Chapter 7

Eliza

“Will Hudson be on the starting roster on Sunday?” George Bennett asks as soon as I answer the phone.

He’s the agent for Hudson Meecher, our star cornerback. But Hudson’s been plagued with injuries, and if he can’t play, that affects his salary and the ten percent George gets. “That’s up to the coaches,” I tell him. “I don’t have any say with that. He’s been performing well, and he played last week in the opener, so I’d think so…”

Agents . What a racket for a player like Hudson. He rarely gets in trouble, and he works hard. Agents negotiate their player’s salary, but there are salary caps, so there’s only so much they can do. Hudson was a rockstar four years ago, but this is probably his last year in the league. He’s twenty-nine and slowing down.

“Will you be at the game?” George asks.

“Why would I be anywhere else?” I tease. “This is my family’s team, and we’re always at the game.”

“Do you have plans after?”

I know what he’s asking, but I’m not interested. Not even a little bit. I smile politely, hoping it comes through in my voice. “Thank you for thinking of me. I have plans.”

Those plans should be going out on dates and trying to find someone who will get engaged to me in the next six months, but my only plan is to go back to my mom’s and sleep until Monday morning.

After hanging up, my phone rings several more times, and each time, I end up dealing with agents. I also realize all these calls are coming from my dad’s office. When did I become the head of player relations?

When I finally have a break, I call Marlene.

“Hi, Marlene. I was just wondering why you were sending agent calls to me and not player relations?”

“Your father typically takes those when they come in, but he’s out of town,” she explains. “He asked me to send them to you.”

My brows reach my hairline. Dad didn’t mention he was going out of town. “Do you know why player relations is sending them to us?”

“Usually because they can only promise so much. Your dad is where the buck stops.”

I guess I understand. Ultimately, we hold the purse strings. “Thanks, Marlene.”

The calls continue intermittently, and before I know it, it’s after two. I want to stretch my legs and get a change in scenery.

I call Tanya. “I’m heading to the Surrey practice facility,” I tell her. “I’ll be back a little later.”

“Going to check out a particular doctor?” she teases.

I am, but I also want to see what practices are like under this coaching staff. “I’ve been on the phone all morning with agents. They’re nervous, and I want to see why.”

“Why do you think they’re nervous? ”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to arrive unannounced and check it out.”

“Have fun. Call me tonight after you’re done. I’m having dinner with Jun.”

That surprises me. Jun is her ex-husband, and she’s not had a lot of great things to say about him. “I want to hear all about that, including why you agreed in the first place.”

“Talk later,” she says quickly, and then she’s gone.

I walk downstairs and get into my Audi RS 5. It’s a four-door sedan, but still nice and sporty. The hardest part of my trip is getting to the highway from downtown, and I enjoy the way the car handles as I finally make my way down Highway One to our facility.

As I drive, my mind returns again to this ridiculous position my dad has put me in. How am I going to find a decent guy to get engaged to by January? No one can force me to fall in love, so I just need to make this look the way Dad wants it to. But even so, I don’t want just anyone. I won’t compromise who I am to fit with some guy.

I’m going to have to share space, and most men I know are slobs. My last boyfriend left his clothes on the bathroom floor all the time. Drove me crazy.

And maybe even more important than what I want is what will Dad accept? This guy is going to need to have his own money. Dad’s already mentioned a prenup, and I don’t want to risk that someone will sell the story and cause all kinds of problems.

The perfect man will have a job. As silly as it sounds, many of my friends from school don’t really work. They hang their “consulting” shingle and really just poke around. That isn’t going to work for me.

He also needs to live in Vancouver. I don’t want some guy who lives on one of the islands or up in Whistler or across the country. To make it believable, he needs to be local.

And then there’s the flip side of this perfect guy. If he has money, a job, and lives local, why would he want to do this for me? What do I have to offer?

I take a deep breath. I mean, Steve McCormick is all of those things. On paper, he’s ideal. He has a lot more money than I do. He’s a doctor, and working for the team is just something he enjoys. And he lives in a house, so that means he’s responsible. That’s an extra plus on my list.

