Chapter 12
Charlotte
Wearing heels to a football stadium just feels wrong. But after two video calls with Willa and several internet searches on such topics as “Best clothes for women with bright red hair,” there’s no going back now.
I also never thought I’d be going to a job interview—of sorts—at said football stadium, but here we are.
Because I’m suddenly the new, likely temporary, momma to a baby kitten, I almost turned Taysom down when he asked me last night to go to the stadium.
She reluctantly followed us into the house once she finally stepped down from clawing all over Taysom’s chest and lap.
By the time Taysom returned from the store with more cat milk replacer, a litter box, and a big bag of litter, she was making herself at home, mostly at a distance.
But when he walked through the door, she rubbed her back along every surface of his legs she could reach with zero reservations. She really went for it. Her whole song and dance would have put a Broadway star to shame.
Taysom asked me to come to this Friends and Family night to meet the Human Resources rep for the Sports Medicine Institute, saying they’re hiring OTs soon.
I’m grateful for the opportunity to get my foot in the door—even if it is the monstrosity I’ve been blaming for all our problems. It’s not the kind of job I wanted, but beggars can’t be choosers.
Like my very heartbeat, the mantra “Find job. Find job. Find job” is the lub dub, lub dub echoing inside my chest. Even though I’ll still be working for two more months, I should secure something else as quickly as possible.
Ron was right when he said that all of us at the center were good OTs, and since I’m the most junior OT of the bunch, the odds are stacked against me.
It’s not likely I’ll beat out Willa or Skyler if we applied for the same position.
Besides, it feels so wrong to even think like that. They’re sort of my best friends. I’ve become everyone’s go-to editor for the articles we write for our center’s newsletter. And last month, Skyler changed the oil in my car—saving me fifty bucks.
Not that we can’t still be friends, but when we’re out of the bubble that SAU’s Early Childhood Center has provided for us, there’s no telling what will happen. I know we’ll, at least on some level, grow apart.
What if Willa and I grow apart?
I shove that thought down as I pass through the security gates at the Wolves stadium. When Taysom invited me, he mentioned there would be a meal and I figure, since I need to be watching my budget because of soon becoming jobless, I need to take advantage of the free food.
I’m here for the food and an introduction with HR.
That’s it.
I’m escorted to a seat in the third row and sit down, looking around for anyone I might know.
Why would I think I might know people here? This is not a crowd I’m used to. I’m used to kids and my eclectic group of co-workers, not friends and family of professional football players.
Everyone’s engaging in small talk, so I just stick to myself. I do have some work on my phone I need to do. I’m helping my mom with a photo digitizing project, and though it’s taking months, I’m beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m absorbed in deleting duplicate photos when an announcer speaks over the intercom.
“Welcome, Wolf Dawgs, to the San Antonio Wolves Friends and Family Night! Tonight, we’ll enjoy a little, friendly flag scrimmage from our players.
We know they’ve been chomping at the bit to start playing again in the off-season, so we thought we’d give them a chance to do that.
No tackling allowed! Did you hear that, Foster Massey? ”
The crowd laughs and then starts to cheer as the players run onto the field.
I crane my neck to see Taysom. I’ve only been to one of his professional games before.
It was his second season in the NFL. He played well, but they ended up losing in overtime.
I’ve stayed away ever since. I don’t know if it was for self-preservation against the crush that would not die, or because I’m superstitious.
I couldn’t jinx him and cause him to lose again.
And…there he is. Only I quickly realize that this friendly scrimmage is so much worse than an actual game.
In an actual game, he’s covered with gear and helmets and padding.
But here and now? He’s in a casual t-shirt and shorts that hang to that just right length: a bit longer than mid-thigh, so that I can see the contours of his muscles above the knee, but there’s still plenty of imagination required to fill in the rest of the leg.
Not that I’ll be imagining the rest of his leg!
But still, as the game begins, I can admit he’s good out there.
I would expect nothing less from him, but even I can tell he’s gotten better.
There’s a swagger in his movements that’s hard earned.
He’s a veteran now and was team captain last year.
He has confidence and leadership and a certain persuasive quality that draws his teammates to him.
And they’re having fun. He’s laughing, which doesn’t happen during a real game, I’d imagine. There’s an electric feeling on the field. These guys aren’t just teammates, they’re brothers.
Kyle was the closest thing to a brother that Taysom had. And now he has an entire team of brothers. My throat clogs with a ball of emotion.
Which makes zero sense. Why would I care Taysom feels included and loved?
Because he had a rough childhood with his parents’ divorce and because, like he said, his house was sterile and pristine, so coming to our wild, funny, emotional, not-pristine-but-very-much-lived-in house helped him.
Everything’s all fun and games until the last quarter, when Taysom’s team is down 20 to 14.
If they score a touchdown and an extra point, they’ll win.
I see the moment when things shift for him, and honestly, it makes me laugh a little.
Because Taysom goes from laughing and smiling to scowling.
There’s a crease between his eyebrows and his jaw is steel.
A wave of heat goes through me at his smolder. The man is suddenly intense. He wants to win so badly, and I find this both adorable and insanely hot.
