation as a whole. But that’s Henry’s department, as the executive director of the foundation, and I see that he’s not here today.”

  “It looks good to me,” McIvor said. “What’s next?”

  “I’m still not finished,” Allie said, louder than expected. “Does no one here care about the fundraising aspect of the team? At one time the Falcon Foundation was one of the most respected charities in this city. It funded the creation of hockey rinks in northern communities, it helped fund diagnostic equipment for early cancer detection at various hospitals and the foundation used to send children with life-threatening diseases on once-in-a-lifetime adventures. Now these fundraisers can barely fund an economy class ticket to Saskatoon. Gentlemen, we have an optics problem that no one seems to care about. I care about it. So, if you can bear with me for a few minutes, I’d like to discuss budget and some of the ideas we’ve come up with.”

  For the first time she had silence. She took her window to explain what her goals were. The men listened. A few grumbled, but for the most part she had their attention.

  “Would an increased budget help in any way?” Tyler asked.

  “No. We have a spending problem that we are addressing. I don’t know how feasible it is on such short notice, but we’re exploring the option of having a live auction at the gala this year as well as a raffle. We know we have the bodies in the seats, the problem is that we haven’t capitalized on it. I can’t take credit for this idea, it was Will Cavallo’s suggestion, so he’s prepared to ask individuals and people in the community to donate prizes or money. If done well, I think we could easily raise a couple hundred thousand dollars.”

  Tyler nodded. “I know some people I can hit up. I can get some artwork, vacation packages and I have a jeweler friend. He’ll donate something. Great idea, Allie. Make sure to tell Cavallo the same thing. I’ll be the first to admit that we’ve let the foundation go a bit, and it has run amuck. Sounds like we’ve now got the right person in place.”

  The meeting continued and Allie couldn’t help but beam. Respect from someone and a little help too. The foundation was looking up already.

  WITH LESS THAN THREE days to the beginning of the season, Eddie called Allie into his Falcons office. He was in town for the home opener before flying down to Mexico on vacation. They sat on his plush brown leather sofa, her uncle with a scotch in hand.

  “How’s the first month been?” he asked.

  “Not bad. I’m working on turning around the foundation wives’ committee and I’m starting to meet people. Small progress, I suppose. At this rate, I should work my way up the ranks in about a hundred years.”

  Eddie snorted. “Say the word and I’ll make you CEO. Then I’ll know the team is in good hands.”

  “No need for that. I will earn my title. Maybe I should have changed my last name when I started this job. People wouldn’t know who I was.”

  “I like them knowing exactly who you are. Allie, I gave you a job because I’m grooming you. My kids have no interest in the Falcons. In fact, they keep telling me to sell the team. You’re the only hope of a Stewart being in charge. I want you to kick asses around here and let me know who you think should go.”

  “No pressure at all,” she said, playfully punching her uncle in the arm.

  “I’m not going to lie. You’re a smart cookie. If you see some bullshit going on, I want to know about it. Then, I’ll immediately take care of it.”

  “I’ll have to gain their trust first.”

  “That’s the hardest part.”

  Allie was about to get up and leave but stopped. “Gwen and Roger could be right. Why don’t you just sell the team?”

  Eddie set down his scotch and folded his hands together. “If I sell this team, I’ll take a bath.” Allie’s quizzical look spurred him to continue. “Years ago, when I negotiated the building of Stewart Center with the City of St. Paul, I insisted they take the financial risk. I wanted them to commit to me that they wanted to support the Falcons. I didn’t trust these government officials so an arrangement was made. They would fund the majority of the arena, and I would pay them back a portion of the loan every year until the arena was paid off. In return, I promised not to relocate the team. If I did, the entire loan would come due immediately.”

  Allie took a moment to contemplate the arrangement. “Based on that, you technically own the Stewart Center?”

  “As long as the Falcons are here or I pay off the remainder of the loan.”

  “Then if you own Stewart Center, you control how it’s run?”

  “Yes, essentially.”

  Thoughts raced through her head. “To be clear, the events and entertainment coordinator can book Stewart Center for concerts or other performances and all proceeds would go to the Falcons via Stewart Corp?”

  “The place is barely booked, but yes. We pay the city a huge chunk in taxes. That’s also part of the agreement. No tax breaks until the building is paid off.”

  “And all concessions and other revenue goes to the Falcons?”

  “Yes. The city gave us a sweet deal because if they didn’t, I was moving the team.”

  “But there is a huge problem. This building is rarely booked for anything other than Falcons games.”

  “I’m aware. I’ve let Tyler and Dick know that we need a new venue director. Are you interested?” Eddie asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

  “Maybe in the future, but not right now. I’m still trying to figure this place out.”

  “It seems like you’re catching on fast.”

  “This place is a mess.”

  “I know. That’s why you’re here.”

  “I can’t fix this.”

  “You might not be able to do it now, but I’m confident you’ll be able to do a lot around here very soon.”

  She kissed her uncle on the cheek. “You’re very sure of this, aren’t you?”

  He smiled. “You and I are going to fix things
around here. I will turn this team around if it kills me.”

  “It might kill me,” she said, bidding her uncle adieu.

  Allie returned to her office and obsessed over Stewart Center. She scrutinized five years of bookings and found that other than Falcons games, the arena was booked only a handful of times each year. Allie then researched teams in similar markets. The numbers were depressing. Either entertainers didn’t want to come to St. Paul, or the venue director wasn’t doing his job. She’d look into it later.

  As she was leaving her office her phone buzzed.

  Will: You around tomorrow? Thought we could go over some ideas. I know the meeting is a few weeks away, but I’d rather run them past you first. I’d hate for you to steamroll me in the meeting.

  He ended it with a smiley face emoji. The butterflies returned. Sure, it was harmless, but she couldn’t help but giggle like a twelve-year-old.

  Allie: Sure. Where and when?

  Will: I’m thinking my place. I make a mean pasta al forno. My dad’s recipe.

  More butterflies. His place sounded attractive, but what if he expected something? He knew as well as any other Falcons employee that fraternization of the sexual kind was strictly prohibited. She shook the thought from her head. She wasn’t even going to allow herself to think those thoughts anymore.

  Allie: Sounds good. What can I bring?

  Will: Just yourself. Seven?

  Allie: I’ll be there.

  He sent her a link with a map of his address. She smiled and called Cate. No answer. Allie would have to wait a few hours to share her news.

  “HOLY SHIT! ARE YOU excited?”

  “No, I’m keeping a level head. This isn’t a date. We’re working.”

  “Make sure he wears a condom. He’s probably slept with half of North America.”

  Allie propped up her tablet to better see Cate as she worked on her nails. She rarely did them but didn’t have time to go to a salon and have them done professionally, so she’d have to settle for her own shitty job.

  Tomorrow would be a nightmare. She had enough time to go home, change, then drive to Will’s place across town. Kyle had scheduled a four-thirty appointment with a food services company wanting to ‘donate’ to the foundation, if you called having the foundation order food exclusively through them for any future events donating. Even though it would be a short meeting, she’d have to contend with traffic when she finally left.