As I exit the highway, a calm resolve washes over me. Dad has presented me with a test. I always excel at taking tests. I can do this.

I park and walk into the practice facility, where I’m greeted by the smell of sweat, dirty socks, athletic tape, and Axe aftershave. It’s a strange combination, but it’s always here.

I wander up to the coaches’ box and find several assistant coaches there, glued to what’s going on on the field. I find myself a seat, but they don’t seem to realize I’ve come in. I finally catch my buddy Darius’ eye and go to stand by him in the back of the box. As the head recruiter, he attends all the practices and games. That way, if something happens, he can be on the phone talking to a backup.

“How’s it going?”

He shakes his head.

I raise my brow.

“They’re going to scrimmage with the practice team,” he tells me. “You’ll see.”

I wish he would just tell me, but a few minutes later, the scrimmage gets underway, and I quickly see the dysfunction on the field. Seems our loss to open the season wasn’t a fluke. This looks like a pee-wee game when it should be more like a finely tuned orchestra. I’m even more shocked when a fight breaks out.

What. The. Hell?

Darius gives me an I-told-you-so look.

This is ridiculous. If the team isn’t cohesive now, what are they going to be like when playoffs are on the line or, more likely, when they’re losing every game and even the fans are rooting against them ?

Everything I’ve been working toward is going to go out the window. Hot anger races through my body. How did we get here?

I watch the players break from a huddle. When the play begins, the ball is not hiked to the quarterback well. Still, he manages to toss it to Hudson, who juggles the ball and barely has it under control when he’s hit. He goes down hard, still cradling the ball, but he’s not getting up.

The player who hit him, number fifty-one, Sean Rhymes, now has a coach in his face screaming. I don’t know what he’s saying, but Rhymes rips his helmet off, throws it on the ground, and walks toward the locker room. I’m happy with that decision.

Hudson is still lying on his back. Steve is out there with him now, as well as a few others. After a minute, they’ve got him sitting up and, with two of the trainers for support, they take him back to the locker room as well.

It feels like my head is going to shoot off the top of my body as rage surges through me. “Is this how it is every day?” I ask aloud.

One of the coaches turns and looks at me. His eyes grow big as he realizes who I am. “Ms. Rourke. I’m sorry. We didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Why would that matter?” I snap.

“Well, uh, that is, uh…”

“Don’t announce me to the coaches,” I tell him. “I’m heading down to the field.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The practice field is more like an American high school field with about two dozen or so rows of seats around it. We do some exhibition things here, but it’s walled in and covered so we can practice without prying eyes.

Despite my three-inch stilettos, I’m down the stairs quickly and walking across the field. My heels are going to be a mess on the spongy turf, but right now, I’m too angry to slow down. When I finally realize I could damage the field, I stop and pull my shoes off before I finish stomping over to the coaches.

There are some catcalls, and the head coach, Michael Roy, turns, ready to scream at whomever is on his field, but then he shrinks back.

I take a deep breath. Being the dragon lady won’t work.

“You lookin’ for a ride, lady?” one player yells. “I’ll show you a ride.” He undulates his hips and grabs his dick.

“Jackass, that’s Rourke’s daughter,” another player says. “She’s your boss.”

He disappears into the crowd, and they snicker at his stupidity.

I paint a smile on my face. “Hey, Coach. How’s it going today?”

“We didn’t know you’d be coming out.” He bristles.

“As a team owner, I didn’t realize I needed to run that by you.”

“Does your daddy know you’re here?” He stares down at me, but I’m not intimidated.

I tilt my head to the side. “Does your mama know you talk to your female boss that way?” I growl.

There’s some scoffing from the other coaches, which only seems to make him angrier.

“Why don’t we step into your office, Coach Roy? Let’s have a chat.” My voice is saccharine sweet.

His arms are crossed, nose flared, and his stance wide. His pupils are pinpoints. If looks could kill, I’d be a pile of ash right now. But he’s missing the point entirely. The issue is his shambles of a team, not whether or not I was here to see them.

