The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

25. Just a Dip

25

JUST A DIP

Maddox

Three weeks later, I’m out for a run along the beach, taking my phone in hand in case anyone calls. The Los Angeles sun is sweltering at six in the morning when the alert from The Sports Network blasts across my screen. Pro Bowl kicker Braxton Arrow signs with the Miami Mavericks. Terms of the deal were not disclosed.

I squint from behind my shades. What the hell?

Before I can recover, Vance’s name flashes on my screen, then his face. I accept the video call.

“I thought he wanted to sign in Los Angeles?” Vance asks, wasting no time with hellos.

“I did too,” I say, just as surprised.

Vance scoffs from his desk overlooking Central Park. “And he went back to his first agency. What is up with that kid?” He scratches his head, trying to figure out a client who’s not ours. “Wait. Why am I asking you?”

I wince but take it on the chin. Vance has mostly forgiven me for losing Braxton. Mostly .

But when he lobs a sucker punch now and then, I hit back by shifting to my wins. “Did you see the paperwork for Carter Hendrix?” I ask as I run through the sand, sweat sliding down my chest under my tank.

July is in full swing in Los Angeles. Next week, the All-Star Game comes to town, but I won’t let myself think about it. “I sent it to the contract department late last night.”

“I fucking did. It landed at 12:01 your time. Do you ever sleep?” he asks proudly, like I fulfilled a term of my employment contract with my religious adherence to CTM.

“Only enough to give me energy to strike more deals,” I say, knowing it will make him happy.

Vance chuckles. “I should say something about life-work balance, but fuck that shit. Keep making me money. Almost makes me forget about what happened with Braxton.”

That’s the goal. The more deals I ink, the more athletes I make happy, the faster I can put the embarrassing loss of the kicker in the rearview mirror.

Soon, Vance might not even mention him anymore.

Especially since I nabbed another deal for Zane. He’s now endorsing Hydro Bottles. Make it your lucky bottle . That’s what he’ll say in the mobile video spots he’ll shoot later this summer. The best part of the deal was also the worst—it was easy.

I met with Hydro Bottles in Seattle two weeks ago. A couple days later, the offer landed in my email. One call to Zane, and the deal was signed.

Some deals take finesse. Some don’t.

I half wish this one had required more than one call with the first baseman. There are things I want to say to Zane. Like I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to say goodbye in person. I’m sorry I called you from the street. I’m sorry I couldn’t make our two-night affair work, and if I could do anything differently I would go back in time and show up at your hotel and take those two nights after all. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that morning I left.

“And Zane’s got a shoot with Hydro later this summer,” I say to Vance, keeping my voice even as I always do when I talk to my boss about the man I fell for.

The man I walked away from.

“He’s stoked,” Vance says. “A couple sports marketing blogs picked up the news, citing CTM’s fine work, striking his deals. I like that. I like that a lot. And nice work with Carter. If the Renegades win another Super Bowl, Carter’s bonuses are gonna be fat.” Then he stage-whispers, “Mine too. And yours. I won’t forget yours.”

He wags a finger at me affectionately.

I smile. I worked out some sweet incentives for the top wide receiver for the San Francisco football team. And I earned Carter a big raise from his cologne sponsor and dating app partner.

I’d like to think these deals make up for the Braxton misfire. Maybe they do, since Vance doesn’t mention Braxton for the rest of the run.

When I’m home, I say goodbye to my boss, then strip out of my clothes, pull on swim trunks, and dive into my pool.

I sink into the glistening blue, the water sliding over my skin. The quiet and the cool soothe my mind. I try to stay present. I try not to slide back to the past.

But in moments like this, when the world around me falls silent, I have no choice. All my thoughts return to Zane. Our talks, our laughter, our support, our intimacy. I’ve never felt so connected to another person, so greedy for a man, so eager to hear about his life, days, and nights. Pretty sure he felt the same for me.

I picture his face in New York, asking me to stay for two more nights, telling me he didn’t date, but that I was different.

Different good.

My heart aches.

I surface, shaking my wet hair, trying desperately to reset. If I don’t, the memories will sink me and I’ll be a lost cause today.

I swim to the edge of the pool where I left my phone and a towel. I dry my hand, check the phone. No one’s called, so I indulge in the water for one more minute, floating serenely, eyes closed.

Where is Zane right now?

In his hotel room in the nation’s capital before his team plays there tonight? Is he sound asleep still? Is he with another man?

My jaw ticks, and I bat that horrible image away.

Or is he like me, alone and hollow, longing for everything he can’t have?

I miss him so much it hurts.

The second that thought touches down, I get out of the pool, wrap a towel around my waist, and get ready for work.

Soon, I’m at the office, burying myself in paperwork and phone calls and meetings.

I still love it all. Truly, I do. Talking to clients, bringing them deals, engineering their futures, then nailing down a killer contract—that’s my happy place.

But I go home alone, and I don’t feel so happy then.