Chapter Four
~AUGUST~
It’s game day and yesterday at lunch, I invited my brother Drew to come out to watch the Blaze play.
I’ve been to his stadium many times; the Marlins are doing well this season and in playoff contention.
I believe the Blaze will make it too, but we haven’t yet and Dad reminded me of that more than once.
“Mr. Cromwell,” my secretary, appears in the doorway.
“Nancy, how many times do I have to say it. Please call me August.”
“Your father would not like that and you know it,” she reminds me for the hundredth time since she’s starting working for the Blaze.
“Well, you work for me now and I’m asking you to call me August, please.” I flash her a smile, the one that usually makes women go weak in the knees.
“Save your charms for someone your own age, August,” she says, chuckling.
“Why? It’s a waste,” I tell her.
“Well, I’ll take your word for it. Your brother has arrived,” she tells me, turning on her heel to leave. “August,” she says, coming farther into the room instead.
“Yes, Nancy,” I say, putting my pen down and giving her my full attention.
“Are you okay? I’m only asking because you seem particularly quiet lately. Very un-August like.” She looks around before adding, “You don’t have to be and do everything that father of your says, August. You’re a good man in your own way and he’ll figure that out one way or another.”
I watch her and a smile breaks out across my face. “Thanks, Nancy, I appreciate it. I’m alright, though.”
“Are you sure?” Her soft blue eyes continue to watch me.
She could easily pass for my mother. Nancy has worked for the Cromwell family for so long; she’s probably one of most significant female influences I’ve had in my life.
Mom certainly didn’t care enough to stay around long, after she figured out that Dad had more interest in running his empire than keeping his wife happy.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I close the file I was working on and stand. “Where is Drew?”
She nods and replies, “He’s waiting for you outside your office.”
“Thanks, Nancy,” I say, getting up and heading out to meet Drew.
I hold the door open for Nancy as she passes through it. Her green eyes smile up at me.
“Thank you, August.” She grins at me, the look almost motherly and my chest seizes, thinking about how I’ll never have that with my own. “You enjoy your time with Drew tonight. It’s nice that he’s come to hang out with you.”
“It is, I’m looking forward to it,” I tell her. “What are your plans for tonight?” I ask, smiling warmly at her.
“I’m headed out to the store to grab some items for the weekend. I have big plans with my husband; a nice little getaway.”
“That sounds great, Nancy. I didn’t see that you took any time off, though,” I remark.
She shakes her head. “I didn’t.”
“Duck out at lunchtime on Friday, Nancy. You need to get on the road early in this town.”
“Thank you, August, I appreciate that,” she says as she warmly touches my arm, her kind eyes shining at me.
“Of course, you work hard around here, you gotta play just as hard,” I tease her.
She just chuckles and heads back to her desk as I make my way towards Drew.
I’m looking forward to spending time with my brother at my stadium.
I’ve been to his a bunch of times, but he’s never been here.
It’s important to me that he likes it and that he understands what we are building.
Drew was always the man that I went to for advice.
He listened to me in a way my father never did.
Made it seem like it was okay that I had doubts about my future and my ability to lead this team.
He was the only one who offered encouragement and made me feel like I could do this job.
Now, I’m thrilled to have him at my stadium for a game.
“Hey, man,” I say, greeting Drew when I see him.
“Hey, baby brother,” he replies as he pulls me into a quick hug.
I am the younger brother, but we have the same brown hair and eyes.
Drew is the polar opposite of me in stature though.
He’s tall and thin, where my form is muscular with broad shoulders.
He almost appears too straight-laced to own a sports team.
When you look at Drew’s outfit, it doesn’t scream that he’s here to watch a soccer game.
He’s wearing black fitted trousers, loafers and a pale blue collared shirt rolled at the sleeves.
Not a stitch of team apparel in sight—for the Blaze or the Marlins.
I, however, am wearing my Blaze polo, paired with a dark pair of jeans and white Nike Dunks. I poke at his nose where the bridge of his black-rimmed glasses sits.
“How are things, four-eyes?” I tease him.
He shakes his head. “You’re such a jackass. Why do I come to see you?”
“Because we’re brothers and you miss me,” I remind him.
