Chapter 65
Sixty-Five
Tweetie
I’ve showered and am changing in the locker room after practice when Coach Buford calls out to me. The guys all look at me, and I can see the uncertainty in their eyes. I’m annoyed at all the gossip going around. Everyone suspects I won’t be in Chicago next year, and they’re right, I won’t, because I won’t play for Bud Caldron. Period.
I set my bag back down and head into his office. I’m about to sit down, but he shakes his hand and points at the door.
“Come with me.”
I follow him out the door and down the hall toward the elevator, knowing instinctively that we’re heading up to the offices.
“Am I being let go?” I ask. “Fuck, he traded me?”
Trade deadlines are approaching, and I thought I was in the clear. How did I not even consider that Bud might trade me just to fuck with me?
“Mr. Gershwin wants to talk to both of us,” Coach says.
We step into the elevator, and my anxiety racks up. “Coach, the other night… did you talk to them? I mean, we’re so cohesive together.”
I don’t care where I end up, but I don’t want my team to suffer because of my decision. I was prepared to help the Falcons win the Cup and then leave. Not leave them in the lurch.
He doesn’t show any reaction. “Let’s just see what he wants, then we’ll go from there.”
I blow out a breath, and he steps off the elevator. I follow him down the hallway of the management offices. We reach our destination, and Mr. Gershwin’s assistant tells us he’s expecting us and to go right in.
Coach looks at me, and I want to throw up, but most of all, I want to call Tedi.
Mr. Gershwin’s office is a reflection of the man. It’s more like an old library with dark wood bookshelves, a big mahogany desk that sits in front of the window, and brown leather couches and two leather chairs.
“Chris. Tweetie. Have a seat.” He rises from his chair and walks around his desk, signaling with his hand that we should head over to the couches.
The Gershwin family has owned the Falcons forever, and I wonder who will be next in line to take over. I’ve noticed for a while that Mr. Gershwin struggles to walk a little and hasn’t been down to see the team as much as he used to. I’m pretty sure they have four daughters. Maybe it will be like Jana taking over the Fury from her dad.
He sits in a chair, and we both sit on the couch. “Do you guys want a drink?”
We shake our heads.
He laughs. “You guys seem terribly nervous. Tweetie, your leg.”
I look down to see it bouncing up and down. I press my hand on my thigh to stop it.
“I don’t get a thrill from scaring people, so let’s get right into it. I heard about the other night, Tweetie. You and Miss Douglas in the coatroom.” He tilts his head down and looks at me from under his bushy gray eyebrows.
I open my mouth, ready to out Bud, but I shut it. That’s not the point. I’m not going to be one of those people who points fingers. “I apologize for that, Mr. Gershwin. It was poor judgment on our part. And?—”
“I heard she resigned,” he interrupts.
I nod. “She did.”
Coach Buford whips his head in my direction. “She did? Jesus, who will they send us now?” he whines, dropping his chin to his chest.
“Well, that’s the second issue. The first issue I want to discuss is the fact that I fired Bud Caldron this morning. Effective immediately.”
Coach Buford and I gawk at Mr. Gershwin.
“Oh,” Coach says, eyeing me, not being discreet at all.
That sourness in my stomach lifts.
“He thinks he has eyes everywhere? Well, this is my organization and my team. I’ve been watching him for a while. I haven’t liked a lot of things he’s done when it comes to the players and some of his other decisions as of late, but you were my final straw. Tweetie, you’re what I want this team to represent. My daughter showed me some of the social media posts where you went to the school in Philly. The school sent us a thank you note with a picture of all the kids wearing our T-shirts.” He smiles. “It was really cute. And you didn’t do it because someone made you. You did it on your own.”
“Actually.” I cringe. “Tedi… Miss Douglas…”
He waves me off. “You did it for the girl?”
“Well, partly, but had I heard the story from someone else, I would’ve done it just the same.”
“You know, Tweetie, I’m old-school. Maybe I’m getting old, but I think people get better with age. And I’m not about to replace my older players just because they’re old with new shiny kids that will come with a media storm. I’ve watched you mature, and now you’ve found yourself a woman you love. And who must love you since she resigned in order to be with you.”
I could go on and on about Tedi and me. I have no idea if he knows about our past or not.
“I wanted to call you up here to tell you that whether we win the Cup or not at the end of this season, we want to resign you. I hope you still want to be a Falcon.”
Coach smiles at me and pats my knee.
“I do.” I nod eagerly.
“Good. Bud is an idiot. A line like you guys comes around once in a career, and he would have blown that up for reasons I’ll never understand.” He shakes his head. “Oh, and my daughter also showed me your declaration post of that picture of the tattoo. I’ll never understand why people tattoo each other’s names on their bodies, but I think a lot of Chicago will be happy to see you so happy. Back in my day, you held your cards close to the vest. You kids just put it all out there. It’s refreshing.” He presses a button on the phone on the table next to him. “Shirley, make a reservation at that new Italian restaurant and call Glenda and tell her I’m picking her up at six for a date.”
Shirley says okay, and his finger releases the button.
“Now you’re making me a romantic,” he says.
“Thank you, Mr. Gershwin. I really appreciate the opportunity to play for you.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You earned your spot.” He looks at Coach. “Scared you, huh?”
Coach nods. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
Mr. Gershwin laughs and puts up his fingers, a little space between his pointer and thumb. “Okay, I like to scare a little bit. It’s fun.” He shrugs.
To him maybe.
“You said the second issue was who is going to replace Tedi?” I prod.
“Oh yes, I wanted to mention my daughter. She’s the one up on all this social media stuff. She said she liked Tedi’s angles on your campaigns and would like to talk to her.” He takes a card out of his pocket and slides it across the table. “I just hate the idea of her being out of a job because she found love. What kind of happy ending is that? Tell her to call my daughter. She has her hands in a lot of companies. I can never keep them straight. It’s some clothing company she’s been trying to get off the ground.”
I pick up the card. “Thank you. I feel like I need to promise you I’ll win the Cup. This is all so generous.”
He shrugs. “You don’t have to guarantee the Cup, but it would be nice. I love a girl who gave up her dream to marry me and raise our kids. She says she’s never regretted it, but I think had she been able to have a career and be a mother, she would’ve preferred that. Her overinvolvement in my kids’ schooling and extracurriculars says she’d probably be better at running this organization than me. It was different times then, though. Anyway, I guess when you have four daughters and never want to see them sacrifice anything, it changes your way of thinking.”
I pocket the card. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome… again. Now go tell the girl.” He points toward the door.
I stand and shake Mr. Gershwin’s hand, and when I try to say thank you again, he shoos me out of the room.
I go back down to the locker room, grab my bag, and order my rideshare, eager to get back to tell Tedi that we have a home base. A place to start the next chapter of our life together.