Chapter 9 Johnson
Johnson
Ican’t believe I let those words escape my mouth.
“Oh, I just got Grace’s email about the auction. Tell her to stop by my room if she wants to chat about it.”
Shit.
Of course, Landon doesn't bat an eye. Still clueless about Grace’s and my special history, and especially about how attracted I am to her. I’m his “backup” to protect her, after all.
And while family members aren’t supposed to visit the hotel during training camp, Grace’s role in the auction makes her exempt. She’s staff now.
Landon looks up from his phone. “I gave her your room number, and she said okay.”
Okay.
“Well, I’m going to head back there and wait then. I need to unpack my clothes anyway.”
Landon nods. “Catch you later.”
I walk to my room and open the door. They set up all the returning starters with suites this year, so the room includes a sitting area with a brown floral couch and matching armchair, as well as a desk.
I’d plopped my playbook on the desk when I first arrived, but otherwise I haven’t organized anything.
So I can start doing that now, I head into the bedroom area. It’s small, but comfortable enough, with a hotel standard-issue wood dresser, as well as a small closet. I flip on the baseball game and open my duffle bags to unpack them.
The drone of the baseball announcers, along with the steady activity of pulling out one piece of clothing from a bag and then folding it into a dresser, help zen me out.
They don’t completely dissolve the undercurrent of anticipation I’m experiencing, though.
Grace is coming over.
About an hour later, there’s a light knock at the door. She’s here.
I walk into the living area and turn the door handle, swinging it open for her. Blinking twice at the sight waiting for me.
Grace’s hair is back in the beachy waves that seem to be her favorite style, and she’s wearing a pale green romper that pops her eyes to the green side of hazel. I’ve seen Landon’s do the same in green clothing—but yeah, it hits different when it’s Grace.
She’s so damn pretty.
The romper is also doing incredible things to showcase her frame. It’s sleeveless on top, tucked at the waist, and hits mid-thigh on the bottom. I appreciate all of her—muscles and curves.
While I’m acting like I’m in a staring contest, Grace steps into the room. There’s a slight lavender scent as she passes by me—maybe from her perfume or soap?
“Hi, Johnson.” Her tone is friendly, if a bit business-like, and I try to mirror it.
“Hey, thanks for coming by.”
She nods, and I realize she’s waiting for direction on where to settle.
“You want to sit on the couch?” I ask.
“Sure.” She quickly moves to the brown sofa, as if happy to have a clear destination, and pulls out a notepad from the bag she brought.
Not taking the spot next to her on the couch, I sit in the matching armchair. Since I’m the one who asked her to stop by, I realize I better kick off the conversation.
“So, I got your email. I’ll plan to bug the guys to contribute more this week. Especially now that we’re at camp, they’re a captive audience.”
She smiles, but her voice stays crisp. “That’s great. I’d love to have a really good update at my first co-chairs meeting.” She writes a note down on her pad.
“Definitely.” I take a sip of a bottle of water I had opened and then hold it up. “Do you want something to drink?”
She shakes her head. “I’m good.”
There’s a pause in the conversation. What else can I bring to the table?
One thing pops into my mind that I want to ask.
“So, how was your first day on the job?”
Her face brightens, and she relaxes her posture a bit. “It went so fast, this morning was a blur. But I loved Susie, she seems like such a fun person to work for.”
“Yeah, she’s the heart and soul of the Waves organization. A great human. I’m glad you’ll be working under her on this.”
She flashes another grin at my sentiment, and looks back down at her notepad. “Is there anything else you think I should have on my radar for the auction?”
I can offer to make more donation calls, but the logistics haven’t been my responsibility, so I don’t have much insight into the planning otherwise.
“I’m sure you’re going to catch on quick.” That much I can say with confidence. “Let me reach out to a few of the companies I work with on bigger campaigns and see what I can come up with, though.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I want to add a few more high-profile donations, the ones that will be special draws.”
So far, this meeting could have been an email. Totally my doing, my spontaneous invite via Landon having no basis in need.
But then you wouldn’t get the vision of Grace sitting in your hotel room.
And it’s definitely doing something to me, having her in my space. Knowing that her lavender scent will linger in the room after she leaves. That I’ll be able to pull back the memory of her being here.
I watch as she shifts a bit, snuggling into the couch more—like she’s looking for comfort.
“Johnson, I wanted to say again how grateful I am that you helped me get this position in the first place. You really saved the day.”
“Well, I’m glad I could help.”
Her genuine thank you is the most real part of this conversation so far. Everything else has been surface level.
For some reason, the generic, impersonal tone is making me uneasy. Unsatisfied.
So, building off of her thank you, I decide to strip down another layer of our polite facade.
“I meant what I said during the run too, Grace. I know we didn’t talk much the first year you were in Orlando, but I’d like to be friends, truly.”
At first, she looks like she doesn’t know how to react, but then a soft smile hits her face. “Me too.”
I debate whether to bring up our hookup in college, to apologize for getting weird on her that night, or at least acknowledge it. But then I decide that revisiting that night may embarrass Grace—and we don’t have that level of friendship yet.
