“I am focused. I am centered. I am not afraid to speak my truth.”
“Jace.”
“Dominic, these are powerful tools. I read that confidence is fifty percent posture and fifty percent mindset.”
He starts massaging my traps with both hands, fingers digging in.
“You know you can’t go in there with me, right?” I grunt, not slowing my stride.
“I know,” he says brightly. “I’ll wait in the hallway. I’ll sit on the floor. I’ll lie under the carpet. I’ll crawl in the vents. They won’t even feel me.”
I sigh through my nose and keep walking, but my chest doesn’t feel as tight anymore. No matter how unserious Jace is sometimes, he always shows up for me.
We stop in front of the boardroom doors. This hallway’s quiet, always is. It’s the floor where you hear things like “capital expenditures” and “brand alignment.” I hate it.
Jace bumps my shoulder again, then straightens. “Okay, wait,” he says, pulling his phone from his hoodie. “One last one before you go in.”
“Man, I gotta go in,” I sigh, checking my watch.
“Listen, it’s a good one.” He squints at the screen. “‘I am not subject to the opinions of others. I know who I am. I know my worth. I am rooted in power, purpose, and presence.’”
I stare at him. He stares at his phone, very moved by his own delivery.
“You couldn’t memorize one of those?” I mutter.
“I woke up twenty minutes ago.” He grimaces. “We landed at two in the morning. When did you want me to memorize this shit? While I’m checking fuckers into the boards or while I’m sleeping?”
“During your morning shit.”
He lowers his phone, looking at me like I’ve suggested the dumbest idea he’s ever heard.
I exhale a laugh, crack my neck, and try to shake the last of the tension out.
“Look, you’ve got this,” Jace says, suddenly quieter, grabbing my shoulders. “They don’t stand a chance.”
I nod and take a deep breath.
“Root yourself in power.”
“Get the fuck away from me.” I mutter, shoving him away.
“Make us proud, Captain.” He winks as I open the door.
The second I step inside, every head in the room turns. They’re all already here.
“Good morning, everyone.” The door clicks behind me and I stepfurther in.
They greet me back, standing to shake my hand before sitting again. Six people sit at the long glass conference table, all in suits, watching me like I’m the product on auction.
At the end of the table sits Alton Cavanaugh, team owner. Beside him, Sofia Delgado, the franchise CEO. Tinnie’s here too, hair pinned back, mouth in a tight smile. A legal rep and two sponsor reps I’ve seen before fill out the roster.
“Dominic,” Alton says, rising with a politician’s smile. One I’ve seen too often on my father. I cringe at the memory.
“Congratulations on the wins. Stellar performance. You’ve had one hell of a season, son.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Tinnie lifts a brow like she’s bracing for a storm.
