She sighed. “Do you two need to sober up before we talk about this?”
My eyes fell shut as soon as I heard her voice. Of course, it was the owner of the team. Allie Sutton-Pierson had been the owner of the Washington Wolves for the past two decades and was not someone I necessarily wanted to face for the first time when I was like this.
That anger, the slow climb of my internal temperature, skyrocketed. And the only person I was pissed at was myself.
“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Nothing for the last few hours for me.”
The rookie stared down at the bottle, then the puke on the ground, and hiccuped.
He opened his mouth to say something about it, but a stupid impulse had me laying a hand on his shoulder. I shook my head when he glanced up at me.
I turned and met the guard’s eyes. “That was mine from … earlier.”
The rookie hiccupped again. The guard’s eyes narrowed, like he knew I was lying.
But come on, this kid—even if he was dumber than shit for carrying a bottle of tequila in his backpack—would never get a fair shot at a place like Washington if this was how he started.
Everyone would expect it from me. They’d shake their head and move about their day, that the hothead from Vegas would do something as stupid as throw up on the fifty-yard line.
The guard’s craggy face bent in a frown, and Miss Sutton-Pierson rubbed her forehead. “Walker, let’s go to my office.” She pointed at the rookie. “A driver will take you home, but you better be back in my office at eight a.m. tomorrow.”
He gave her a salute. Sort of. “Yes, ma’am.”
When she shook her head, she moved to the side, and I could finally see her face clearly. She wasn’t happy, but when her eyes landed on my face, it wasn’t anger I saw. It was disappointment, and somehow, that was worse.
To the security guard, she said, “Can you get him up and call a driver to get him home?”
“Sure thing, boss.” He swooped down and helped the rookie to his feet. “You two gonna learn the hard way, aren’t you?”
I swiped blades of grass off the front of my shirt and fought the way my hackles rose along my back. This guy couldn’t have known it, but I learned everything the hard way. Every battle I’d won had come from actual blood, sweat, and tears. My success was in spite of my background, not because of it.
“Thank you, Keith,” my brand new boss told the guard while he started off the field with the rookie.
He paused and assessed me with shrewd eyes. “You sure you got this one?”
She gave me a look. “Oh yeah.”
I swiped a hand over my mouth and decided not to snap back with something at the guard’s back. He was a big dude, probably could’ve played linebacker if he hadn’t already.
Out of the corner of my eye, I studied her for a moment. From what I knew of her, she was in her mid-forties, but with her blond hair pulled off her face and the white shirt she was wearing with dark jeans, she looked about a decade younger.
Allie Sutton-Pierson assessed me equally, and I could tell by her facial expression that she wasn’t intimidated by me in the slightest even though I towered over her at six-four.
Owning a team for two decades while being married to a former elite quarterback would do that.
She gave me a smile and gestured toward the tunnel that had let me out onto the field. “Shall we?”
The words were said so pleasantly, and for some reason, her impeccable manners and her kind smile wrapped in implacable resolve set my temper on edge again. The flames roared dangerously inside me, even as I kept my face blank. “Do I actually have a choice?”
She faced me. “Not if you want to have the role on this team that you’re capable of. I suppose in that regard, yes, you have a choice, Dominic. You can choose not to speak to me about this, and I’ll sit down with you later, along with Coach and our GM. I don’t think that conversation will be as pleasant.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I took a second to roll through those scenarios. Check your temper at the door, Walker, my beleaguered agent had told me when he finalized this trade. Washington wasn’t the place to showboat. It wasn’t the place to break single-player records if it came at the cost of a win. My last team had been that way. Many players did all sorts of amazing things individually, but as a cohesive unit, we were terrible.
“Lead the way,” I told her after a loaded beat of silence. Our steps made no sound as we left the field, and I took a second to take in a deep breath and hope that my hours on the field were enough of a tribute to mark the passing of this day. Last year, I’d gotten a tattoo. The year before, I donated a huge chunk of my signing bonus to the children’s hospital where she’d stayed for so many months.
“Is this going to be a regular occurrence, Mr. Walker?” she asked as we cleared the tunnel. “Because I was promised by your agent that it wouldn’t be.”
I winced, but considering she was staring straight ahead as she maneuvered us through the empty passageways of the building toward some of the offices, she didn’t see.
“No, ma’am.” Was ma’am the correct thing to call her? Miss? Boss? I wasn’t even sure.
She sent me an amused grin. “Most people call me Allie. Except Keith, who’s called me boss for the past twenty years. I can’t break him of it now.”
She led me through an intricate maze of tunnels and hallways. This was a building she knew intimately. We reached a wall of glass doors that slid open when Allie waved a security badge in front of a small panel to the left. There were lights on, but given how early it still was, only a couple of people were at work yet.
“You have your office at the stadium?” I asked.
She waved at someone sitting in a cubicle, greeting them by name.
“I have one at the team facilities as well, but I split my time because I get to know the stadium staff better when I spend some of my days here.”
A man pushing a custodial cart greeted her with a wide smile as he came down the hallway. His blue eyes were a little cloudy with age. “Morning, Allie. You’re in early today.”
