by Tracey Ward
He throws his head back with a laugh. “Oh my God, you are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?”
“What?!” I demand. “It’s a legit question.”
He chuckles, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, Sloane, I will bring my money makers with me.”
“That’s not how I phrased it.”
“Oh yeah, you were very tactful.”
I throw my cap at him. “Shut up.”
Hollis continues to chuckle as we finish drinking. By the time we’re done we’re both somber faced and ready, just in time for the call to come in.
“Sloane,” Rhonda pipes in over the intercom. “Mr. Ashford is ready for you in his office.”
“Thank you, Rhonda.” I sigh, running my hands through my hair anxiously. “I guess it’s show time. Did you talk to Kurtis?”
“I told you three times. Yes. He sent the e-mail and I forwarded it to your dad. Kurtis was very detailed about what he saw in the locker room.”
“Okay,” I mutter to myself, trying to stay calm. “Okay.”
Hollis stands between me and the door as I go to leave. He looks down at me with worry in his eyes but a stern set to his jaw.
“I meant it,” he tells me seriously. “I’m going with you. If this is for real, tell me now, because I’ll start calling clients while you’re in there.”
I nod my head. No hesitation. “This is real. I already talked to Berny Dawe. It’s in motion. I’m jumping ship and joining with the enemy.”
“Who, in this case, might turn out to be the hero.”
“It wouldn’t be hard to look like one standing next to Brad. It doesn’t matter anyway. I told Trey I’d get him out from under this agency, that I’d find a way to be his agent without being his agent anymore, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to get us both out.”
Hollis grins faintly, leaning down to kiss my temple. “You’re going to get us all out.”
My heels echo in the empty hall as I make my way down to my dad’s office. It’s miles away but I feel like I reach it too soon. I feel like I’m not ready.
My heart is hammering fast as my dad leads me into his office. It’s Sunday, the agency is almost deserted, but still he closes the door behind me.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asks as he parks himself behind his desk.
To look at him you’d never know what he’s been up to today. He shows no sign of guilt or remorse for the client he fired or the player whose focus he shattered. He doesn’t even look like Brad at the office. He’s dressed casually like he’s sitting down to dinner with me. I half expect my mom to walk in at any moment with a wineglass in one hand and her phone in the other.
Luckily we remain alone. What I’m about to do, I can’t do in front of her.
“No,” I answer him quietly. “I’ll stand.”
“Up to you. What’s on your mind, Sloane?”
I wring my hands together, trying to look uncomfortable. It’s not hard. “We’ve got a problem with Domata. Actually, a few problems with him.”
“The abortion being the biggest.”
“Obviously, yes.”
His face becomes stern. “Why didn’t you tell me about it immediately?”
“I wanted to find out how legitimate the threat was.”
“And did you?”
I nod heavily. “I did. I went to the girl’s apartment today to talk with her. She told me everything. She had the timeline nailed down, documentation of doctor’s visits to support it. She even showed me the receipt for the funds transfer from Domata’s checking account to hers. He paid for the abortion, just as she said. He also…” I sigh, looking away. Looking dismayed. “He bullied her into it. I heard voicemails. He was angry and vicious.”
“That doesn’t sound like him,” he comments, relaxing back into his seat. He expected a rant out of me. He probably thought this meeting was going to be about Demarcus, not Trey. He definitely didn’t expect me to come in and calmly start pointing out Trey’s shortcomings.
“I don’t think we know who he is. None of us do.”
“Including you?” he presses.
“Especially me. I thought I knew him, but I knew the numbers. I didn’t know the man. He’s darker than I could have imagined, and it’s not just the bullying.”
“What else did you find out?”
I honestly hesitate now. This part is not an act. What I’m about to tell Brad is a secret Trey has kept for years. A secret Coach Reagan kept for him, but this is what he wants. Trey wants out, and the only way I’ll get him clear of this agency is if he’s a time bomb waiting to blow up in all of our faces.
