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I looked up at him curiously. “And that is?”
“That they need to be a Crawfield fan.”
I’m brought out of my memory at the sound of my dad’s voice. “Oh, Crawfield, okay.” He nods. “That team. The terrible one, right?”
Mr. Cunningham looks back down at the paper. “Well, it doesn’t indicate their skill set here, Sir, but it does say that the team is valued at just over two million.”
“Hmm.” My dad juts out his bottom lip in thought as he turns to my mom “Not too shabby. Not too shabby at all.”
My mom joins him in his delight as Mr. Cunningham continues. “There is some urgency to act on the team’s future, given the fact that they have been without an owner for quite some time.”
“The decision is simple,” my mom chimes in. “Sell it and wipe our hands clean.”
It’s not only my mother’s words that take me by surprise—it’s everyone’s reaction to this hasty decision.
I watch in shock as the rest of our family absentmindedly agrees just so that they don’t have to wait a second longer to grab their things and file out of the room.
Now, all that remains is me, my parents, and Mr. Cunningham to sign off on the final proceedings.
This is crazy. How is this so simple for everyone? How come no one remembers just how important Crawfield was to Gramps?
The look of anticipation as he’d watch the players line the field.
How he’d rub his chin in thought when they were in the heat of a play.
The way his eyes would light up the (very few) times they scored a goal.
These are memories I’ll hold onto for the rest of my life, and sitting here watching everyone willingly let this go feels like I’m losing an important piece of Gramps—one that I’m not ready to say goodbye to yet.
“So, it’s settled!” My dad claps loudly, cutting through my thoughts. “Mr. Cunningham, how do we move forward?”
“Well, the first step is to find a buyer and then?—”
“Wait!” I catch myself by surprise at my sudden outburst, everyone turning their attention to me. “We can’t sell it.”
THREE
W A R R E N
It wasthe hardest phone call I’d ever received.
“Ira passed away last night.”
That was it. Five words that have haunted me for the last six months, and the worst part? I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.
Goodbye. The simplest thing I could have said to the one person who gave me hope when I felt like I had none left.
I still remember the last conversation we had like it was yesterday. It was stupid, really. It’s not the type of conversation I imagined or hoped would’ve been our final one.
“My boy, tell me how we’ve managed to lose every single game this season. Do I need to start looking for a new coach already?” Ira teased as he stepped down from the stands and onto the field, making me glance up from my clipboard.
We’d just wrapped up a late practice, and the field was silent as all the lads had rushed back into the changing room.
“Ira?” I stepped back in surprise. “I thought you weren’t coming down here ‘til next week?”
“Well, given the scores I’ve been seeing, an emergency intervention seemed appropriate.” He let out a laugh that turned into a raspy cough. “So, tell me, what’s going on?”
I shook my head and looked back down at my clipboard, a smile playing on my lips. Ira had a way of brightening my mood—he always had.
