Chapter 19 Chelsea
Chelsea
“WHO’S NEXT?” Dad asks, looking down at his iPad, and everyone at the large table follows suit.
For the first time ever, I’m sitting at the large conference table with the bigwigs—right next to Coach Martinez—instead of in a corner.
And I wasn’t asked to take notes on my laptop or be an extra pair of eyes or ears for my father.
Nope, I’m here solely as an accepted member of Raul’s linebackers staff.
It’s a turn of events that would have enthralled me, if only the purpose of this meeting wasn’t so damned gut-wrenching.
We’re making ten cuts total tonight. That’s what Dad said at the top of the meeting. At the time, it sounded fairly reasonable, and certainly necessary, but the way things have been going so far, that number has started to feel increasingly unreasonable. Brutal, even.
“Jeremy Calhoun,” Raul supplies on a sigh, looking down at his iPad. He’s the one to read the name, since we’re talking about the linebackers. He adds, “Fourth year, middle.”
With a somber expression, Dad asks the same question he’s been asking regarding every other player we’ve considered this evening thus far: “Keep him or cut him?”
Under current NFL rules, we’re not required to cut anyone at this stage, unlike in years past. In theory, we could keep our full ninety-man roster till the bitter end of preseason and cut the necessary players right before the regular season kicks off.
But that’d be a lot of people to continue carrying and assessing for three more weeks, and if we already know for sure a player on the bubble isn’t going to make it onto the active roster of fifty-three, it’s much better to cut him now.
For him, too. That way, he’s still got a chance of getting picked up by another organization.
As we all know, at this stage, one team’s heartbreaking cut might be another team’s gleeful pickup.
“Jeremy Calhoun,” Raul repeats softly. He rubs the back of his neck and releases an audible exhale.
“It pains me to say it, since I like this guy so damned much, but my honest vote is to cut him.” Raul explains his thinking, which unfortunately aligns with mine.
I’ve come to adore Calhoun these past two weeks and change, the same as Raul and everyone else, but a winning personality and a fervent desire to make the cut aren’t enough in this league, sadly.
Not when we’ve got this much depth at Jeremy’s position.
Dad acknowledges Raul’s comments before addressing me. “Chelsea? Do you agree with Raul? Keep or cut Calhoun?”
I’ve got everyone’s full attention, even Bellamy’s. As my stomach somersaults, I take a deep breath and quietly offer, “I agree with Raul. Let’s give Jeremy the chance to get picked up somewhere else.”
Everyone at the table agrees, including my father, and since Dad’s the top dog here and his word is final, Jeremy Calhoun’s fate has now been sealed: His time with the Mastodons is done.
“Who’s next?” Dad asks solemnly, looking down at his iPad again. “Ah, yes. Mr. Personality.”
I jolt at the mention of Luca, while everyone else at the table exhales or smiles ruefully.
We all know that nickname refers to Number Ninety-Five.
Ever since Luca’s showstopping singing performance at the beginning of camp, that’s what everyone’s been calling him.
Sometimes to razz him. But mostly, especially as camp’s worn on, with great affection.
“Raul?” Dad asks once again, since Luca’s one of his.
I bow my head, feeling physically ill with anticipation.
I came here ready to fight tooth and nail for Luca’s football life—to argue that we should at least let the man play in our first preseason game on Sunday night against the Admirals so we can properly assess him.
But, really, how much sway do I have? Surely if someone else at this table, pretty much anyone else, is adamantly opposed to keeping Luca around—and God forbid if that person is my father—then Luca will follow Calhoun straight out the door.
“Luca Maguire,” Raul mutters, rubbing his forehead, and my stomach performs another, even bigger, somersault than it did earlier in relation to Calhoun. “Luca’s a tough call for me, honestly.”
What? I thought Raul loved Luca! Is he playing it cool to gain credibility for when he ultimately votes to keep Luca around, or is he sincerely unsure about his vote?
Before Raul can say another word, Bellamy’s phone on the table rings. It’s an odd thing to happen at an important meeting like this, since people always turn off their phones out of respect for the gravity of the proceedings.
“Oh, I need to take this,” Bellamy murmurs after glancing at his screen.
Everyone perks up. We all know Bellamy is this close to sealing a new deal with our star edge rusher. So, what else could this be about?
“Tell me,” Bellamy says into his phone. “Uh-huh.” He smiles broadly.
“Fantastic. Tell him we’ll see him tomorrow morning.
Seven thirty sharp, unless he wants to come earlier to have breakfast with his teammates.
” Bellamy punches a button on his phone and fist-pumps the air. “The Moriarty deal is done!”
A cheer rises up around me. That’s a wonderful thing for the team. Not so much for Luca, though, since he plays the same position as Moriarty, and there’s only one opening for his backup.
Someone asks the terms of the Moriarty deal, and Bellamy enthusiastically responds while I pretend to listen and secretly spiral.
I knew Jacob Moriarty would agree to new contract terms with the team one day, obviously.
Statistically speaking, virtually all holdouts do.
And I also knew the vast majority sign their new deals before preseason.