She tilted her head in my direction. “Had to initiate the new guy. Max, meet Dominic Walker. He’s our new tight end.” She gave me a look that I roughly translated as if you don’t treat this man like you’re meeting a dignitary, I’ll castrate you. “Dominic, Max has worked for the Wolves longer than anyone else in the organization. We couldn’t do a single thing well without him.”
He held out a hand that looked bent with arthritis. I shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Max.”
Those blue eyes held a twinkle as he did his own assessment. “You’re a troublemaker, aren’t you?”
Allie smothered a laugh with a polite cough.
“I’ve been told that a time or two,” I answered honestly.
“If you see Faith, let her know I’m in my office, okay, Max?” Allie said with a smile.
He nodded. “Sure thing. You know she always brings me those muffins I like, even if I tell her not to.”
Allie laughed. “Sounds like her. Dominic, we’re right in here.” She pointed at a dark office with large windows overlooking downtown Seattle. From the room, large and perfectly decorated with comfortable seats and framed black and white photos of moments in Wolves history, I caught sight of a shot of Allie, her husband Luke Pierson, and two girls. Allie saw me looking. “Our daughters, Faith and Lydia.”
Faith. It was the name she mentioned out in the hallway. But I didn’t ask. I just wanted to get out of this meeting and figure out a way not to end the day pissed off and self-destructive because the way I was starting it certainly wasn’t good.
Allie took a seat on a long black couch and gestured for me to sit across from her. I held my body stiffly, aware that she had the power to make or break my career at Washington with this one meeting. It kindled that anger all over again.
It was just like I’d messaged Turbo—when would I fucking learn?
“Do you feel like telling me why
you were drinking on the fifty-yard line?” she asked.
I met her gaze unflinchingly. “Not particularly.”
Allie nodded. “I’ve been here for twenty years, Dominic. Not once have we ever had players try to wreck their livers midfield before the season has even started.” She crossed her legs and reclined on the couch. “Makes me a little curious about you.”
“And not the drunk rookie?” I asked dryly.
“Oh, he and I will have this conversation as well. But you weren’t drunk, and I don’t actually think you were the one who puked on my precious wolf logo. That makes it even more interesting.”
I didn’t like that she was being kind about this, that she was reacting with curiosity and not an iron fist. This approach of hers made me uncomfortable.
Because I found myself opening my mouth and handing her one small snippet of truth.
“This is my least favorite day of the entire year. Something shitty happened a few years ago, and I don’t like talking about it.”
She hummed. “I don’t know much about you other than your years in Vegas. If it’s something you’d like to explain to me, I’m always here to listen.”
“No thanks,” I said evenly. “Can I go now?”
This time, her smile held an edge. “Nope. Whatever happened on this day in your life, you don’t get to bring it here in the form of empty bottles of alcohol in my building. Every inch of this place is important to me and every person who works in it, on or off the field.”
She had no fucking clue about my life or what I went through. No clue how important this was to me too. Because in her mind, I’d bet, she looked at me the exact same way that all my teammates in Texas had. They walked in with scholarships and an excuse to dick off in their classes so they could spend all their time on football. I worked my ass off to afford that schooling, moving across the country because my dad had an old buddy who gave me a job and a place to live.
To them, my attitude somehow meant I didn’t care. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.
She sat in her glass enclosure, overseeing her billion-dollar enterprise with a smile on her face. I’d smile too if I was as rich as her, had the kind of problems she probably had. I crossed my arms and let out a hard breath through my nose.
“You have an opportunity, Dominic, and by signing that contract yesterday, you promised a certain level of professionalism. I expect it from everyone who receives a paycheck with my signature on it, no matter how many zeros that check has. If you showed up tomorrow and told me you wanted to scoop popcorn on Sundays, I’d expect that same professionalism. You are an excellent player, but I won’t tolerate you acting recklessly and disrespecting the home we’ve built here.”
I held her gaze unflinchingly, and she had no clue what was happening under the surface of my skin, how hot my blood was as it rushed through my body, pumped furiously through my heart.
“I won’t consider that strike one because I’ve never believed in consequences without a warning first. Now you know what I expect from every person on our roster, and I’m going to have to trust that you won’t let this happen again. But you will do something to earn my trust and learn some humility.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
She looked at her watch. “My daughter Faith will be here any minute. You’re going to spend some time doing volunteer work for me and my husband’s foundation, Team Sutton.”
I slicked my tongue over my teeth. As punishments went, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I thought it might be. “What does your daughter have to do with it?”
I saw her look over my shoulder into the hallway. “Faith, at the moment, is the director of the foundation. And I think she’ll have no problem keeping you in line.”
I snorted because I couldn’t even manage to keep myself in line. Some rich girl, handed a job by her rich parents, didn’t stand a chance.
Faith
NicktheBrickLayer: I don’t want to do anything this year, Turbo. No gestures, no commemoration, no stupid little purchases that don’t mean anything. Because no matter what I do, she’s still gone, and it pisses me off, and nothing I ever do feels like enough anyway.
