by Rebel Hart
Wright was starting his fourth beer and powering through like he was still stark sober when he finally raised an eyebrow and asked, “All right, level with me, Zeke. Why were you out there playing around with those amateurs? Charity? One of them have cancer or something?”
I recoiled a bit at that insensitive statement but shoved it off. “No. I found out that they were applying for semi-pro status. I knew they weren’t worth their salt, so I had to break their spirit a little bit and get them to stand down.”
Wright started nodding and laughing. “There it is. Well, I think you certainly succeeded in that mission.” He crossed his arms and looked to the ceiling. “You know, I thought I remembered hearing something about a new team applying for semi-pro. They put a big game on their website, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. How surprised I was when I showed up and saw the Montpelier Vipers getting off the bus.”
I hunched my brow. Wright’s twos weren’t making four. On the one hand, he was acting as if he barely knew anything about the Widows applying for semi-pro, but on the other, he was saying he drove all the way to Montpelier just to see them. He was either trying to confuse me on purpose or just straight-up lying. Whatever the case, I quickly filed away a note that I’d have to mind myself around Wright or I’d get caught in a web. I wasn’t about to call him out on his nonsense for the shit Widows or their cocky captain, but if I was going to continue to see him for awkward beers, I’d have to make sure to stop myself after one bottle.
I emptied my beer and set it down on the table, and Wright raised an eyebrow. “Want another? I’m paying.”
I shook my head. “I’m good. Drinking too much after games doesn’t sit well.”
Wright laughed. “Young metabolism. You never know which way it’s gonna go.”
My resulting chuckle was forced. “Yeah.”
“Well, if that’s it, then, I suppose I won’t take up more of your time. It was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for indulging an old man just trying to get out of his office and experience a little excitement.”
“Sure,” I responded, even though I knew his innocent old man act was a farce.
We walked out of the bar and back across the street. Wright kept pace with me until we got to a sleek, red BMW. “I’d love to attend some of your real games, you know, without children running around on the field.”
I snorted at that. “I try to only play with kids once a year.”
Wright slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Send some tickets my way. If your game is anything like it was today, you definitely shouldn’t be buckled down by the semis.”
If he was trying to butter me up for free tickets, it was working. “There will be season tickets in your email first thing in the morning.”
Wright pointed a finger in my face. “There’s a good man. Take care of yourself, Matheson. I’m sure we’ll see one another again soon.”
He held out a hand to shake, and that time I took it with enthusiasm. “I look forward to it, sir.”
He gave me a final parting nod before climbing in his car and roaring it to life. I held up a hand as he backed out and then walked over to my car with much more of a spring in my step than the one I had when I approached it a couple of hours ago. The sun was tucked away for the night, and stars were starting to dot the sky. I smiled as I started my long journey home. I wasn’t sure what fortune I’d stumbled upon with Wright, but it seemed I’d finally found my way up and out of the semi-pros.
9
Quinn
“Will you stop it? Just come inside. I’ll make you a daiquiri, and you can sleep in your bed like a normal person.”
I was fighting with Alec, trying to get my backpack loose from his grip. “Let go. I don’t want to go home. I’ll feel better at MontRec.”
“You’re such a freak.” Alec griped, pulling my bag. “You’re just traumatized. You should be at home right now.”
“Yeah, I’m traumatized.” I pulled back. “I talked a bunch of shit and got my ass handed to me, and now I have to withdraw our application.”
“That’s your fault for taking that bet in the first place.” He grunted as he pulled. “Let go.”
“You let go!”
One of our neighbors stepped out of her house and stood, staring at us from her stoop. I didn’t typically like being the center of attention, despite my field of interest. On top of that, people in Montpelier were notoriously nosy. Whatever this one neighbor saw would be the talk of the town tomorrow. My phone was in my pocket, and my keys were in my hand, so I finally just let my backpack go. Alec tripped backward a bit, not expecting me to stop fighting, but he managed to stay on his feet. I turned around and walked down the sidewalk.
“Quinn!”
I ignored him. The truth was, I was embarrassed. He was right. I shouldn’t have taken the bet, and he was right when he said I shouldn’t have applied. My last two weeks had been one bad decision after the other, leading my poor, unwitting team to the worst, most publicized defeat in any of their careers. They had every right to be mad at me when they found out I applied without talking to them first and when I agreed to take on Zeke’s bet. None of them had texted or called me in the wake of the game, not even Kris. It was a sure-fire sign that they were pissed. They always called to console me after losses. They knew I took them hard and usually took them on myself. Their silence was louder than angry screams. They believed this loss was my fault, and they were right to blame me. I had walked them into a lion’s den without armor.
The cool, evening walk to MontRec was helpful to my waning spirit. I’d cried more on the car ride from MontRec home than I had in my entire adult life, but MontRec was like the warm embrace of a lover. It didn’t judge, and it didn’t ask questions. It only comforted. The second I realized I was in front of my apartment and no longer at MontRec, I wanted to go right back. I wanted to stare in shame at my application, and I wanted to defy Zeke’s command to wait a day and withdraw immediately. It was the only bit of power I had left, and I wanted to wield it.
