by Kyell Gold
“It’s what he does.” I rub my muzzle and grab my jacket.
He thinks a moment. “And if your money is all tied up in a house, then you can’t help him even if he does come around and ask.”
I shrug the light mesh fabric on around my shoulders, wishing he weren’t so bright. “I guess not.”
“Don’t buy a house out of spite.” He smiles. “The house will last way longer.”
My paws find his shoulders and I stare down at him. “Look, doc. The house is a good investment. I’m buying it with the Strongwell money. I have the chance to buy it now, the money to buy it now, and you need it now.”
“I don’t need it—”
“If I’m going to be coming to stay with you, I want it. Next year if I get a long-term deal with Chevali, I’ll buy a house there. But I know you’ll be here for a while.”
“You can’t know that.” He places his paws on my waist and looks up.
I squeeze him. “You’re good. You’d still be with the Dragons if it wasn’t for me, and the Whalers know about me.”
“What if…” He looks down, away from me. “What if they’re just hiring me to try to get leverage to bring you here in the off-season? And you end up not coming?”
“Uh.” The question catches me off guard. “Do you think that’s what they’re doing?”
“No.” His eyes slide sideways, toward the bed. “But you know, when you’re lying around late at night and your mind is trying to list out all the things that might go wrong with your life…”
“Listen, doc.” I slip a paw under his muzzle and lift it. “You got the job here because you’re a good scout. You know football. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing.”
“Mmf.” He smiles.
“And you’re going to be here for years, and I’m going to buy you a house to live in and for me to live in with you.”
“If…”
I stop him with a hug. “Yeah, I know. But even if we don’t decide to be together, we’ll be friends, right? And a friend can buy a house to rent out to another friend cheap? Ty has a whole pawful of friends living in his house rent-free.”
He shakes his head. “It does make sense, I guess. But shouldn’t you ask your parents about the money first?”
“Lee.” I leave pet names aside and stare down at him. His eyes widen. “I don’t want to talk about my brother and the money. I just offered it to him, okay? Let it go.”
He nods and then shakes his head. “Tigers.”
“Yeah, if you had a brother, you’d be worse. Look at how you are with your parents. You’d be having yelling fights on the phone and calculating ways to get back at each other.”
He’s quiet for a moment, then raises his eyebrows and says, “Maybe you’re right. Okay, how about if I ask my boss where to look for houses when we have lunch?”
“Good thought.” I pull him closer to me and force thoughts of Gregory away, focusing on the slender body against me, his warmth relaxing me enough to purr. “And if we don’t have to go look at apartments this morning…” My paws slide down his back.
“Mmm.” He hugs back and nuzzles at my throat. “How about we go look at apartments anyway? Just in case. We can look for houses for sale in the area too.”
“Oh, fine.” I let him go. “Can’t believe you want to go out rather than stay here in bed with me.”
He steps back, tail flipping from side to side. “Oh, I want to stay here with you. But it’s a nice day and we’ll have plenty of time in bed tonight.”
Two hours and three apartments later, when Lee takes off for his new office with a kiss on my nose, I’ve pushed that morning’s conversations into the past. I was going to call Damian and ask him his thoughts on the Whalers, so I park myself at a sandwich place that calls itself a deli café, get a thick roast beef sandwich, and call him up.
“Afternoon, Dev,” he says. “What’s on your mind?”
I still can’t get over that this guy with the assured, deep voice and the confident manner is my agent. “Lee’s having lunch with his Whalers bosses. They thought I shouldn’t go along.”
“Definitely not, even if they weren’t one of the places that I think might have some interest in you.”
“Have you had a chance to call around?”
He chuckles. “I’ve been on the phone non-stop for the past week. Not just for you, of course. I have a lot of clients I’m taking care of. So far I’ve had one team other than Chevali tell me they’d like to take a look at you, but we haven’t talked numbers yet. I want to wait and see what the market is.”
“Okay. Is there anything I should do?”
“Enjoy your time off. I think probably by this time next week I’ll have a much better idea of what’s going on. No firm numbers, but as teams start to re-sign their current players, we’ll have a framework to plan from.”
“Thanks.” I lean back in the chair. “Have you heard anything from Fisher?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Professionally, I shouldn’t say anything, but you’re a friend of his too and you know his struggles.”
“Yeah?”
“I just want to make it clear that I’m not asking you to talk to him or intervene.”
“Ah, fuck, what’s he doing?”
Damian sighs. “He’s called me twice to tell me that he’s not retiring, and I’ve had to talk him back into it both times. I’m worried that he’s going to get up there and refuse to read the statement, or not go at all.”
“We’ll both be there with him, right? I mean, I’m still coming?”
“If you’re willing. I think it would help him.”
“Yeah, for sure. I know he wants to play longer, but if this serum thing gets out, he’ll never play anywhere anyway.” I catch myself. “Ah, shit, did you know about that?”