But knowing all that in advance and witnessing it play out are two very different things.
Now that the moment is here, I feel sweat forming on my palms and hairline, and bile rising in my throat.
“Has Moriarty been working out hard while he’s been away?” the offensive coordinator asks.
Bellamy frowns. “His agent was pretty vague about that, so I’m guessing we’re about to find out he’s woefully out of shape and rusty as fuck.”
Everyone groans at the same time.
“We’ll be okay,” Bellamy says. “We’ve still got the whole preseason before Moriarty needs to be in top form again. That should be enough time.”
Dad nods emphatically at that. And then, to my horror, he looks at me and says, “Chelsea, start working one-on-one with Moriarty, as of tomorrow.”
Is that a sign Dad is planning to cut Luca? Unfortunately, Raul expresses enthusiastic agreement with that idea and then, adding insult to injury, he nudges my arm and smiles at me, like he thinks we’re sharing a celebratory moment.
In a fit of panic, I catch Bellamy’s eye at the other end of the table and nonverbally plead with him to say something, anything, to get me out of this new assignment.
He’s the only one at this table who knows my fate is now tied to Luca’s, thanks to the deal he offered me in the auditorium.
But even more importantly, Bellamy recently praised Luca at an all-team scrimmage, so I know he feels like Luca’s come a long way, the same way I do.
When Bellamy receives my nonverbal message, he subtly shakes his head, letting me know he’s not going to intervene on my behalf. That, in fact, he’s perfectly happy with the new arrangement that’s just unfolded.
My cheeks flaming, I muster the courage to address the full table. “Moriarty won’t take direction from me, and we’ve only got a few weeks to whip him into shape. For that reason, I think you should assign him to someone else. Someone with more experience.”
Dad doesn’t hesitate. “No, I’ve got a gut feeling about this, and I’m sure this is the right call.”
Raul interjects, “Don’t worry, Chelsea. Jacob’s notorious for not being coachable for anyone, so if he doesn’t listen to you, that will be par for the course. Nothing personal.”
“Exactly.” Dad looks down at his iPad. “Now, back to Number Ninety-Five. Luca Maguire.” He looks at his linebacker coach. “You were saying you’re undecided about him, Raul?”
“Yeah, he’s a tough call for me,” Raul concedes as I sit next to him, feeling like I’m on the verge of losing my dinner. “There’s no question he’s fantastic for team morale. Everybody loves Luca.”
Uh-oh. If he’s starting with Luca’s personality rather than with his amazing progress over the past weeks of practices and scrimmages, Luca’s in deep trouble.
“Thanks to Chelsea working her magic with him,” Raul continues, “Luca’s significantly tamped down his loose-cannon/adrenaline-junkie tendencies and made remarkable progress on the field.” He shoots me a warm smile, but I can only press my lips together and breathe deeply through my nose.
“He’s still got some improvements to make in a few key areas,” Raul continues. “But on balance, my vote is to keep Luca for now and see how he fares in the game on Sunday.”
Good lord. Would it have killed him to lead with that?
Deeply relieved, I let out a long, shaky exhale, hoping it’s not audible to anyone at the table. Luca’s not out of the woods yet. Dad might strongly disagree. But after getting Raul’s endorsement, no matter how tepid, Luca is one step closer to staying alive for at least another week.
“Chelsea?” Dad asks. “I’m assuming you’re in full agreement with Raul?”
That’s interesting. Dad didn’t assume that when we considered Jeremy Calhoun a moment ago.
“I am,” I admit, trying my best to sound calm and professional. “I predict Luca’s on a trajectory for even more improvement. He’s certainly been working his tail off. So, like Raul, I’d vote to give him some reps in the game on Sunday to see what he can do.”
Dad jots down a note before seeking input from some other people. And, to my relief, everyone who speaks agrees with Raul and me.
“Personally,” Dad says, leaning back in his chair, “I’m on the fence about Maguire. But I trust the people who’ve worked closest with him to lead the way at this stage.” Dad looks at Bellamy at the other end of the long table. “Are you okay with keeping Number Ninety-Five another week, Walker?”
Shit on a shingle. If Dad’s asking Walker Bellamy’s opinion, he must really be looking for a reason to cut Luca.
“I’m undecided on Luca, like you,” Bellamy replies smoothly. “But, yes, I’m good with the decision.”
Bellamy is undecided? What happened to the general manager seeing marketing gold in Luca?
Apparently, now that Moriarty’s secured, Luca’s value has greatly diminished in Bellamy’s eyes.
At least, to the point that Bellamy’s not particularly interested in Luca’s fate any longer.
Shoot. Does this mean Bellamy will renege on his promise to give me that job in operations when Luca makes it onto the active roster?
Because I still have faith that’s exactly what Luca will do in a matter of weeks, if only the men at this table will give him some more time to build on the amazing progress he’s managed thus far.
“Okay, we keep Maguire for now,” Dad declares. “But if he shits the bed against the Admirals this Sunday, let’s agree we’ll cut him that very night so he can hopefully get picked up somewhere else and play in the remaining two preseason games for another team.”