I let myself into the employee entrance of MontRec and saw all of the supplies from the game sitting in a heap just inside the door. I hadn’t noticed who had moved them in my anguish. I imagined Alec gave Kris the keys, and she elicited some assistance in getting the items just inside the door. They probably didn’t even walk in. I didn’t blame them. I wouldn’t be able to face it, either, if I were them. I fully expected to start getting resignations from the team before tomorrow’s practice. If anyone showed up at all, it would be a miracle.
I gathered the scattered jerseys, rolled them up, and shoved them into a bag. I’d bring them down to the community center’s basement laundry facility later to be washed and then hang them up. I grabbed the footballs, which had been haphazardly tossed around, and tucked as many of them under my arms as I could. I dragged the buckets of pads, one in each hand, and slowly made my way back toward my office. I tucked the materials away in my closet and then locked it. My hand came to rest on the door as I considered the possibility of not opening it up again anytime soon. If everyone quit, I’d have to start the arduous search for more players, and it would be a while before the items got any use. I pushed that thought from my mind with a deep breath and went to sit down at my desk.
Under the right side of my desk, where there was traditionally more legroom, I had a small mini-fridge stashed. It was usually meant to keep my lunch and personal beverages away from the easy access of all of MontRec’s employees and visitors, but it also allowed me to keep a few beers hidden for just such an occasion. I pulled one out, popped the top off using the corner of my desk, and powered up my computer.
Finding my application wasn’t difficult. I’d visited it half a dozen times since I submitted it to see if the processing status had changed, and it still had not. All the way at the bottom of the page, there was a link to click and follow to withdraw the application. I sat and stared at it, waiting for it to talk back to me. My hand moved like a cinder-block as I drug m
y mouse closer to the link to click it and formally start the process. Emotions slithered their way back up my throat, but I took a large drink of my beer and let the bitter swill wash them back down. There was no place for them now. I placed a bet, and I lost. It was time to pay the piper. I clicked the link and closed my eyes like it was going to explode, so when I heard a knock from outside my office, I jumped.
MontRec closed at eight-thirty, and it was nearly ten o’clock now, the light outside having completely receded save for the few pinpoints of the streetlights. It was a community staple, so it’s hours were well known. I couldn’t guess who might be there, apart from Alec. I checked my phone, and though I did have a slurry of texts from him, they were all instructions to come home soon, the last one saying he was going to bed. I stood up, taking my beer with me just in case, and when I cleared my office and peeked through the glass front doors, there was a man outside excitedly flagging me down. He had short black hair in an afro cut, bright brown eyes, and an exuberant smile. He was dressed in a business suit, the light gray fabric of which contrasted well with his brown skin tone. His confidence radiated off of him, even through the glass door and metal grate.
I moved to stand just in front of the door and cupped a hand next to my mouth. “We’re closed! Come back tomorrow. We open at nine.”
He shook his head, sifted a hand into his pocket, and pulled out a card. He slapped it against the grate protecting the doors with the credentials facing me. I craned my neck, trying to read it through the holes, and when I managed to do so, my jaw dropped. It was Wright Johnson, the commissioner of the Idaho Athletics Board. What the hell would he be doing here? What would he want with me? I pointed down toward the employee entrance and unlocked the door.
“Miss Dallen, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Wright Johnson. You can call me Wright. I stopped by your apartment to speak with you, but your brother informed me you were here. Can I come in?”
I wasn’t sure what the shorthand for saying, “I didn’t know you before this moment, but now that I do, I’m starstruck,” was, but I was that. I stuttered out, “Y-yes!”
I stepped aside, and as Wright passed me by to enter, I slapped the breaker on the wall to turn the lights on. MontRec’s lights started to click on in succession, and Wright watched them all as they popped on.
“Welcome to MontRec,” I said.
“Well, that is certainly a welcome.” He chuckled and walked around the main room. “Humble but well-kept.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “It’s kind of my pride and joy.”
He looked over at me. “You own it?” His eyes drifted down to the beer in my hand.
“No, but the owner is pretty hands-off. He trusts me with it.” I held up the beer. “Should I hide this or get you one?”
“Neither,” Wright replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a beer, but I just came from having drinks with a colleague. If I have anymore, you’ll have to drive me home.”
I let out an awkward laugh. His presence was, at the same time, domineering and whimsical. Just what was this guy about? I slid my beer behind the reception desk regardless and pulled the rolling chairs behind it around.
“Want to sit?” I asked.
“Thank you.” He settled down into one of the rolling chairs, and I fell into the other.
“So, um. What can I do for you?”
He crossed his arms, allowing me to notice for the first time that they were massive. In fact, his entire stature was large. I wondered if he played football before settling into an office, but I decided not to ask. It didn’t make me happy that I had to be an office manager when I’d rather be on the field, so if the same was true for him, I didn’t want to insult.
“Well, I would think it’d be obvious. I’m here to get you on the road to semi-pro status.”
My heart tried to break through my chest. “You…what?”
“I saw your game tonight.”