I couldn’t get that first message out of my head. I wanted to answer him, but because of my terrible tendency to hit snooze one too many times, I didn’t have enough time to properly answer my friend before I drove downtown to the stadium to meet with Allie. But because of what day it was, how hard I knew it was for him, I couldn’t make him wait a couple more hours without saying something.
Before turning the corner where the big glass door would lead me to the offices, I tucked myself against the wall and pulled out my phone. Tapping my thumb onto the screen, I opened the messaging app but deflated a little when I saw no unread notification and no new messages waiting from him.
Every year on this day, I received a message first thing in the morning from my one and only online friend. I’d never seen his face nor spoken to him on the phone. Sometimes, we’d go weeks without messaging at all, but because this day—three years earlier—is how we “met” in the first place, it had yet to pass without him reaching out to me.
TurboGirl: I’m sorry I’m just answering. I woke up late for work.
TurboGirl: I’m sure whatever you did wasn’t stupid. And even if it was, it’s been five years since Ivy died. Be nice to my friend, okay?
I bit my lip and watched the time click past the start time of my meeting with Allie. She’d forgive me a couple of minutes, especially because she’d been married to my dad since I was like … seven … so my always-a-couple-minutes-late arrival would be no surprise to her.
TurboGirl: Tell me something about her. What was her favorite restaurant? Or her favorite movie? I love hearing you talk about your sister. It’s the best way you can honor her life, N. <3
Hitting send, I glimpsed at the clock on my phone again. “Oh, fracksticks,” I whispered.
Swiping my badge in front of the glass doors, they slid open soundlessly as I hustled through, almost colliding with Max. He steadied me with a laugh. “Easy there, kiddo. You running late?”
“Always,” I said. Tucking my phone into my pocket was a feat with the bakery bag shoved under my arm. Max saw the bag and started shaking his head. “Don’t even argue,” I told him. “You haven’t tried this flavor yet, and it’s divine.”
With a gesture of his gnarled hands, I gave him the bag. When he opened it and took a deep inhale, his eyes fell closed, and he released a sigh that had me laughing out loud.
“That smells illegal, Miss Faith.”
“Raspberry cream. Let me know how you like it after my meeting, okay?”
He nodded his head toward Allie’s office. “She’s got someone in there—one of the new players—but she said you could head on in.”
“Huh. Okay.” My interaction with players was fairly limited to foundation events, despite the fact that my stepmom owned the team and my dad was practically an unofficial member of the front offices.
I preferred it that way, though. Football players had this terrible tendency to fall into one of two camps.
Camp One: Can I find a way to sleep with the owner’s daughter?
Camp Two: I shall treat the owner’s daughter like she’s my long-lost sibling.
It was why my most important addition to the Pierson Family Rule List was No Dating Football Players. I knew from my own regrettable experience in college what the Camp One players were like. Hence the rule.
“How’re you liking that fancy new job?” he asked.
“It’s a lot to learn. We just expanded to taking grant applications from the Midwest,” I told him. “But Ruth was an amazing director, and she’s helped me a lot since she retired.”
He smiled. “You’ve got a big heart, just like your momma does.”
Everyone at Washington knew Allie wasn’t my biological mom—my birth mom died in a car accident when I was little—but in all the ways that mattered, she was the only person to ever fill that ro
le for me. I patted him on the arm. “Hopefully, that big heart of hers forgives me for being a bit late.”
His blue eyes had a twinkle to them when he answered. “I reckon she’s not all that surprised, Miss Faith.”
I sighed. “You’re probably right.” I waved. “See you around, Mr. Max.”
He winked, pushing his cart past me.
Allie’s door was cracked open, and when I approached, I heard the rumble of a low voice. He came into view before Allie did, and if someone had written a caption for the image of him that I saw, it would’ve been pissed-off bad boy bucks authority. His arms, big and tattooed, were crossed over his chest, and he stared at Allie like she’d done him personal harm.
His jaw was a sharp line coated in dark stubble, and there wasn’t a hint of emotion on that chiseled face. For a moment, I stared at him. Something about his demeanor made me feel very much like I was approaching a wild animal, and that danger made the air vibrate at a different frequency.
“There you are, Faith,” Allie said as she appeared into view. With a warm smile, she opened the door for me. “Come on in.”
“Thank you for waiting,” I told her, tucking some of my brown hair behind my ear. “I know I’m a little late.”
She rubbed my arm. “Dominic and I were just getting to know each other before you got here.”
He snorted, and my brows bent in on my forehead at the derisive sound. Allie’s eyes met mine, and I saw a gleam of humor in them, which made me relax a little. Then she gestured toward me. “Dominic, this is my daughter Faith. She runs the foundation I was telling you about.”
I gave him a friendly smile and held out my hand. But instead of standing to take it, he gave me a head-to-toe study without rush, then nodded curtly.
Ahh, okay, so he was one of those football players. That was Camp Three. The ego-the-size-of-Everest, I’m-too-talented-for-basic-manners football players who made me want to shove bamboo splints up my fingernails rather than spend time with them.
Those players made it very, very easy not to break my no dating the players rule. Kinda like when you went camping and they told you not to feed the bears because they might eat you alive.
The Lie : a bad boy sports romance Page 2