He chuckles, “I just saw you with Dad at lunch. I don’t miss you that much.” Drew claps me on the back and I just laugh at him.
“Oh, come on, I’m your favorite person in the world. I keep you young,” I tease.
“How do you keep me young exactly? Is it the way you regale me with your tales of booty? Is that how you keep me young?” He turns to me and shakes his head as we make our way to the elevators, so that we can head to the field house.
“You’re too serious, Drew. You’re a Cromwell. That does mean something and women respond to it. Especially with you owning the Marlins and flying in and out of cities like you do? Come on, you could get some serious tail,” I remind him.
“Or I could get a venereal disease,” Drew says with a shake of his head.
I laugh and grin at him. “Dude, just fucking wrap it and you’ll be fine.”
Drew raises his eyebrows at me and dryly says, “No.”
“Your loss, man.” I say, patting him on the back. “Come on, the girls are going to take the field soon and we’ll want to get our seats in the box.”
Drew nods and follows me as I head through the building and down to the field house.
My house looks a lot like Drew’s. While the Blaze are a bright yellow and blue, the Marlins are a teal, red and black.
I think that Drew chose those colors. Of course, Dad loved them.
I was not given the opportunity to choose the Blaze colors.
Dad had a marketing firm handle those elements before he built the Blaze PR team that we have today.
“I swear to god, I feel like I need sunglasses when I move through this place,” Drew quips as we head out into the Miami heat. The field house is a short but sunny walk from the office buildings.
“You mean the few feet we have to walk to get to the field?” I turn and ask him.
“Nope,” he shakes his head, grinning. “I’m referring to the colors on your walls. That blue and yellow is so fucking bright.”
I shake my head. “Well, we all can’t be Dad’s favorite. Some of us weren’t given the luxury of choosing our own team colors.”
“Dad would have listened if you would have just told him what you wanted,” Drew insists. He always believes that Dad is not as hard on me as I think he is.
I let this one go.
“Do you want a beer?” I ask him when we’ve reached the box.
“I will say this, you may not like your colors, but Dad gave you a sweet-ass box,” he comments, looking around.
The owner’s box sits high above the pitch, a glass-fronted oasis overlooking the stadium like a command center.
Plush seating lines the space—deep navy sofas accented with bright yellow throw pillows.
The team colors are woven into every detail without screaming “the Blaze.” A long bar stretches along the back wall, stocked with sparkling water, top-shelf liquor, imported beers, and a curated spread of match-day snacks.
Behind it hangs the Blaze’s logo, glowing with a soft light.
The floor-to-ceiling windows wrap around the room, which gives an unobstructed view of the field below.
The glass is tinted just a bit so that it offers privacy but clear enough that the view of the crowd feels like you’re sitting among the fans.
A row of high-backed leather seats face the pitch, each featuring the yellow and blue of the Blaze.
In the corners of the room, screens are mounted to broadcast live stats, replays and league updates.
The carpet is a muted charcoal with a bold yellow and blue runner that leads to the entrance of the viewing area, beckoning us like a ceremonial path.
Blue vases are always full of white flowers.
They give the space a softness to the otherwise sleek modern appearance that Dad designed.
It smells of freshly painted wood, citrus and cleaner. You can almost catch the smell of the turf drifting in whenever the door is opened. The hum of conversation from those already in the suite and the muffled thunder of the stadium blend to make the atmosphere feel electric.
This place makes me feel like I’m still a part of football, just a different kind. I don’t care which kind, just that I get that feeling in my gut: the nerves and butterflies before every game, and a surge of pride when the team does well.
“Hey, Danny,” I call out to Mac’s boyfriend, who is already chowing on some guac and chips, washing it down with a beer.
He’s chatting with Nick, his friend and photographer for the Tampa Bay Blaze.
Nick used to be Danny’s photographer when they worked for the Tampa Bay Times.
I hired Nick for some promotional photographs and game day shots.
It was a good business decision because his shots have been featured in all of our promotional materials, are fans favorites and have even gained me a few compliments from Dad.
I nod and wave at Nick when he turns slightly to acknowledge me. His camera is in his hands, primed and ready for the next shot. Eventually, he’ll make his way over to chat, but right now he’s grabbing the last shots of the girls heading out to for the starting lineup announcements.