The Call-Up
THE CALL-UP
Bronx Parker
When the image of a young girl cuddling around my neck flashes on my cell screen, I don’t hesitate to answer, “Princess? Charlotte?”
The terror only other parents recognize freezes my blood as I wait to hear her voice. Is she injured? Scared because her mother and the man I can only refer to as her sperm donor left her home alone? Has she run away and tried to climb in her old bedroom window?
“Daddy? I’m sorry,” she sobs. “But you told me to always do the right thing.”
“Princess, tell me where you are.” I throw an apologetic look at Lloyd McMillan. I didn’t expect a casual coffee conversation with an old friend to result in meeting Lloyd McMillan, billionaire entrepreneur and philanthropist. But I don’t care what doors he can open to kickstart my career—when my daughter calls, I answer.
“Mr. Parker?” A soft female voice replaces my daughter’s sobs. “I’m Willow Catan, Charlotte’s teacher. I’m afraid there is a situation at the school.”
“Is my daughter injured?” I demand, ignoring introductions and getting to what’s important. Charlotte called me. Charlotte needs me.
“No, but unfortunately there is a broken nose involved.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
Even as I make to get out of the chair that was never built for a bulky frame like mine, I don't know what my rights are anymore. Ever since my ex-wife threw the DNA tests in my face, I haven't known what to do.
“She’s not your daughter, Bronx,” my ex snarled while I reeled at her ultimate betrayal. “Never was, and never will be. You can kiss any custody ‘goodbye’. She’s with her real daddy, now.”
All I'm sure of is how I feel. I love my daughter. I don't care that the man I used to call my best friend is her sperm donor —code for his affair with my wife created the little girl I would give my life for. Sitting in the office of one of the wealthiest men in Australia, I end the call and find Lloyd McMillian looking at me with concern.
“I'm sorry, sir. That was my daughter.”
“Trouble with the family?” Lloyd’s concern seems genuine, but I still don’t know why I’m here or what he wants. My daughter called .
“Understatement,” I say. “I know you’re a busy man, but I need to go.”
He holds up his hand, “Give me two minutes, please.”
My leg trembles, but I remain seated. I mean, he is The Lloyd McMillan and can buy or sell small countries.
“Look, Bronx, you were a phenomenal player, and didn’t deserve to lose your coaching career the way you did. Now that you’ve signed the NDA, I hope what I’m about to say gets your attention. In approximately five weeks, the Flying Foxes will hand back their license. They will not be joining the national rugby league competition.”
I’m stunned. I’d been up for the job of assistant coach only to be pipped at the post when my marriage fell apart and I got distracted and missed a meeting. In the cutthroat world of head coaching, it only takes one mistake to push a name to the bottom of the pile, and I've been sitting under a pile of dog shit for almost a year while the world moved on.
“How can I help?” I try not to count the seconds since Charlotte’s call. “I can give you the names of coaches.”
“Or …” Lloyd says, tapping his fingers together as if we’re conspiring against the world. “Before you run off and deal with your daughter, you could tell me how you’d build a team from nothing to running on the field in less than five months.”
I'm stunned, not just at my eleven-year-old daughter calling me for the first time since her mother blocked my number, but the incredible opportunity that might be within my grasp.
With nothing to lose, I answer quickly and honestly, “I guess I'd start the way I mean to go on. Which is why, as much as I want to be part of whatever you’re building, I’m about to walk out of this meeting because my daughter needs me. That tells you that I'm always going to put family first. If this team is my family, other than my daughter, I will put them first.”
Lloyd nods and I continue. “I’ll prioritize people and loyalty over high-price contracts and other distractions. I’ll pull together a team of players who have something to prove and nothing to lose. And I’d look a man in the eye and trust him at his word, building a club based on old-fashioned handshakes, loyalty, and hard work.”
“And how soon could you put together such a team?”
“How about I think about it overnight?” I pick up my keys and phone, standing and extending my hand. “My daughter needs me. My ex-wife is going to have my balls for picking her up from school, but it will be worth it if I get my first hug in the six months since I ran out of money for lawyers.” There’s no point telling a billionaire that the only lawyer I could afford walked away once the DNA results came in.
“I’ll have my lawyer call you and ensure someone meets you at the school.” Lloyd takes my hand. “I respect a man who puts family and loyalty first. Welcome to the Southern Mavericks.”