“He has panic attacks,” I tell Brad thickly, my body revolting against the admission. I clear my throat, pressing on. “He’s had them all his life. The coaching staff helped him hide it at UCLA because his talent was worth the effort, but they’re getting worse. They’re getting violent.”
Brad frowns. He wasn’t expecting this. He’s not sure which direction to go with it. “Who told you this?”
“Coach Reagan. He confessed everything after I went to him last week. I heard a rumor that Domata had lost his temper at practice. I asked him about it and he got very cagey, so I went to the coach and asked him if he’d ever seen anything like it when Domata was at the school. It took some prodding, but he finally confessed that he knew all about it.”
“How bad are they?”
“It used to be he would get short of breath, nearly fainting. It’s changed as he’s gotten older. It’s angrier now. More aggressive.” I nod to his computer. “Check your e-mails. We got a message from Kurtis Matthews, the tight end on Domata’s team. He told Hollis he saw Trey losing his mind in the locker room today in Miami. He was throwing things, shouting at everyone, screaming into his phone.”
“That’s hard to believe,” Brad scoffs, turning to his computer. “The kid is known for his composure.”
“Not off the field. His personal life is a hot button for him. His parents, his friends, his relationships. He hates feeling out of control, like people are running his life.” I glance pointedly at the wall where the stucco has been mended. It’s perfect, seamless, but I’m sure my dad still remembers that night and the damage Trey did. “I think you’ve seen him in action before.”
Brad follows my eyes. His face pinches, harshly shadowed by the glow from his computer screen. “Yes, I remember.”
“The abortion story is going to come out,” I tell him plainly, folding my arms over my chest. “Every word of it is true, and then some. It’s only a matter of time until the girl goes public, and then what happens? She paints him in a very ugly light. Larkin’s DUI is going to look like a Kindergarten time out when this shit hits the fan. No company will touch Domata. Not with his image destroyed and his career built on sand. He’ll be lucky if the Kodiaks don’t let him go at the end of the season.”
“This was your sign, Sloane,” he reminds me, his eyes scanning his email as he scolds me. “You fought for him. Are you suddenly done with him? One bump in the road and you’re ready to cut and run?”
“It’s more than one bump.”
He ignores me as he finished the email. Finally he kills the screen, turning his attention back to me. He’s disappointed. It’s written all over his face, but whether he’s disappointed in me or Trey, I don’t know. Probably both.
“His endorsements are dead in the water once this hits,” he tells me sternly. “My work with him is done, but what about you? He’s still a hell of an athlete.”
I purse my lips together, furrowing my brow in anger. “No. I don’t want to deal with him anymore. It’s only a matter of time before he implodes in the locker room or on the field. The coaches have to know something’s up by now and he’s either going to get benched, thrown off the team, or end up in therapy. No matter what, he’s off the field and I’m not looking for another deadbeat client to add to my roster.”
Brad nods, a small amount of appreciation in his eyes as he looks at me. “Th
at’s a smart move. You’re not ready for this. You probably weren’t ready for any of this. I unleashed you too soon.”
I bristle at the accusation, along with the insinuation that he ever let me off leash. “You’re probably right,” I grind out.
“You’ll work with me more closely after this. We’ll scout clients together. I’ll show you the ropes, no more time with Hollis. He’s too soft. He doesn’t have the killer instinct, but you could if you cultivate it. I’ll show you how, but first let’s get a clean slate. Scrap this loser and start over.” He pushes his intercom, calling for Rhonda. “Come in here, Rhonda. Bring your notary stamp.”
I watch dispassionately as my dad rifles through his file drawer. He’s looking for the termination agreement, the document that he, myself, and Trey will sign to end our contract ‘amicably’.
“Can you get him to sign a termination?” he asks, pulling the form free and bringing it to his desk.
“I’m sure I can. He’s angry at the agency. He’s not thinking straight.”
