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I didn’t know anything about football, but I knew marketing. When I sat down for the interview with Frankie Hart, the Maverick’s GM, I reminded myself of that very fact. It didn’t matter how much I knew about the game; all that mattered was if I could market their franchise in a way that was both profitable and creative.
I showed him slides of the successful campaigns I had done for Brooks Media. I asked questions about their current marketing outlooks and financial profitability. And then I showed Frankie the kind of ingenious skills I had by tossing out a few possible changes that would help build the Maverick name.
He loved my ideas. I left the interview feeling really proud of myself. And I hated that the first person I wanted to call was Kline. I hated that he had become such an important part of my life in such a short amount of time.
After drowning my hate and irritation in three beers and a plate of nachos at the bar up the street from my apartment, my headhunter called with a job offer. The New York Mavericks wanted to hire me and presented their offer with a generous salary and investment plan. I was shocked by their quick trigger. My experiences with getting a response from corporations was never this prompt. But maybe football franchises are different? Who knows?
I didn’t waste time trying figure it out.
Immediately, I accepted the position. Even though football, or any sport for that matter, wasn’t my forte, I was excited about the challenge, and honestly, I couldn’t afford to sit around for months without a paycheck. Student loans and rent did not accept IOUs.
That night, I slid into bed and checked my phone one last time.
Still no response from Kline.
I clutched my aching stomach and forced my racing mind to sleep.
God, I missed him so much I felt physically ill from it.
Later that week, Cassie surprised me by coming home a few days early from her shoot in San Francisco. This was why she’d always be one of the most important people in my life. I needed her, desperately, and she didn’t hesitate to rearrange her schedule to be my shoulder to lean on.
We ordered Chinese, gorged ourselves on chicken fried rice and crab rangoon, and lounged on the couch for a Friday Night Lights marathon on Netflix.
If anyone could brighten my mood, it was Tim Riggins, right?
Wrong.
I only got a few episodes deep before I was on the verge of losing it. The second I saw Lyla Garrity smile against Tim Riggins’ mouth mid-kiss, the emotional dam was ready to burst.
“Are you okay?” Cass asked as I strode into the bathroom.
All I could do was shake my head. Because I was very far from okay. Probably the furthest I’d ever been from okay.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror, my legs trembling and hands gripping the sink like it would somehow give me the strength to fight my pitiful emotions.
Don’t cry. He does not deserve your tears.
When that didn’t work, I attempted to distract myself by peeing. But I quickly found it didn’t serve as any type of distraction, because after about fifteen seconds, I was just peeing and crying at the same time. If you’d ever found yourself in that horribly tragic set of circumstances, you’d have understood it was the worst feeling ever. Not only could you not stop peeing, but you couldn’t hold back the sobs. Pathetic was the only true way to describe it.
Cass found me in the bathroom that way—pants around my ankles and tears streaming down my cheeks.
“What can I do?” Her face was etched with concern.
“Nothing,” I cried, shoving a clump of toilet paper against my nose. My elbows went to my bare knees—yes, I was still on the toilet—and my head was in my hands.
“Have you talked to him since?” She rested her hip against the doorframe.
“Nope. It’s been a week and he hasn’t tried to contact me. Hasn’t called. Texted. Fucking tapped out Morse code. No skywriter or carrier pigeon. Nada. Zip. Zilch.” I stared up at her, my chin resting in my hands. “He even knows I was out looking for a new job. How do I know this? Because when the headhunter called with the offer, he also mentioned my prior place of employment provided an amazing recommendation.”
“But—” she started to interrupt, but I kept going.
“So, basically, Kline Brooks doesn’t give a shit. He saw my letter of resignation. He saw the screenshot with the note I left him. And guess what? He never attempted to contact me. Plus, he was more than happy to give my future job prospect a glowing recommendation. Am I going crazy, Cass? I mean, was I completely deranged and thought Kline and I were way more than what we actually were?”
“No, sweetie,” she responded. “I saw you two together and it was more than obvious he adored you.”
