Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
Tedi
I’m at the Falcons practice. Again, Fletcher is with me, getting some pictures and footage for me to use. I’ve decided to do an angle on Tweetie that highlights him as a leader and a captain on the team. So we’re grabbing images of him with different teammates throughout practice. We get some pictures of him offering advice to Alvin, who is the left wing on the second line, along with a few of the other guys.
So many young kids look up to Tweetie, like my nephew, that I think it’s important to showcase how he got this far in the league. Next week we’re going to highlight his workouts. I pushed that one off a week because I’m not sure I can sit in a sweaty gym and watch him lift weights and train without me asking him to stretch out his hip flexors on me.
“Tedi, it’s been a minute.” Bud comes up behind me, and Fletcher lowers the camera, eyeing me.
Great. This is the last thing I want to deal with.
“It’s come to my attention that Tweetie and some of the others went to your nephew’s school while they were in Philadelphia.”
“Yes, it was spur of the moment.” I force myself to smile.
He sits on the bench behind me, and I’d rather not have my ass in his face, so I step to the side and sit a little ways down from him.
“Good thing the game didn’t happen. My starting line out doing press when they should be napping.” Bud clucks his tongue.
I stare at the ice, not wanting to look at him for fear I’ll say what I’m really thinking. My gaze catches Tweetie’s, and he shifts his attention over to Bud, who’s next to me.
I don’t really know how to answer Bud. I want to say he’s not really in charge of what they do during those hours between morning skate and the games. It’s a bit of a gray area. They’re grown adults, and he’s not their mother. But I like my job and my paycheck more.
“They could have still napped. They weren’t there long.”
He stretches his arms out along the back of the bench and his fingers are too close to me, so I slyly inch over a little more. “How come there wasn’t anything on our socials about it? Seems that would be a good way to promote the team, visiting a school.” He clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth again. “Oh yeah, it was at a Philadelphia school, not a Chicago one. And you weren’t prepared, but I did okay a big box of T-shirts to be sent there. T-shirts that parents will probably throw away since they’re for another team, not their hometown team.”
I inhale, pushing back my snippy reply. “Regardless of the school, it was a nice thing to do. And I’m sorry about the whole spur-of-the-moment thing. They did a favor for me, and I take full responsibility for it.”
“Is there anything I should know?” Bud asks, and my body tenses.
Tweetie starts to skate over, but I try to give him a look that says not now.
“Regarding?” I turn to face Bud, staring him in the eye to show him I’m not afraid. Even if my insides are clenching in concern that he’s found out about Tweetie and me.
It’s going to be inevitable that he finds out if this continues with us. I haven’t investigated the rules and whether I can even have a relationship with a player, but at a minimum, it would be frowned upon. It’s not lost on me that I’m doing the one thing I wanted to make sure the people who work under me didn’t.
“It’s nice that you’ve become friends with that whole group. How is Decker, by the way?”
“Good.” It comes out as an automatic response when I probably could have just said we broke up.
“He’s a quiet one, huh?”
Not the Decker I know.
I shrug. “I’ve known him most of my life, so not around me he’s not.”
Bud looks at the ice, where a drill’s going on, but Tweetie’s gaze keeps lingering on us. Fletcher distracts himself from our conversation and takes pictures again.
“So different from a guy like Tweetie.” Bud turns to me, tilting his head.
Something inside me says he knows. He might not know everything, because Bud doesn’t seem like someone who plays games, but maybe he knows about our past.
“Yes, they are very different.”
He chuckles and stands. “Next time, Tedi, don’t have the players do your personal favors on my time. I’d hate to make a call to the national office again. I like you.”
My jaw clenches, and I watch him go, wanting to chase him, jump on his back, and pull out all those stupid hair implants.
“He’s an ass, Tedi,” Fletcher says. “Ignore him.”
I nod and stand to go back to the job I’ve been hired to do by the national league and not Bud Caldron.
“Bud!” Tweetie calls, and Bud stops right before he’s about to go to the tunnel.
“No, no, no.” I don’t even realize I’m talking out loud until Fletcher glances at me.
Tweetie says something to Bud. The conversation is short, but Tweetie’s good humor isn’t part of it, that much is clear. Bud looks in my direction and raises his eyebrows right before he walks through the tunnel.
I might as well call Mr. Herington myself.