“Would you like to get my dad on the phone?” I ask after a moment. “He’s on vacation in the South of France.” I mean, maybe he is. Who knows? I look at my watch and do some quick math. “It’s eleven thirty his time. He’s usually in bed, but I’m sure he won’t mind getting you all straightened out on my role.”

The coach turns and storms off .

I don’t feel like he’s inviting me to come with him, so I look over at Jimmy Majors, the assistant coach. “I don’t like what I saw. Make sure everyone understands that this isn’t going to be tolerated.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jimmy salutes me.

I roll my eyes. We’re not in the military.

I cross the field and head for the locker room. As I enter, there’s a ripped jersey on the floor. I find half of a shoulder pad set on one side of the room and the other half on the floor by the showers. The towel bin is upturned, and towels are everywhere, and the frosted-glass window to the toilets is shattered. The player who was sent off the field seems to be long gone, and he’s likely the one who destroyed things in his wake. I will work that out with Darius later.

For now, I walk down the hall to the medical bays where Steve is working with Hudson.

Hudson is crying. It wrenches my heart to see him like this.

“You may have torn the ligaments,” Steve tells him.

“Doc, I need to play this season,” Hudson pleads. “Shoot it up with steroids and let me play through.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up. Many teams treat their players like a commodity, and maybe they are, but that doesn’t mean they’re not humans. We can’t just wreck them and throw them in the trash.

“Let’s see what the MRI says,” Steve tells him. “But I won’t give you steroids if it’s torn. In that case, I’ll schedule you for surgery, and I have a great physical therapist who will work with you so that you’re not crippled for the rest of your life.”

“I’ve got to play,” Hudson insists.

Steve’s shoulders fall. “I get it. I know why you feel that way. And you can hate me for the rest of your life as you walk around that farm in Alberta. But one day you’ll be grateful you can still walk.”

Hudson cries harder, and Steve embraces him.

I step away from their private moment, floored by Steve’s sensitivity. I’m not happy that Hudson’s career might be ending more quickly than he wants—and particularly after something that happened in a practice—but I’m grateful that Steve puts the health of the player first. What would a neurologist know about a torn ligament? This new CFL requirement needs to be fixed.

I take a deep breath and continue my walk to Coach Roy’s office. He’s been with the team for five years, and in my estimation, he’s an okay coach. We’ve been in the middle of the pack every year he’s been here, and that isn’t good enough. He’s quick to blame the players, but when I worked with the Pelicans in San Diego, they had a lackluster roster. The coaching staff made them shine.

As soon as he sees me in the doorway, he starts in. “If you ever do that to me again in front of my team, I’m going to—”

“What? Fire me?” I place my hands on his desk and lean in. “Last I looked, my last name is on your paycheck.”

“You don’t run this team. You’re a marketing bunny.”

“Really? You think that’s all I do?” I stare him down, and he blinks. He comes off all blustery, but he’s a pussycat inside.

He stares over at the whiteboard in his office. “Today’s practice went to shit.”

I sit down in the chair opposite his desk.

He stands and starts to pace. “I don’t know what the fuck is happening. I don’t even know what’s going on with Meecher.”

“I saw him talking to Dr. McCormick, and he thinks he tore a ligament.”

He takes off his hat and throws it against the wall. “Damn it!” he screams. “This is his last season. He was positioned to make the all-star team.”

All I can do is nod. Everything he’s saying is true. This is a travesty, but it happened on his watch, in conditions he allowed to take hold.

“The player who hit him stormed out of here after dumping the locker room,” I tell him, keeping my voice calm and even. “You need to fire him. If his agent gives you grief, send him to me. His leaving is quitting, and I’m holding him to that.”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Are you sure your daddy’s going to be okay with that?”

“He left me in charge.”

He sighs. “Okay. I can bring up an offensive tackle from the practice team and get Darius to start putting out feelers for a replacement.”

I turn and see a man in a suit pacing in the hallway. “I’m guessing that’s the player’s agent?”

Coach looks up. “Yeah.”

“I’ve got this,” I tell him.

“You really are stepping in for your dad.”

“Yes. I’ve loved this team since I was a little girl. I’m ready to bring the Grey Cup home and get a television deal in the process.”

