Crunch Time
CRUNCH TIME
Bronx
As I get ready for my meeting with Lloyd McMillan five weeks after my first date with Willow, I can’t believe how fast the weeks have gone.
Thanks to Lloyd’s lawyer, I collect Charlotte from school on Wednesdays and return her to her mother’s on Saturday afternoons. When Charlotte is playing soccer—the round form of football—she has all three parents on the sidelines cheering her on. That’s right, she has three parents. Sometimes, I forget that I hate the sperm donor and remember he used to be my best friend. Although Sloan still refuses to sign permanent arrangements, once I can talk about my new job, she’ll lose the last leverage for why I am not a suitable parent for our daughter.
As for Willow, we are taking no risks with our relationship. She is the first voice I hear each morning and the last voice I hear at night. Conscious of not having strange cars parked outside my house for our date nights, I cycle or jog to Willow’s and leave at dawn to shower and change at home.
It’s getting harder to keep up the public pretense of not being in a relationship when I’m falling more and more in love with her each day. It won’t be forever. It can’t be. My blue balls will fall off if it lasts much longer because I made the gentlemanly offer not to have sex until we could walk into any room as partners.
Yes. That was my idea, but the longer it takes for the Flying Foxes to hand back their license, and my job as Southern Mavericks head coach is announced to the world, and my claim for a permanent role in Charlotte’s life is assured, the harder it is to sleep next to Willow at night without being with her.
I love the way she tosses and turns, throwing sheets off and then pulling them back on. I love the way she refuses to order dessert with our home deliveries, but once they arrive, she sneaks pieces from my plate. I love the way she spends all night marking assignments and providing personalized feedback for each student.
I love the goodness of her heart and the way her smile powers mine.
The reasons to stay apart are slowly becoming less relevant. Yes, she's younger than me but seven years isn't that much. Yes, she's my daughter's teacher. But we only talk about her job in the abstract and since I still can't talk to her about my job we have time to talk about who we are as people.
“Mmm, morning,” she says, waking and laying her head on my chest. It’s time.
“So, I was thinking …”
“Should I be scared?” She kisses my cheek, still half-awake.
“Depends. You spend all day with children, do you want children of your own?”
Willow doesn’t hesitate to respond. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother … with the right man.” Then she throws the question back at me.
“What about you? Why did you only have Charlotte?”
If I say the words, they’ll become real. I suck in my breath and wrap my hand around Willow’s, holding it to my heart. I need her warmth and her love.
“Yes, I want more children … with the right woman. I always wanted more and didn’t understand why falling pregnant with Charlotte had been so easy, and then, nothing. Month after month, nothing. I wanted to try IVF, but Sloan said we didn't need to.”
“Because she was using protection?” Willow asks the question that’s haunted me.
“I know her affair started before our wedding, and as much as I hate what it did to me, I’m happy they’ve found each other. I just wish she’d been honest with me. I think she didn’t want to risk another pregnancy.”
“So, if and when this thing between us becomes public, we can talk about having children?” Willow asks and I want to fist pump the air.
“Absolutely, although I’d prefer to put a ring on your finger before the little terror comes into the world and disrupts our sleep.”
“I like the sound of that.”
I want to tell this woman, I love her, I really do. But now isn’t the right time.
“I have to go,” I say, stretching out and kicking away the sheet.
“To this mysterious job that you can’t talk about.”
“To a mysterious job that I will tell you about as soon as I am legally allowed to.”
“Oh, I forgot to ask … have the Flying Foxes changed their mind about offering you that coaching position?”
I freeze, my heart pounding. “Why? What have you heard?”
“Only that they're about to make an announcement today. Rumors were trending online last night after you fell asleep. Does that impact you?”
I consider how she phrased the question. Does it impact me? “It could. I'll talk to you tonight.”
By the time I reach Lloyd’s office, a recently retired player and one I respect the hell out of is sitting in my usual seat.
“Bronx,” Lloyd says, standing. “Come on in. I assume introductions aren’t necessary?”
“Bronx Parker, good to see you again bro,” Benedict Maverick Christenson extends his hand. “I hear you’re going be our new coach. Congrats.”
The handshake turns into a solid bro hug. “Good to see you, been a minute.” I look at look Lloyd for an explanation. “I thought Maverick retired.” News of his failed recovery after surgery and his subsequent disappearance has trended for weeks.
“Retired as a player,” Maverick agrees with a smile. “But, let's just say, while you’re fighting the battles on the field, I’ll have your back in the boardroom.”
“Gentlemen, let’s sit.” Lloyd motions for us to join him at the conference table that is already filled with stacks of files marked Branding, Governance, Launch , and Financials . “Later today, the Flying Foxes are going to hand back their rugby league license. I have it on good authority the national commission will invite me to put together a team for next season.”
“It's happening,” I say, bolting upright and punching the air. “Hell, the fuck, yeah.”
Lloyd doesn’t smile, pushing a copy of an email towards me. “Not so fast. We’ll get the license. The Southern Mavericks will field a team, but they want us to go to Vegas for the season launch.”
My stomach plummets. “That takes the logistics to a whole new level. We’ll need to get the players there early and acclimatized. We need to arrange training facilities. We need to …”
“Logistics are my responsibility,” Maverick says. “I’ll work closely with you and the other coaching staff to make it happen.”
“You might as well tell him,” Lloyd says to Maverick. “It’ll save confusion in the long run.”
“I don't go by Maverick anymore.”
“The Southern Mavericks are named after Maverick and will build on his reputation on the field. But this is Benedict’s new career and comes with a new name.”
“Outside of football, my friends have always called me Benz .”
I stare. The name suits him. He’s replaced the training sweats with a suit and even his hair screams boardroom . “Okay then, good to meet you, Benz .” I offer my hand. “I'm still Bronx, the same asshole who kicked your ass on the field and the same asshole who’ll turn individuals into a team of Mavericks.”
“Then welcome to the world of thirty-hour days and eight-day weeks.” Benz meets me eyeball-to-eyeball and he’s not joking. “We have one hell of a job to do.”
It takes two days for Benz and I to agree on a top thirty list of players we want to target.
“If someone can get me their private cells, I'll make the calls,” I tell Lloyd and Benz at our daily meeting.
“Why? I can do it as COO,” Benz replies, “or Lloyd’s team can reach out.”
“Because if they don't return my call, then they don’t respect me as either a former player or coach. We only have one chance to make a first impression and I want players standing with me who want to be with me on the field.”
“Okay, you make the calls and invite them to your place where we will have an NDA for them to sign before saying anything.” Benz nods as if agreeing with himself. “We don't have the luxury of time to build the brand or buzz. At the moment, the media is all over Lloyd to announce the new franchise. We can use that to our advantage. We do not announce player signings or you as coach until we're ready to launch.”
“That relies on players answering my call.”
“And them signing an NDA. We deal directly with the players, not their managers or their mummies. Once you get six players ready to sign, we’ll arrange the launch.”
“That could be weeks.”
“I’ll negotiate a salary cap dispensation allowing us to pay more to get the right players,” Lloyd assures me. “The national commission knows we are the only option if they want the expansion to go ahead. You get to a handshake with the players, and then we’ll invite them to a mass signing at the launch. No one will back out, and the managers will still get their cut for doing no work.”
“That's insane,” I say. “It's never been done before.”
“Welcome to the world of making the impossible possible.” Lloyd raises his cup of coffee in toast. “We're breaking the rules gentlemen, are you with me?”
“Hell, yeah,” Benz and I say as one.