17. Cocoa & Concussions
Chapter seventeen
Cocoa & Concussions
Marlow
Three months into my new role and, not to brag—but actually, yes, to brag—I am killing it.
At least in the areas that have been graciously designated for me to oversee: marketing and partnerships, team morale, and team relations—basically all the people-facing, vibe-controlling work that neither Will nor Xavier can be bothered to handle.
They like their boardrooms, their spreadsheets, their closed-door negotiations.
Meanwhile, I’m out here keeping this machine from falling apart at the seams. And frankly, I’m doing a damn good job of it.
The things men can accomplish when they put a woman in charge.
The team’s on a roll, finally finding some rhythm after a rocky start. Playoff talks are getting louder. And according to the latest sales data, ticket sales are up.
The marketing side is also thriving. Tatum Black came on board as our new marketing director, and I’ve got to say, she’s already moving like she owns the place.
She’s brought in a wave of new sponsorships, opened doors with diverse businesses, and is finding creative ways to connect us with a wider, younger, and much more engaged fanbase. The woman’s a machine.
And, just like Xavier predicted, bringing in a team therapist was one of the smartest moves we made. Eslin Saunders has been nothing short of magic for this team. She’s cracked through layers even we thought were impenetrable.
Take Matteo Santos, for example. Our quiet little wallflower who used to avoid cameras like they carried some contagious disease.
The same guy who wouldn’t say more than five words to anyone unless absolutely necessary?
Now he’s dating someone and letting us post a picture of him buying her flowers on social media.
Is he leading team huddles yet? No. Is he suddenly the face of the franchise?
Definitely not. But he’s getting there. His confidence on the field has skyrocketed, and his steady growth has had this ripple effect throughout the locker room.
Guys who once rolled their eyes at Coach Saunders, “the therapist,” are now actively booking sessions with her.
Eslin and I have grown closer. Comfortable.
There's a rhythm to our friendship I’ve never had with anyone I’ve worked with before.
I’ve done the internships, held various roles in operations, sat through the awkward lunches and forced team-building.
“Work friends” were always temporary. Shallow.
Most of them only saw my last name, the money behind it, and made lazy jokes about how they’d never lift a finger if they were me or had my daddy’s money.
And almost instantly, a wall would go up.
I’ve never been the kind of girl who needed to be taken care of.
Not by my dad. Not by some guy with a bank account and a blank check.
Money has always been irrelevant to me. I wanted my own career, my own wins, my own damn name.
I never wanted a shortcut. And it always rubbed me the wrong way when people acted like I should apologize for not using the silver spoon I was supposedly handed.
But Eslin is different.
She doesn’t flinch at my last name, doesn’t give a damn about who my father is.
She doesn’t chase my approval or play games.
She’s sharp, self-contained, and yeah—guarded.
But not in a cold, detached way. In a way that tells you she’s been through things, and survived them.
She’s the kind of woman who says little but sees everything.
And somehow, she’s become the one person in this whole place who feels real.
Real enough that I actually want to know her. Not just work with her.
I spot Shaun Kennedy as I’m crossing the parking lot, headed toward the field.
“On the way to the owner’s box?” he calls out, falling into step beside me.
It’s our first home game this month and I’m buzzing with excitement. I haven’t had a chance to meet our newest player yet, but everyone’s been raving about how he’s been dominating in practice. I can’t wait to see him in action.
“Yes, actually,” I say, smiling. “You headed to the press area?”
He grins, just a little shy, like he’s trying not to look too eager. “Yes, but…I was also hoping to catch you. If I’m being honest.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes, actually. I was following up about that drink.”
I lift a brow. “Coffee?”
“Whatever I can get.”
“Some might say you’re angling for an inside scoop, Mr. Kennedy.”
He winks. “Only one way to find out.”
“I don’t have to find out anything at all. I’m not the one doing the inquiring, here. That’s you.”
He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. I promise—no ulterior motives. I just want to get to know you a little better.”
He steps a little closer, and I feel the warmth creep up my neck. That dangerous, flirty energy swirling between us.
“If I can take you on a coffee date, that would be a great start,” he says, voice lower. “I’m not a coffee drinker so I’ll take some hot cocoa.”
I grin. “Maybe some banana nut cupcakes?”
“If that’s what you’d like.”
He grins and I can’t help but notice his deep dimples and the way his blue eyes sparkle. “But please know, Ms. Marlow Mills,” he continues flirtatiously, “I fully intend to charm you enough to graduate to dinner.”
“Cute,” I reply, playfully tugging on his press badge lanyard.
“Beautiful,” he fires back without missing a beat.
I frown. “Huh?”
“Oh—I thought we were trading compliments. I figured I’m a little more than cute, but I’ll take it.”
I shake my head, laughing. “Whatever.”
“So, is that a yes to coffee?”
“It’s a maybe, Shaun. Things are complicated for me right now, so you’re just gonna have to take a maybe.”
His grin stretches wide, like he’s just won something. “I’ll take it.”
Then he heads off toward the press area, leaving me standing there—pulse racing faster than it should, head spinning just enough to irritate me.
Get it together, Marlow.
I turn toward the entrance, where security is waiting to escort me inside, and I see Eslin waiting for me so we can head out together. I wave, getting ready to greet her, but before I take more than two steps, the loudspeaker booms across the stadium.
“Gooooooal!”
I glance up, just in time to catch the instant replay on the jumbotron. One of our players scores a clean, beautiful shot. The crowd erupts in cheers.
Then the camera pans to his face.
And my entire world tilts sideways.
The name flashes across the bottom of the screen like a cruel joke: Declan Agassi.
It’s him.
The man I married in Vegas.
My husband.
The noise of the crowd dulls instantly, like someone pressed mute on the world. My breath catches in my chest, my vision narrowing.
I feel my heart pounding somewhere in my ears, the field blurring as everything starts to spin. The sun feels hotter. The air feels thinner.
“—Marlow? Hey! Are you okay?” I hear a voice, faint and distant.
Another voice—maybe Shaun’s? They’re closer now, worried. “Marlow? Marlow!”
I want to answer. I try. But my lips won’t move.
The ground seems to rise up beneath me, and then—everything goes back.