My heart receded as far back into my chest as it could go. “Oh.”
He laughed. “Yes, it wasn’t your grandest display, was it?”
I stood up, walked around the reception desk, grabbed my beer, and returned to my seat. Wright laughed as I tipped it to my mouth and knocked a good portion of it back.
Finally, I looked back at him with a grimace. “No.”
He pointed out a finger. “I’ll tell you something, though, Quinn. Things might not have gone well with the Vipers, but you’ve got yourself a good team.”
I didn’t hesitate when I responded, “I do. They’ve worked harder than most pro players. I’m very proud of them.”
“You should be. They’re a team worth being proud of, and I realize that a loss can be difficult any way you shake it, but you just found yourselves a little unprepared. Trust me, with my help, you won’t take a defeat like that again.” He smiled. “So, should we talk specifics?”
I wanted to. So badly. I wanted to completely ignore what had happened with Zeke and the Vipers and let this random savior who had wandered into my world turn my team into the semi-pro team they deserved to be.
“I can’t,” I said at last. I made a deal, and I wanted to be good to my word. “I’m ashamed to admit that the game against the Vipers was a bit of a wager between Zeke Matheson and me. If we lost, we had to withdraw our application.” I pointed back over my shoulder. “I was just doing it when you walked in.”
“That is unfortunate.” Wright frowned and shook his head, but then he sighed, and his smile returned. “Fortunately, the decision isn’t yours to make anymore. It’s mine. I’m a fan of football, and after tonight, I’m a fan of yours, as well. It would be against my good nature to allow a team such as yours to bow out. I simply won’t have it.”
The words were both exciting and disheartening. I didn’t want to go back on the deal I had made. “But Zeke—”
Wright waved a hand through the air. “Don’t you worry about that washed-up, pro wannabe.” He clapped a hand over his mouth and then shrugged. “Eh, sorry, my mouth can get me in trouble sometimes. I know types like Zeke. He’s chasing a contract he’ll never get and feels like you could be a threat to that. I’ll deal with him. You just focus on doing what it takes to meet the requirements.”
I allowed myself to smile as hope flooded into me. “Really?”
“Really. Don’t you worry. Zeke will know you didn’t have a choice in the matter.”
I nodded. “Okay.” My smile grew. “What do we have to do?”
“Well, there’s the matter of the establishment fees, but keep that out of your mind for now. We can discuss your options when the time comes,” Wright began, and I appreciated his use of the word when as opposed to if. “You will need a coach. You put one on your application, but I didn’t see one at the game. Well, I saw your brother, but I don’t believe that’s who you put down.”
“No, he wasn’t able to make it on such short notice,” I quickly lied. I did have a coach in mind, but I hadn’t asked him yet. “The one listed on the application, Cal Carter, is our coach.”
“Great!” He clapped his hands. “One task down.”
I gave an awkward thumbs-up. As long as he agreed, it was. “What else?”
“Well, all teams seeking semi-pro status must prove that they’re up to the rigorous game schedule. You play weekly games now, but with shorter quarters, correct?”
I nodded. “Our game against the Vipers was full-length, but typically, we run twenty-minute quarters. Games come out to just about two hours in the rec league.”
“Things are much heavier in the semi-pros. It’s all of the same rules and regulations as the pros, so you’ll have to get used to that. You’ll prove this by playing a series of games against other semi-pro teams.” A creepy smile crawled across his face. “It will end in a rematch with the Vipers.”
That thought rocked me to my core. I’d be perfectly happy never standing in the same state as Zeke Matheson again, let alone on the same field. “Why?”
He held out his hand
s. “As the two semi-pro teams in the city, something of a rivalry will erupt. The board will need to be assured that you can handle that professionally.”
I wasn’t sure how true it was, but I didn’t push. I’d already been given so much fortune. It was bound to bottom out at some point. “Okay.”
“I’ll take care of the advertising.”
“Advertising?” I yelped.
Wright let out a haughty, heavy laugh. “Well, of course you don’t expect this thing not to be televised, do you? The grand rematch between the Black Widows and the Vipers as they fight for semi-pro status. It’ll pack the Vipers stadium!” There was a manic, wild look in his eyes that dissipated quickly when he cleared his throat. “It’s all for you, of course. You’ll want the masses there to witness your rise to glory. Trust me on this.”
The number of people that had already seen the Vipers destroy the Widows was painful to think about. Imagining the Vipers’ stadium packed with people to watch them run all over us made me physically ill. I wasn’t in any place to argue, but the beer in my hand definitely wasn’t going to be enough.
“Anything else?” I asked, desperate to move the conversation away from that topic.
Wright shrugged. “Nothing all that exciting. I’ll send you an email with the minor details. There’s weight class stuff, dietary requirements, drug and alcohol policies, the whole nine yards, but I assume the Black Widows are comfortably within those requirements already.” He clapped his hands together again. “Oh, this is going to be good, Quinn. I feel it.”
I thought I’d be more excited than nauseous. “Yeah.”
He stood up. “Good. I’ll get started making the arrangements on my end, and you get started with yours.”