“That’s exactly what we need. Emotional people make emotional decisions. And what are emotional decisions?”
“Stupid decisions,” I recite dully, remembering my lessons.
“That’s right,” he commends me, looking up from his desk as Rhonda breezes silently into the room. “You’d be smart to remember that.”
“I will.”
I walk to the desk to stand across from him. I try to keep my eyes off the agreement on his desk but it’s hard to look away. His pen dangles in his hand, moments away from giving me, from giving Trey, exactly we want. I’m terrified I’ll tip my hand. I’m terrified I’ve played it all wrong, that it won’t work, but worst of all I’m shaking in my shoes, shitting my pants scared that it will. That this is happening and I’m conning my own blood.
Hollis is wrong; I’m not my father’s daughter. I’m nothing like him. The idea that I’m lying to him, that I’m about to betray him, nearly brings tears to my eyes. I can’t help but remember being a little girl in this room watching him work his mysterious magic from behind that desk and wishing one day I could do the same. I remember bouncing on his knee, playing with his highlighters, drawing pictures for him that he taped across every surface he could find. He was so proud of me. His little girl.
But that’s the problem with us. That’s all I’ll ever be to him; a little girl playing in his office, and that’s simply not who I am anymore.
And I’m about to prove it.
“Sloane,” Dad says, calling for my attention.
“Yeah?”
“Are you ready?”
Am I?
“Yes.”
He offers me the pen, holding it out to me with a convivial smile.
“Ladies first.”
Sun Life Stadium
Miami, FL
Sloane is magic. She’s better than music, better than sex. Better than anything or anyone I’ve ever known in my life. With one conversation she set me straight for the game where I lead the boys to a decisive victory. It was all I focused on. Me and the game, the ball in my hand and the field under my feet. Matthews in the end zone. Anthony on the run. Avery breaking through the line like it was made of paper, like the tape at the end of a race he’d run and won. He’s a force of nature we all forgot about while he was hidden behind Duncan Walker, but now that he’s out, no one will ever forget his name again.
After the game, the reporters ask for him. They ask for Tyus and I to stand with him, snapping pictures of the three of us together, smiling, young, and hot. They go ape shit over the youth of the team. The promise of the season. We’ve only lost one game so far, and with me at the helm and this O-line at my disposal, we could go all the way. The Super Bowl is in the air and we’re all getting high off it.
“Holy shit, man,” Colt laughs as we leave the press room. He’s literally bouncing with each step, too jazzed up to exist in one space. “Did you see that?! They fucking love us.”
Tyus snorts, unimpressed as always. “Of course they do. We just won a game. See how much they love us when we lose.”
“Nah, I mean the cameras. The photographers. They love us, the three of us. We’ve gotta do something with that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask.
Colt stops in front of our lockers to smack both Tyus and I on the chest with the backs of his hands. “This! Us! The three of us. We’re in the spotlight right now. We have to make the most of it while we can.”
“You sound like my agent,” Tyus warns him.
“Because I’m smart, dude,” he replies, tapping his temple. “We need to do an ad campaign together. Something before the season is over, in case we start losing.”
“Wow. Thanks for the faith,” I mutter.
“Don’t get bitchy. I’m serious. This tide could change tomorrow and we’d be idiots not to strike while we’re hot. We need a company that’s young. Something that will get us a lot of exposure with people our age. People who want to see us naked.”
“American Apparel?” I suggest.
“Sick! No! Come on, help me out here.”
“Call your agent. I’m sure he’ll have ideas.”
“He won’t,” Colt grumbles, his eager face falling. “The guy’s fuckin’ worthless.”
“Well, if you come up with something, call my agent,” Tyus tells him seriously. He grabs his duffel from in front of his locker, slinging the heavy bag over his shoulder. “If you can find a good hook, I’m in.”
“For real?” Colt asks excitedly.
