Charlotte
Chris is sitting at the head of the boardroom table when Hugo and Nelson walk in the next morning, all white-male confidence and manspreading. I’ve spoon-fed my twin every single thing he needs to say during this meeting, because, as much as it pisses me off, I know it can’t be me.
If I talk about saving Callan’s job, it’s going to be seen as preferential treatment from the woman he’s dating. Definitely not the look we’re going for.
“Chris, what are you doing back?” Hugo asks, his gaze flicking between my brother and me.
“I’m back in charge of the Stallions,” Chris says with a smile that I know, from years of being tickled senseless, means he’s about to do something you won’t like.
Hugo, it seems, doesn’t know that. “About time. I told your father a woman had no place at the head of a football team. The amount of time I’ve had to spend trying to educate her on what we’re doing here, and she still doesn’t seem to grasp salary cap constraints.”
I can’t hold back the snort that escapes me, and Chris shoots me a look. Educating me, huh? Is that what he calls his mansplaining? I understand the concepts, I just happen to disagree with his interpretation of them.
Chris folds his hands in front of him. “I’m glad you brought up salary caps. Charlotte mentioned you are all working under the assumption that we can’t win next year with our quarterback at his current number?”
Hugo nods. “Correct.”
“Is it?” Chris doesn’t break eye contact with Hugo, and it’s clear the general manager doesn’t like the accusation in his tone.
“With respect,” he says, “it’s the reality of the cap.”
With respect? Really? He never once offered me an ounce of respect, let alone actually showed it.
“Okay, let’s walk through it.” Chris calmly slides the sheet of paper I prepared forward, taking a moment to examine it, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.
“Abrams. Edge rusher. We signed him two years ago in a top-of-the-market deal. Walk me through that decision.”
Hugo shifts in his seat. “Premium position. We needed pressure.”
“And did we get it?” Chris leans back again, his gaze not moving from Hugo.
“He’s been solid.” Hugo waves like it’s obvious.
Chris purses his lips. “Interesting. Because the stats I’m looking at show his PR at seven percent. Even if we pretend that’s average, that’s twenty-three million against the cap. Pretty expensive average.”
A flicker of irritation crosses Hugo’s face. “You don’t build a defense overnight, and not every bet you make pans out. That’s the way this business goes. I thought you understood that.”
It’s very clear he thought I didn’t understand it.
“No. But you also can’t pay for something early just because you’re overconfident.”
Chris turns his attention back to the paper. “And Paulson. We extended him early. Paid peak price for declining performance.”
The room is quiet now as Chris keeps going, “Safety contract. Backloaded. Void years.”
Hugo huffs. “We needed flexibility at the time.”
“And now we’re constrained by decisions you made to solve short-term problems.” Chris leans forward slightly. “And the fix you’re proposing? Trade a player who is actually performing at an elite level.” He chuckles, though we all know he doesn’t find it funny.
Hugo straightens. “It’s not about performance. It’s about allocation of resources.”
Chris smiles like the cat who caught the canary. “Exactly. Allocation. We’re allocated like we have three superstars on defense. We don’t.”
“If we trade Devine, we reset the window. It gives us picks and cap flexibility—”
“And we lose the only reason we were even competitive this season,” Chris cuts in. “No.”
It’s final, and Hugo knows it.
As much as it hurts my ego, Dad would never override Chris’ decision about this like he would mine. But that’s a conversation for me and my therapist on Thursday.
“Options, Nelson?” Chris asks.
He’s ready. We texted late last night, working out a plan, and then he sent through his final recommendations this morning.
“We designate Abrams as a post-June 1st cut. That frees up eighteen. We can explore a trade for Paulson, but we might have to eat some salary. We’re stuck with the safety for the upcoming season, but can explore a few options next offseason.”
“Fine,” Chris agrees. “Do it.”
Nelson glances at me briefly. “And Devine, we can restructure. Convert some salary to bonus and create a bit of space.”
I can’t help but cut in, “Have you spoken with his agent?”
Hugo bristles at the question, and I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m asking it or because normally he’s the one making the outreach to agents before handing it over to his team to finalize.
Nelson shakes his head. “Not yet. Wanted to wait to see how today went.”
“Good. Let’s get it squared up first and then reach out,” Chris orders.
I stand, my bright red suit a direct contrast to the black and navy of everyone else’s attire. “Well, now that we’ve established that we pay for production, not projection, I think this meeting is adjourned.”
I walk out the door, no one saying a word as I leave.
***
Fuck. Yes.
I let out an excited scream as soon as my butt hits the driver’s seat in my car. The parking lot is still mostly empty as I throw my car in reverse, speeding back home to tell Callan the—
Shit. No I’m not.
I slow down, not certain where to go. Finley’s almost certainly at practice. Addie is traveling for work today. Sage might be around…
My phone rings, my brother’s name lighting up the car’s screen. I press the button on my steering wheel. “Chris! You crushed it in there!” I yell as soon as he answers. “You were great!”
“You were great, Char. I would’ve let Hugo do whatever he wanted.”
I roll my eyes even though he can’t see it. “You would not.”
“I mean, I was there when he made those decisions.”
“You were never supposed to be micromanaging him. He’s the GM. The only reason I started looking into it was because he was making a decision I felt was wrong.”
Chris laughs. “That, or because he was about to send your boyfriend to Minnesota. Speaking of Callan, why don’t you two come over to our place tonight? We can celebrate with the five of us. I know Kim would love to see you. Plus, it’ll give her something to distract her from how large she is.”
I bite my lip, only stopping when I taste the coppery hint of blood.
“Char?” Chris asks. “Did I lose you?”
“I’m here. I… It would have to just be me.”
There’s a moment of silence before Chris says, “Okay. Is Callan out of town or something?”
I rub the side of my nose, willing the tears not to fall. “No.”
“You want to tell me what’s going on? Because I know we just saved that man’s career with the Stallions, but I will cut him from the team if he’s hurt you.”
I let out a wet chuckle. “I think it might be time I tell you what’s going on.”
Keeping it a much more PG version than when I was with my friends, I tell him about fake dating Callan. How it morphed into more. How I messed up. How I wish he was still going to be around.
“But he is going to be around, Char.” Chris’ voice is gentle as he says it. “He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who holds a grudge. Talk to him.”
I wipe the tears from my cheek. “I can’t just knock on his bedroom door when I get home. I really hurt him. I have to do something to make it up to him.”
“And you don’t think saving his career could be that thing?” I can hear the skepticism in Chris’ tone.
“God, I wish. But Callan, as much as he cares about his career, is going to see this as me protecting the Stallions, rather than me protecting him. And honestly, he might not be wrong. I did this because I think he’s the best player for the team, not because I want to keep him in my life.”
“And I’m going to guess you can’t just buy him a dozen cookies from that bougie shop downtown? Because that’s the only way I can get Kim to forgive me these days—”
“That’s it!” I cut him off. “You’re a genius, Chris. Gotta go. Love you!”