But I’m only here for the food and an introduction, I remind myself. I’ll soon be entering the poverty line-level of life, so the food matters. Except, I haven’t seen any here yet. What if I misunderstood and they’re not feeding us?
Against my better judgment, I turn my attention back to Taysom.
He throws an incomplete pass, and then another one.
It’s third down and ten yards to go, and he’s practically ready to jump out of his skin.
He’s not mad at his teammates or the other team.
He’s driving himself to win. Willing it to happen.
A slick of heat sweeps across my shoulders at his intensity, and this time even my palms feel wet.
How come this is so intense? It’s a simple, no-consequence scrimmage against his own teammates—his brothers. It’s not a big deal at all. Yet, I want him to win, too.
This time, he hands the ball off, and his teammate skirmishes and gets a few yards. Now they’re at fourth down with a few yards to go.
Their last chance.
The ball is snapped to Taysom to begin the play and everything’s in motion.
It’s a mass of humanity and manliness—focus and drive.
Taysom winds his arm back, ready to pass.
It’s like he’s in slow motion, one of those sports movies that slows it all down at the end so you hear every groan, every crunch, every step, every breath.
But he’s not releasing the ball, he’s scanning, scanning, scanning across the field looking for anyone open to pass to.
The clock is counting down, there are only seconds left, and still, no release.
Without warning, a member of the opposing team manages to get around his defenders and lunges, grabbing Taysom’s flag.
“No!” I can’t help but yell.
With this quarterback sack, the game is over and Taysom’s team has lost. Cheers erupt all around me as spectators laugh, high-five each other, and others groan in defeat.
Taysom’s hard, muscle-taut shoulders slump, his head down. Within seconds, though, he’s smiling again, congratulating the opposing team and commiserating with his fellow teammates about how close they were and why this play didn’t work and even a “nice catch!” to someone on the opposing team.
As attractive as his drive to win is, his ability to bounce back and look outside of himself is even hotter.
Oh boy.
I rub my palms against the fabric of my dress over my knees.
The announcer says the guys are going to shower and change while we watch a video of highlights from last year. Apparently, the video was shown to the guys at a post-season party in January.
Great. More Taysom. Up close and personal. Front and center.
I try to shield my eyes, I really do, but he’s everywhere in the video. And it’s not just footage from the games, it’s also locker room rallying speeches and shenanigans, as well as outreach stuff they did in the community.
Taysom is a good man.
I’m still trying to ignore that flashing billboard in my brain when the waitstaff brings appetizers out on trays.
Thank goodness.
I take pinwheel sandwiches and a little cup of some sort of savory-sweet chicken on a bed of greens. So good. I stuff a mini quiche in my mouth right as Taysom appears in all his post-football glory.
He sits on the bleacher, right next to me, his shoulder brushing against mine. “Thanks again for coming.”
My brows go up and I nod while I try to chew and swallow down the quiche as discreetly as possible.
He motions to a middle-aged woman in a business suit approaching us. “Wanda Knighton, I’d like you to meet Charlotte, the woman I was telling you about.”
Standing, I manage to swallow and then smile, shaking her family. “Hello, I’m Charlotte Mercer.”
“Wanda is the Human Resources representative for the Sports Medicine Institute.”
“Yes,” Wanda smiles warmly. “We’re actively recruiting to flip our staff right now, and Taysom said you’re an excellent occupational therapist here on campus.”
“Oh, well, thanks. Yes, I’ve worked at the Early Childhood Center for the last few years and loved it.”
Her brows scrunch together, like she’s never heard of it. I’m not surprised.
“It’s right next to the Sports Med Institute, but we’ll be closing, temporarily, in June.”
Wanda offers her sympathies and asks me questions about the kind of work we do there. She describes what working for the Institute would look like when they open next month. Flexible hours. Competitive salary. Benefits and 401K.
I can feel my eyes widening with every perk she mentions.
“We have a children’s clinic at the Institute, where we service elementary-aged kids.
I think you’d love it there. I trust Taysom’s judgment and I can tell you know your stuff.
” Wanda glances at Taysom. “How would you like to join us over at the Institute? We’d love to have you start right when we open. ”
My lungs dip and squeeze around the flash of nerves in my middle. They’re offering me a job?
The Institute is an elite opportunity. Better connected, better pay, more room for advancement than the Early Childhood Center.
Oh, and it’s not weeks away from closing, so there’s that.
From a career perspective, this is a step up. A privilege.
But, what about my kids? I want to work at a free clinic somewhere for the kids who can’t afford the OT they need to walk and have a functional, normal life.
I care about improving their quality of life.
I just…when I think about working with sports injuries, it’s not the same.
There’s not the same fire in my belly. I want to continue doing the work I know I was meant to do.
The Institute is a good opportunity. I would be foolish to turn this down. But at the same time, I’d be selfish to trade in the kids I love so much for a fancy breakroom and company perks.
So beyond all sense and reason, my gaze goes from Wanda to Taysom. “Thank you, but I’m going to have to respectfully decline your offer.”