“Yeah, man. I’m all for getting this gorgeous face out there. And if I’m standing next to you ugly assholes, I’ll look even better.” He flashes us a grin, throws up two fingers, and saunters out of the locker room.
Colt turns to me, flashing his favorite smile. His closing smile. “What about you, Trey? Are you in?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what I’d be ‘in’ for, and neither do you. If you come up something solid, let me know. I’ll think about it.”
“I’ll have my agent give the Hotness a call when we figure it out.”
“Sloane doesn’t handle my endorsements.”
“Who does?”
I pause, not sure what the answer is to that. If Sloane was able to manage it, Brad Ashford isn’t my endorsements agent anymore. But if he’s not, then who is?
“Call me,” I tell him evasively. “Not your agent. You. I’ve talked to that guy before. He’s skeevy.”
He clicks his tongue in the back of his throat, his brow pinching with annoyance. “Yeah, I know. I gotta get a new agent.”
“Join the club,” I mumble under my breath.
Colt grabs his bag while I finish packing mine. He slaps my ass as he walks past, promising to call me in the morning. I feel weird about the whole exchange.
“Hey, Trey!” he calls from the door, standing half in and half out. “You got visitors out here.”
“Who?!”
“The Hotness and some old dude.”
Oh shit, I think anxiously. Sloane and Brad Ashford. This cannot be good.
I look around the locker room, making sure it’s empty. Everyone else who wasn’t delayed by the press should already be on the bus and the coaches are in their interviews now. The place is a ghost town.
“Let ‘em in.”
Colt steps out of view, holding the door open. Sloane walks in, and even though I’m expecting to see her, she’s an instant surprise. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen her out of work clothes, and half of those times were when she was naked. She rarely does casual, but tonight she’s in white sneakers, dark jeans, an unzipped yellow hoodie, and a very familiar orange tank top with my name stretched across her breasts. Her hair is down, her make up heavier than usual. She smiles that playful smile of hers, the one I remember from the airport the morning we met. The one that’s ready to give you the ride of your life if you’re man enough to follow her. To let her lead.
&n
bsp; I nearly cross the room to her, intent on taking her in my arms and kissing those lips, telling her to take me where she wants me to go, when I remember she’s not alone.
An older man steps into the room behind her. He’s an even bigger surprise than she is.
It’s not Brad Ashford, but his face is still somehow familiar. I can’t place him but I know I’ve seen him before.
He’s Brad’s age, in his mid-fifties. He’s dressed in business casual; crisp, dark slacks and a white polo shirt neatly tucked under a black belt, Nikes on his feet. He smiles when he sees me, and the thing that strikes me immediately is how real it is. How different from Brad’s smiles that always felt hollow and pointless. Almost creepy. When this guy smiles it reaches his eyes, green and eager. Sharp.
“Trey, this is Berny Dawe,” Sloane introduces us as the door slams shut behind them. “He’s a sports agent based out of L.A.”
I offer him my hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
“You too, Trey. You too.” He takes my hand in both of his. “Hell of a game. Congrats on the win.”
“Thank you.”
“Sloane and I streamed it on the plane ride over. She had to show me how,” he says with a chuckle, grinning appreciatively at Sloane. “That dive you made into the end zone for the two-point conversion, that was ballsy. No one saw that coming.”
“I don’t run it in very often. I’m not fast enough.”
“It’s good to keep them guessing, though, right? Throw them a curveball now and then. In this business you should never let anyone think they’ve got you pinned down. Not even yourself.”
I smile appreciatively. “I’ll remember that.”
“Watching you play, I think you already know it. You’re already living it, and it’s going to take you far.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. And hey, thank you for giving us a good show. You and your crew are fun to watch.”
Sloane pulls a white sheet of paper from her bag, handing it to me. “We brought you a present.”
I look it over quickly, my heart skipping a beat when I read the signatures at the bottom. “Is this what I think it is?”
