Bad Business

by Nicole Edwards

  “We got this!” James Snyder, the rookie running back, yells.

  “Hell yeah we do!” Todd Jones, the veteran wide receiver, chimes in.

  We kicked some major ass during the first half of the game. The offense was focused, determined, and we made our way down the field on every possession, ending the half with a 24–7 lead. And the defense held together well.

  However, we all know that halftime can change the momentum of a game. And, unfortunately, history shows that our defense winds down on the downhill slide. That’s something we can’t do. Which is the very reason I feel the need to keep my team motivated.

  In the past few months, we’ve seen a significant change in the team. They’ve gone from beaten down to resolute. I can’t take the credit for that, although Coach keeps telling me that I’m the driving factor behind the shift. I don’t think so. I think these guys simply needed a change of pace. Not that they would’ve chosen it this way, but it’s working and we can’t argue with that.

  “Come on, guys! Let’s go out there and show ’em what we got!” I yell.

  A chorus of positive grunts follow as we all get up and head toward the door.

  One half down, one to go.

  Like Snyder said, we’ve got this.

  * * *

  —

  An hour and a half later, I’m starting to wonder if I need to schedule additional time for some PT. No matter what, I definitely need to ice my shoulder; the damn thing is throbbing like a bad tooth.

  Between the couple of hits I took on the field, along with all the guys slapping me on the back after we dropped another tick in the W column, my body’s starting to protest.

  That’s where my mind’s at as a reporter stands in front of me, pelting question after question. I have to admit, I’m hyped up on adrenaline and I’m sure they can all tell. My body is buzzing and this standing still shit is starting to get to me. Plus, I’ve never been a huge fan of these damn interviews. If it’s not written across my face, then surely they’ve picked up on my one-word answers and the couple of times I’ve stuttered during two in a row.

  Sure, this is the sort of thing that athletes dream of. Being in the spotlight, their faces plastered on every television from New York to California. And yes, that part is cool as shit, but it’s unnerving at the same time.

  It’s only a matter of time before I say something completely inappropriate.

  My mom used to toss out questions at me and my brother over dinner, pretending we’d made it to the big time long before it ever happened. The woman’s our biggest fan and we’re hers, but even she’ll tell you that I’m much better on the field than off. As for Jeremy, the guy’s smooth as silk.

  I did not get that trait.

  “How does it feel at this point in the season, Stone? Twelve straight wins. It appears as though the Wranglers are unstoppable. And now the team’s favored to take first place in the NFC East.”

  Favored? The only thing that’ll keep us out of first place is if we lose two of the next three games and the Giants win all three. Sure, it could happen, I guess.

  “We’re not there yet, but I’d say we’ve got a pretty good chance.” It’s what they want to hear from me, so I lay it on a little thick. “If you’re referrin’ to the ass-kicking we dished out, sure. That’s what I’m here for. To win. No sense doing things half-assed at this point.”

  “Well, you did gain some yardage based on technicalities,” the reporter continues.

  “I gained yards because that’s the point. The game’s as much mental as it is physical,” I tell him. “The defense should know how many players they can have on the field.”

  From behind me, I hear Snyder laughing. “I can’t tell you what we’ll do next week, but like this week, we’ll go out there and give it everything we’ve got.”

  Yep, the kid’s got the political thing down. He’s charming these newshounds with a grin. Snyder’s learning early on exactly how to play this out.

  Me? I’m tired of talking—hell, I’m tired period—and would much prefer to be anywhere else.

  “What are your thoughts on the Super Bowl?” the reporter asks.

  I laugh. “I’m not thinkin’ about the Super Bowl. I’m thinkin’ about dinner.”

  A handful of people laugh around me and I’m sure they can see my disinterest written on my face. But, it’s true. I am thinking about dinner. I’m also thinking about a hot little brunette who promised me she’d be at today’s game.

  “Hey, Stone. I’ve got a question,” a big guy toward the back calls out.

  I recently learned that there is a point when I have to stop the questions from coming or the reporters will likely stand here all night. As much as I want to help them out, I really do have to eat, not to mention, call my mother. I know she’s waiting to go to bed until she hears from me.

  Glancing around, I look for something that will get me out of this without me having to sound like a complete dickhead. I’m not good at making an exit. Unless turning and walking away counts. As far as I’m concerned, I did my job tonight, we won, and now they’re impeding on my own time.

  Lucky for me, Aaron Andrews chooses that moment to come over and clap me on the shoulder, holding out his hand to shake mine. I return the gesture and the cameras go crazy.

  He leans in close. “Great job out there tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Let’s meet up tomorrow mornin’,” he says in that distinct Texas drawl that causes him to drop the g on all words ending in ing. I’ve been accused of doing the same thing myself, mostly when I’m nervous. “I’ve got somethin’ to discuss with you.”

  Pulling back, I stare at the man, unable to disguise the confusion I’m instantly consumed by. It’s not every day that the owner of the team seeks you out and requests a meeting. I fight the urge to ask what it’s about. I mean, I might not be the best spokesman for the team, but I’m not stupid.