“I like the way you think.”

I nod as I stand. “Work with your coaches to figure out the problem with the team. We can’t go on this way.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but then closes it and slumps behind the desk.

I step out and approach the agent, but he brushes right past me and into Coach Roy’s office. He dives into an explanation of how Rhymes is feeling, taking zero responsibility for the illegal hit or the destruction of the locker room.

Coach holds up his hand. “She’s the owner. You need to talk to her.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he says, turning to me. “I thought you were one of the WAGs.”

I smile sweetly. “I noticed that. Since Sean Rhymes walked off after injuring another player, we’ll take that as his resignation.”

“No, that’s not at all what happened.” The agent runs his hands through his gelled hair.

I can tell this is the kind of guy who thinks he can sweet talk his way into anyone’s panties. Problem is, I’ve known assholes like him my whole life. I don’t play that way.

“But it is,” I counter. “I saw it. And he’s destroyed the locker room and left the building.”

“He’s on his way back.”

“That’s okay. We’ve already accepted his resignation.” I turn to leave it there.

He grabs my arm, and I look down at his fingers and then up at him. He releases me. “He has a contract.”

I nod. “He did, but he violated section three, which means he voluntarily resigned from the team.”

“Where is Tom Rourke? I want to talk to him.”

I smile. “Feel free to call his office. He’s in the south of France right now. Marlene will put you through to his daughter, Elizabeth Rourke.” I lean in. “And that’s me.”

I walk out, leaving him standing there.

I don’t like agents much. I’ve watched them be smooth as butter with the players they represent and then throw them under the bus in a heartbeat. My guess is that he’ll have a conversation with his player tonight, and I’ll see him and Rhymes in the office tomorrow. But they’ll have to have an escort. Rhymes’ key card to the practice parking lot and facility will be shut off, and security won’t allow him free access to the building.

Steve is standing at the end of the hallway. “Wow, that was impressive.”

I shrug. “I’ll tell you what’s impressive, the way you handled Hudson Meecher.”

His brow furrows.

“I heard what you said to him. When will you have the results from the MRI?”

He sighs. “I don’t need them to know, but I’ll have them later tonight. I’ve scheduled him for surgery, and I’ve already moved him to injured reserve. ”

“Perfect.” I look around, and there’s no one. “Do you want to grab a bite tonight?”

Steve’s eyes gleam. “Have you changed your mind?”

I snort. “Hardly. I want to talk about what I saw today.”

He nods. “There’s a place on the other side of the bridge as you head into town in Port Moody. I think we can talk freely there without anyone overhearing us.”

“Perfect. When are you done?”

“I’m done now.”

“I’ll follow you. What are you driving today?”

He tilts his head to the side. “The Toyota 4Runner. What did you expect?”

“The SPC.”

“What’s an SPC?”

The corners of my mouth turn up. “The small-penis compensator.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re funny. I’m ready to show you again what I can do with my magic wand.”

“Puhleeze.” I roll my eyes. “Anyway, I need to check in with someone before I leave. Text me when you’re walking out.”

I go in search of Darius, but he’s already driving back to the city. I’ll have to get his take later.

I head out to my car and decide to wait for Steve out of the way while I work through my email on my phone. I leave a message on Dad’s cell phone, so he knows what happened at practice and how I’ve handled it.

He left without telling me, and I’m irritated, but I try not to be aggressive.

My phone pings.

Steve: I’m heading out now.

Me: I’m in my car. I’ll follow you.

A minute later, I watch him walk out with a young female trainer. She’s giggling and playing with her hair, flirting with him. My gut tenses, and I realize I don’t like that at all. Where is this coming from?

I start my car and watch as he gets into the 4Runner and pulls out. I follow him back to the highway and across the bridge over the river. The traffic is slow, and I’m tempted to call him and talk as we drive. But if I ask him all the questions I want to ask, going to dinner won’t be necessary, and I want to spend time with him.

Because he’s a valuable resource for the team, and I value his perspective on what I saw today , I remind myself. Not because he’d have any interest in getting engaged.