Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Good lord. Would it have killed him to lead with that?
Deeply relieved, I let out a long, shaky exhale, hoping it’s not audible to anyone at the table. Luca’s not out of the woods yet. Dad might strongly disagree. But after getting Raul’s endorsement, no matter how tepid, Luca is one step closer to staying alive for at least another week.
“Chelsea?” Dad asks. “I’m assuming you’re in full agreement with Raul?”
That’s interesting. Dad didn’t assume that when we considered Jeremy Calhoun a moment ago.
“I am,” I admit, trying my best to sound calm and professional. “I predict Luca’s on a trajectory for even more improvement. He’s certainly been working his tail off. So, like Raul, I’d vote to give him some reps in the game on Sunday to see what he can do.”
Dad jots down a note before seeking input from some other people. And, to my relief, everyone who speaks agrees with Raul and me.
“Personally,” Dad says, leaning back in his chair, “I’m on the fence about Maguire. But I trust the people who’ve worked closest with him to lead the way at this stage.” Dad looks at Bellamy at the other end of the long table. “Are you okay with keeping Number Ninety-Five another week, Walker?”
Shit on a shingle. If Dad’s asking Walker Bellamy’s opinion, he must really be looking for a reason to cut Luca.
“I’m undecided on Luca, like you,” Bellamy replies smoothly. “But, yes, I’m good with the decision.”
Bellamy is undecided? What happened to the general manager seeing marketing gold in Luca? Apparently, now that Moriarty’s secured, Luca’s value has greatly diminished in Bellamy’s eyes. At least, to the point that Bellamy’s not particularly interested in Luca’s fate any longer. Shoot. Does this mean Bellamy will renege on his promise to give me that job in operations when Luca makes it onto the active roster? Because I still have faith that’s exactly what Luca will do in a matter of weeks, if only the men at this table will give him some more time to build on the amazing progress he’s managed thus far.
“Okay, we keep Maguire for now,” Dad declares. “But if he shits the bed against the Admirals this Sunday, let’s agree we’ll cut him that very night so he can hopefully get picked up somewhere else and play in the remaining two preseason games for another team.”
CHAPTER 20
Chelsea
I LOOK AROUND furtively before rapping on the door of Luca’s hotel room.
It’s after curfew, so I shouldn’t be doing this. Actually, I shouldn’t be doing this regardless. At any time of day or night. But I couldn’t stay away. I want Luca to hear both the good and bad news that came out of tonight’s meeting from me. Namely, that he’s not cut, thank God, but also that I’m no longer going to be working with him. Indeed, I’ve already received a reply text from Moriarty confirming our one-one-one session at 5:30 a.m. sharp tomorrow—the same time and place as my usual sessions with Luca.
One more soft rap on the door and Luca appears, shirtless and barefoot. Wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and an expression of dread. He knows about tonight’s meeting. All the players do. And by the look on his face, he thinks I’m here to deliver the worst possible news.
“So you’re allowed to come to my door, but I’m not allowed to come to yours?” he says weakly. He’s using humor as a crutch—as a coping mechanism—while he’s actually in the throes of deep anxiety. I do that, too, sometimes.
“Can I come in?” I whisper, looking around nervously at the empty, quiet hallway.
With a nod, he wordlessly steps back and widens his door, and I step into the small hotel room. It’s the same as mine, basically: There’s a queen bed covered in beige, a small desk and dresser, and a window overlooking a parking lot below.
“They didn’t cut you,” I blurt, the second the door closes behind me. “They want to see you in Sunday’s game.”
Luca clutches his heart, staggers backward, and exhales loudly. But after processing the heart-stopping news for a beat, he lurches forward and wraps me in a celebratory bear hug that physically takes my breath away.
“We did it, baby!” Luca bellows. “Fuck yeah! Coach Chelsea for the win!”
Suddenly, the delectable, musky scent of Luca’s aftershave overtakes my nose and fills my lungs. That combined with the warmth of his bare, muscular torso pressed against me sends my eyes practically rolling back into my head. If it weren’t for the second half of what I came to say to Luca tonight, I’m sure I’d lose all self-control in this moment.
Breathing hard, I force myself to step out of his delicious embrace and get on with the rest of it. “They cut Calhoun, though.”
“Shit. No.”
“Hopefully, he’ll get picked up somewhere.”