  “Sure,” I agree casually.

  He slaps my shoulder again, smiles at the cameras, and then saunters off the way he came.

  “Stone! Does this mean you’re in negotiations over extending your contract next year? Is retirement still your plan?”

  Those are questions I have no intention of answering.

  Instead I spin around and…walk really fast.

  Only because running would just look stupid.

  Savannah

  “I’m just curious as to why you’re even worried about that right now,” I tell my father over dinner. “There are still four games left in the season. Shouldn’t you wait to see how those shake out?”

  Will glances between me and my father.

  Tonight’s dinner is just me, Will, and our dad. Will’s wife, Eve, is at home taking care of my nephew, and Aaron Jr. couldn’t make it, or so he said. More than likely, he didn’t want to be part of this conversation. If I had to guess, my father’s been riding his ass hard and now my dad has no choice but to look elsewhere to solve what he considers to be a huge problem.

  “It’s never too soon,” Will says. “Regardless of whether we make it all the way, Stone is the best thing that’s happened to this team in a long damn time.”

  “I get that. But we’ve also got the rookie, who, I might add, has a lot to offer,” I say.

  “He does,” my father agrees. “However, he’s not ready. Coach Hannagan agrees, he needs some more time before he’ll be ready to be our starter.”

  “And it’ll benefit him greatly to be under Stone’s wing for a couple more seasons,” Will adds.

  “He’s not getting much field time,” I say, setting my fork down and reaching for my wineglass. “So, there’s really no way to know how he’ll do from this point forward.”

  Will frowns. “Hannagan’s tossing around the idea of putting him o
ut there. But it’s hard to make that decision when you don’t want to jinx the team. They’re winning, and Stone’s proving he’s still the best out there.”

  I nod, not sure what they want me to say to that. I agree, Jason Stone is playing like his arm is golden. And I get that they want to keep him on for a few more years. “Why didn’t you offer him five years when you signed him?”

  “He’s had some issues with his arm as of late. We wanted the chance to feel him out for a while,” my father says.

  “We were also concerned because the Giants weren’t willing to pay him what he wanted to stay on. For a guy who took them to two consecutive Super Bowls and won, we worried they knew something we didn’t.”

  “Or they were being greedy,” I tell them.

  Will offers a devilish grin. “Could’ve been. Bet they’re kicking themselves in the ass right about now.”

  “Van.” I can hear the seriousness in my father’s tone. “It’s imperative that we get him to sign on. I’m willing to make a two-year deal.”

  I shake my head, trying to sober up. “Well, I’m sure that’s something he’ll consider. Have you talked to his agent?”

  My father sips his wine, then sets his glass on the table.

  Will is the one to speak up. “We’ve tried. Either they’re pushing back for more money, or Stone really is ready for retirement.”

  I frown. “I’m sure he’ll agree for the right price. It’s a negotiation, right?”

  “To a degree, sure,” Will says.

  My father sighs, then leans in closer, his eyes pinned on me. “I’m willing to pay what’s necessary to keep him here. But that doesn’t seem to matter right now.”

  “Maybe he’s just focused on the game. I mean, they’re hot right now. Could it be that he doesn’t want to lose his focus?”

  “Sure. That’s probably part of it,” Will says.

  “And that’s exactly where I want him to be. Fully focused and winning,” my father notes.

  Will grins. “Completely agree.” My brother wipes his mouth with a linen napkin. “Between him and Snyder…ESPN can’t stop talkin’ about the two of them, the fans are going crazy, attendance has almost doubled from recent years. And between Snyder and Stone, they’re charming the pants off every damn media outlet out there.”

  They are being referred to as the golden boys right now. I’ve heard it myself.

  Like I told Stone I would be, I was at the game today, which, I have to admit, was better than I expected. Not only because we won, but also because it’s been a really long time since I’ve attended and paid any attention to the game itself. Today, I watched Stone every chance I got. Plus, I listened to the commentators. They’re rallying behind him in a big way, and everyone wants a piece of him right now. He’s on fire. I get it.

  “We’re back on the tip of everyone’s tongue, Van,” Will continues. “We fully intend to stay there.”

  “Okay. But what does this have to do with me?”

  Will glances toward my father, and the two men lock eyes.

  Crap.

  I know that look. It generally precedes things that I don’t want to have anything to do with.

  “I’ve asked Stone to meet me tomorrow mornin’,” my father explains, his eyes meeting mine. “I need you to be there.”

  “What?” This seriously can’t be happening. “No.” I sigh. “Why?” I can argue all day long, but it won’t matter in the end. I’ll be wherever my father wants me. For one, I work for the man and, two, I tend to not defy him if at all possible. I love him. I respect him.

  Even if I know I’m not going to like where this is going.

  “You spent some time with Stone at the party on Friday?” Will asks.

  I nod, because it’s pointless to lie at this point. “Yes.”

  “A lot of time,” he adds and I find myself staring at my brother, wondering what he’s getting at.