“Yes.” Damian sounds distant. “That’s not strictly true. There are teams who would take him. But in Fisher’s case, he’s just afraid, and I keep telling him he can do things after football.” His voice sharpens and slides into what sounds like a well-rehearsed speech. “My clients who have retired from football go into coaching, Cub League or high school or college, some in the pros. Some of them cook or build houses for homeless people or go to law school or write books or play guitar. They travel around the world and visit national parks and help hungry people. They can do whatever they want except play football. And they’ve done that.”
“Law school?”
“Sure.” He huffs into the phone. “Brandt Merchant, know him? Seven-year career, retired two years ago. I made him twenty-four million dollars, and even after taxes and taking care of his family, he retired with eight million in the bank and two properties. He’s in his first year of law school now. Wants to do sports law and work for the players’ union.”
“Impressive.”
“You want to go to law school?”
My jaw tightens. “God, no. Never.”
“Well, you don’t have to think about what you want to do after football, not for a while. You’re going to be playing next year, that’s for sure. We just need to figure out where.”
“Thanks, Damian. Should I call you, or…?”
“Let’s set up a time to talk. When are you back from Yerba?”
I shake my head, impressed. Ogleby never even thought to set up a schedule, and he could barely remember what day it was, let alone what I was doing. “We fly back Tuesday, but then we’re leaving for Hilltown Thursday morning.”
“What’s in Hilltown?”
“Family. Oh, and…speaking of that. Lee had an idea that I might be able to do something with my college, Forester University. What do you think about that?”
I’m just looking for his advice, but he says, “It’s a good idea. Let me give them a call and I’ll see what sort of thing they might be open to. College speaking events are good because you’re raising your profile while also doing something charitable. Double-win.”
“Also,” I feel compelled to say, “Forester had an inc
ident while I was there where a gay guy was beaten up by a couple football players.”
“Ah-ha, the redemption angle. I’ll hit that with them. Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. Thanks.”
“It’s what I’m here for. I’ll see you Tuesday with Fisher, but it might not be appropriate to talk business then. How about Wednesday morning I’ll give you a ring and we’ll catch up? If I get some news, I’ll call you, but don’t pick up if it’s not convenient. I always leave a message.”
“Great.” I hang up, reassured that I made the right decision about changing agents, and take a bite out of the sandwich, which also proves to have been a good decision. If the cloud of Gregory weren’t looming over me, it’d be a pretty good day overall. Maybe when Lee gets back from lunch, it still can be.
12
Plans (Lee)
I call my father on the way to lunch to ask if he knows any real estate agents I can talk to and end up telling him about Dev’s brother’s statement. He asks if I want Mother to call Gregory, and that at least makes me laugh. I can’t even imagine how that would go.
Peter and Jocko meet me at the Whalers offices, a different building than the one I watched the championship game in. It’s mostly deserted except for some administrative assistants, one of whom greets me and sends me back down a hallway. The distinct smells of fox and bear lead me to a conference room with a big maroon-topped table in the middle and a window looking out over the parking lot. Peter and Jocko sit at the window end of the table with a pile of papers and a plastic bag between them, and both the red fox and black bear turn muzzles my way as I knock on the door.
“Come on in,” Peter says, gesturing to the dozen or so empty chairs. “Have a seat. You want a drink?”
He and Jocko both have silver beer cans in front of them with an artsy design on it, probably some local microbrew. “You have Diet Coke?”
Jocko raises his eyebrows. “Don’t drink?”
I smile and shake my head, taking a seat. “Not at a meeting with two people who are going to be my bosses at a job I haven’t started yet.”
He snorts and heads for the door, looking across at Peter. “Foxes. Always thinking, calculating, worrying. Y’ever just let go and do what you want?”
I’m well-behaved enough not to say that I did last night with my boyfriend, and anyway, Peter’s eye glints and he shows his narrow canines. “You ever actually think about anything you do?”
“Sure. I think about enjoyin’ myself. Worrying all the time leads to heart attacks.” The big brown muzzle turns back to me. “You don’t have to worry about that for a few decades yet.”
“Aw,” I say, “and here I thought I was going to work hard at this job.”
Peter laughs, Jocko squints. A moment later, though, the bear laughs. “Fair enough,” he says. “Don’t you worry, you’ll work plenty. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Here.” The other fox pushes the pile across to me. “Your official contract, your starting paperwork, and a polo shirt and jacket to get you started. I guessed at your size, so if they don’t fit, you can exchange them at the store.”
I smell new cloth in the bag and pull out the jacket, a light windbreaker, to try it on as Peter watches. “I figured since you’ll be working in the southwest, you won’t need one of the heavy ones,” he says. “It never gets really cold here.”
“Fits great.” I slide it off and hold up the polo shirt to my shoulders. “This one looks good too. It’s a medium, so that’s perfect. Thanks.”
His whiskers and cheek ruffs rise and his ears perk up. “We’re glad to have you aboard.”
Jocko comes back then and plunks down a silver can of Diet Coke in front of me, filmed with condensation. “Break room’s down that way.” He jerks his thumb as he takes his seat. “When you’re officially working here, you can get your own.”
“I will.” I look around the walls at the pair of plasma TVs on each side wall, the posters of the Whalers’ top draft choices of the last three years—no, three of the last four, I note, missing the one who’s no longer with the team. “So is this the scouting team’s conference room?”