She’s the one that fills the space instead. “It’s incredible that you gave fifteen million dollars to that program Aiden mentioned. When does it kick off?”
A subject I’m more than willing to talk about. “We’ve hired an executive director, and I’m hoping we can fast-track getting it up and running by the end of the year. I’m on the board and trying to stay as involved as I can.”
Her reaction is one I’ve not yet seen from her—admiration.
“That’s unbelievable, Johnson. What an accomplishment. It’s going to help so many kids.”
Her praise hits my chest hard. False compliments get thrown at me a lot, but from her—I can tell she means it. Especially with what happened between us at college, it feels good to hear she holds me in such esteem.
“Thanks. It’s something I’m really glad I’m able to do.”
“What inspired you to start the program?”
A natural question and one I know I need to develop a standard answer for once we launch, but this is Grace asking, not a reporter. My chest tightening, I debate whether to tell her more about my dad, my history.
Almost no one knows the full story. I’m definitely not ready to share that with her, but I feel compelled to tell her something, to release some of my secrets to her.
“My dad.” I swallow. “We’re estranged, I guess is the right word.”
Grace’s expression shifts, and she puts her notebook to the side. “That must be hard.” Her intonation is slow, like she’s taking care with her words.
“He’s not a good guy. Or maybe he would be without alcohol. Mom got us out when I was eleven, but it still had a ripple effect in my life for years after.” I’m not being detailed, but I trust she can read between the lines.
“I can imagine.”
“He was just so…” I think of a way to describe the verbal abuse, erratic behavior, and obsessive need for control without getting too graphic. “Mean. And toxic.”
She shifts towards me, looking like she wants to reach out to comfort me. She doesn’t follow through, though. “That’s beyond tough. You were only a kid.”
“Yep.” I squeeze the arms of the chair tightly.
“My coaches during my middle and high school years were critical in helping me rebuild trust in men, to not assume the worst. I lucked out that they recognized a kid that had been beaten down, and they not only gave me a chance to play ball, but also to reconstruct my confidence in other people.”
She links her big hazel eyes with mine, radiating empathy. “Thank god you had them.”
I breathe out, trying to relax my hands. “So, the program is a way to give back. What those coaches gave me, it’s priceless.”
“If it’s any reassurance, you are nothing like him, Johnson.” Her voice sounds strong and sure.
I smile at her. “Thank you.”
Suddenly, she breaks eye contact and waves her hand at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” It feels like something she thinks she has to say, though—not what she really believes.
“Friends share things, Grace. It’s okay. Landon knows most of this already, too.” I keep the smile on my face so she knows I’m fine with telling her all this. “It’s nice to…I told you because I wanted to, truly.”
Her demeanor relaxes. “Okay, good.”
It feels like we’ve hit the end of this subject, but I don’t want her to go yet.
So I ask some of the other questions filling my mind.
“Tell me more about why you chose business school. Do you know what you want to do with your degree yet?”
She’s back at ease when she answers, looking cozy on the brown couch. “When I started, my plan was to try to become a sports agent.”
Oh wait, really? “Have you talked to Aiden about that?”
She nods, but not with the enthusiasm I’d expect. “A little. I have an open invitation to intern for him, but I’d have to live in New York.”
Oh yes, that’d be an obstacle for her at the moment. “Why a sports agent? I mean, I can guess…”
“I love sports, and of course, I’ve had exposure to hyper-competitive environments myself. When I synthesized all of my interests, knowing that I wasn’t going to continue with a pro running career, it seemed to make sense to pursue being an agent.”
Before I can respond, she adds new color to the topic. “Now that I’m a little deeper into the world though, I’m thinking I might be more interested in being a business manager than an agent.”
Ah. “I could see that. Be more of a planner and problem solver than a wheeler-dealer?”
“Yeah, manage athlete’s business interests and help them maximize their opportunities in a less contentious way.
My mom—you know what she does for work, right?
” I nod. “She keeps pushing me to go to law school, follow in her footsteps. But what her job requires of her is so much like an agent. Using conflict to make the best deal or win in a courtroom. She may not agree, but that’s what it feels like to me anyway. ”
“You would be great in a business manager role. I know Landon hasn’t hired one yet, but if you ever want to talk to mine, I can introduce you. Her name is Lily, and she lives right here in Orlando.”
“Maybe.” She nods.
This is the most I’ve ever gotten out of Grace.
Why do I still feel unsatisfied, like there’s so much more of her to unlock?
“I should get going,” she says somewhat abruptly. “I hate to drive in the dark.”
Inhaling deeply, she picks up the bag she brought with her, shoving the items she pulled out back inside.
“Okay.” When she stands, I rise too.
For a beat, we’re still, studying each other. I really want to pull her into a goodbye hug. But…Landon’s sister. Landon’s sister.
I don’t think we should cross that line, if only for my own sanity.
And a moment later, she says farewell and leaves, shutting the door behind her.
I’m left with only the drone of the baseball announcers, a faint hint of lavender, and the lingering feeling of something uncompleted.