  “In case you don’t know this, Stone doesn’t get close to many people.”

  I didn’t know that.

  My father clears his throat. “I want you to spend some more time with him. I want you to talk to him about signing on for two more years.”

  I knew they were up to something, but honestly, this seems far-fetched, even for my father, who’s willing to go above and beyond to get what he wants.

  “You want me to spend time with him?” Even as I say it, I don’t like the way it sounds. “What is it you have in mind?”

  My father smiles, the move warming his eyes, but putting me on edge just the same.

  “You’ve developed a rapport with him, Van. We just want you to continue that, get him talking, see if you can find out what he wants.”

  I knew that was coming. “What?”

  “We’re not askin’ you to do anything underhanded or illegal. Just talk to him,” Will says.

  My father adds, “I want him to understand that we can give him what he needs. We’re willin’ to pay the price he’s asking, but I need a two-year contract. Three would be better. I don’t want to lose him to another team.”

  I place my elbows on the table. “Why me?” I glance at Will. “Why can’t you make friends with him?”

  “Because that’ll look suspicious.”

  “And this won’t?” I can’t hide my disbelief. “This sounds like you’re askin’ me to pursue him in an effort to retain him.”

  “Not pursue,” my father clarifies. “Befriend him. See if you can find out what his plans are.” My father sighs. “I don’t want Jason Stone considering anyone else’s offer. He’s only with us for the remainder of this year, Van, and I get the feeling he’s gonna take us all the way. Why wouldn’t I want to retain that talent? To keep him happy? Surely he can see he’s meant to be right here. Hell, we’ve got his face and his jersey on the cover of magazines already. I’m sure his poster’s on the bedroom wall of every kid who loves football. I’m not willin’ to lose that right now.”

  Geez.

  “Plus, it works out in his favor,” Will notes.

  Yeah. I’m not seeing that part.

  “You know who Luke Devereaux is?” Will asks.

  I give a single shoulder shrug. “Of course. He’s only the biggest pain in my ass.”

  They both smile at me.

  It’s true. Luke Devereaux is the sports commentator (although that’s a serious stretch) responsible for digging up dirt and exploiting it. I’ve had more than my fair share of dealings with the guy during my time with the team. Most of what he reports on is pure crap, but he has a way of spinning it so the fans turn on the players. Needless to say, I don’t like him.

  “What about him?” I probe, knowing they are going somewhere with this.

  “Devereaux has taken a distinct dislike to Stone. He’s bound and determined to tarnish his reputation any way he can.”

  Again, I shrug. “It’s what he does. Why would Stone care?”

  “We don’t know that he does,” my father says calmly. “However, we can spin it so that you’re there to protect Stone from the man’s backlash.”

  “I’m sure Stone can take care of himself.” The guy has made it this far, and I’m sure there have been plenty of allegations against him. Most of them likely bullshit dug up by Devereaux himself.

  No one says anything and I know they’re through pleading their case.

  I take another sip of my wine and glance between my father and brother. Arguing with these two is pointless. They’ve obviously already discussed this.

  “Fine. Say I talk to him. What is it I should say that won’t make it look like I’m fishing for something? How do I approach this?” I can’t believe I’m even considering this. It’s ludicrous.

  “Simple,” Will notes. “Work that magic of yours.”

 
I snort. “Magic? What magic would that be?”

  “I saw you talkin’ to him on Friday night,” my father states. “It’s obvious you’ve made a connection with him. Just do what feels natural.” He reaches for his wineglass again.

  This time Will snorts. “Okay, so maybe that doesn’t sound right. We’re not askin’ you to date him, Van.”

  Date him?

  “Of course not,” my father says a little more sternly.

  “It sure sounds like you’re pimping me out,” I counter, feeling slightly overwhelmed.

  No, I don’t mind spending time with Jason Stone, but if I do, I want it to be my choice to do so.

  “Just talk to him some more. Keep it friendly,” my father adds. “It’s no secret that Stone isn’t into the bureaucratic nonsense that comes along with the game. He’s gonna push back if we try to approach him. Plus, it’s frowned upon in the league.”

  “I’d say so,” I say under my breath. “And what if he finds out that you’ve asked me to do this?”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “How do you figure?” I’m not completely sold on this idea.

  “Because no one knows about this but us. And we had nothing to do with the connection you made with him already,” Will says.

  Okay.

  So, clearly they’ve figured this all out. And contrary to what they say, this does sound as though they’re pimping me out. If not for the fact that I do like Jason Stone and I don’t want someone else to be tasked with this, I would’ve walked right out of the room a long time ago.

  Wait.

  Does that sound as though I’ve got my own agenda here? Until now, I didn’t even think about that.

  “Just become his shadow, Van,” my father says.

  “Define shadow.”

  This time my father leans back, his eyes fixed on me. “I want you to stay with him for the remainder of the season. Every minute he’s not workin’ out, not practicin’, not playin’, I want you right there with him. Put a spin on it, I don’t care. But keep Devereaux away from him.”