“Yup.” Jocko swigs his beer. “Month or two and you’ll know it real well.”
“I bet. I’ve been through two drafts,” I remind him. “And been to three combines.”
He nods at me, and Peter speaks up. “That’s one thing we wanted to talk to you about,” he says. “We said unofficially a month, but the combine starts on the 19th, and Jocko would really like you there.”
“That’s fine. Only can you put me up in a nice hotel this time?” I tell them briefly about the fleabag hotel I stayed in when I was an unpaid intern with the Dragons.
“Can’t promise you your own room,” Jocko says, “but yeah, we stay at the Circle.”
I recognize the marquee from looking longingly at it on my way back to the fleabag. “Nice.”
Peter asks how the house hunting is going, and I tell them about some of the apartments I’ve looked at. The one I liked from yesterday they both shake their heads at. “You’ll get your car busted into,” Jocko says, and Peter agrees.
“As a matter of fact,” I say, “Dev kind of wants to buy a house in the area for me. I mean, with me. So I was going to ask if you guys know of any good real estate agents we could talk to, where I should look, and so on.”
Jocko’s big bear claw taps the table. “My sister-in-law’s a real estate agent. Let me give her a call. She can probably find some houses for you to look at tomorrow.”
“But…” I look back at Peter. “I heard property here is insane. Can I afford it?”
He grins as Jocko takes out his phone. “If you’re going to buy, this is the time to do it, and there’s not a bad place to own property in this area. It’s all constricted, so they can’t just build out the suburbs like they do down in Chevali.”
“And the more relevant question,” I say. “Is it worth buying a house?”
The other fox raises his eyebrows and ears with a smile. “Are you good at your job?”
“Yes.”
He clasps his paws in front of him. “Okay, then. There’s no guarantees in this business, of course, especially when you’re depending on all those youngsters on the field.” His paw indicates the posters on the wall. “They might have an off year, we go 5-11, and ownership decides the front office needs a sweeping. You know how it works.”
“At least I know I’m not going to be fired for my relationship again.” I lean closer to him as Jocko starts talking to his sister-in-law on the phone.
“Not unless you’re dating another one of our players on the side.”
“No,” I say, “but I’m in a foursome with a couple guys from Port City, is that okay?”
“Sure.” He waves a paw. “Anyway, I have a good relationship with the owner. She likes how quickly we turned things around and she’s inclined to give us at least a year or so of leeway. Which is usually all we need. If we go 5-11, which we won’t, then next year we get a softer schedule and better draft. Should be easy to add a few wins to the total and look good while building up the team. Coach Gonzalez is a good guy, too. We’re still figuring out our relationship, but I trust him and he trusts me.”
I take mental notes. “Sounds good.”
“So I think I can guarantee you at least five years. And honestly, probably longer if you want. Half of the guys here on the scouting side are from the previous management. Good scouts don’t change much.”
Jocko puts his paw over his microphone. “Less they want to,” he says, and then goes back to talking to his sister-in-law.
“Plus you’ll be working with Morty again. He won’t be at the combine, but he asked me to get you an office near his, so he must still like you.”
“Great,” I say, “I’d just gotten used to clean air.”
I smile to let Peter know I’m teasing, and he acknowledges that with an answering smile, but says, “Whole building is non-smoking, actually.”
“Didn’t tell him.” His smile turns into a sly grin. “I’m actually looking forward to seeing his expression.”
Jocko hangs up and says, “She’s showing a house but she’d love to talk to you. I told her you’d want a two to three bedroom, near the office, price no object. With that new agent, Miski can cover the mortgage with the spare change from behind his couch.”
The table is silent for a moment, but Peter doesn’t glare at Jocko or do anything overt to let me know that the bear shouldn’t have said that. I only pick up on it because of the momentary silence and the twitch of Peter’s ears. It’s easier to pick up on a fox’s mood cues when you’re also a fox.
Peter goes on to talk about the area and the renovations they’ve been doing near the team headquarters, the couple little downtown areas near it, pointing to one or two things visible from the window. I follow his pointing black-furred finger while I figure out silently that what upset him was that Jocko shouldn’t have revealed that they knew about Dev’s new agent. Means they’ve talked to him or at least have shown some interest in Dev. I hide my inner smile. Maybe it’s worth buying a house here after all. I find myself eager to have a larger place than an apartment, a place I can own.
When Peter sits back down, Jocko takes the stack of official welcome papers from him and slides them over to me. “I’m supposed to be on vacation,” he says, “and one rule I have is that when you’re on vacation, you’re on vacation. We work hard enough the rest of the fuckin’ year that when you get time off, you take it. So go off to Gay Springs or whatever with your boyfriend and enjoy the time. When you come in the week of the combine, though, bring a case of Blitz Star because we’re gonna be up all night looking at these guys.”
I just stare at him when he says that, and after a second he checks himself. “Their stats, I mean. God dammit.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” I say. “You should’ve told me you like looking at guys all night. I wouldn’t have worried so much about working with you.”