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I pocket my phone and finish my water. “Looks like I’m meeting with Dad.”
Imay not be thrilled to be meeting with my father and Max Kingston, our GM. However, I still make a pit stop at Starbucks to grab my dad the vanilla coffee he’s too embarrassed to admit he likes and a plain one for Max. I stick to water. Coffee has never been my thing.
My sister consumes enough for the whole family.
Dad’s assistant is on the phone at her desk. She puts a finger up, asking me to wait a moment and then hangs up the phone.
“Good morning, Emery. I’m here to see Coach.”
She looks over the tip of her black glasses up at me, smiling. “Hey there, Dec. Coach and Max are waiting for you. You can head in.”
I hand her the third coffee cup from the carrier. “For you.”
“Aww, Dec. Thank you. Now move it. You don’t want to keep Coach and Max waiting.”
“It’s more like I want to get in and out, so I can enjoy my day off.” I wink and cross to Dad’s door. No use letting her know I’m dreading this meeting.
Emery shakes her head and purses her lips in an attempt not to not smile. “Just go in, Dec. He knows you’re here.”
I knock once and open the door. Dad and Max are laughing at something when I enter but stop abruptly to look at me. Dad clears his throat. “Thanks for coming in today, Dec.”
I hand him his coffee and offer the other to Max, who raises his eyebrows as if to say, “For me?”
“Well, it’s not mine. I don’t drink that shit.” I hold it out until he takes it from me.
Max laughs. He’s a good guy and the youngest GM in the league. His family has owned the Kings for over fifty years. When his father died last year, ownership of the team was left to his siblings and him. He took me out to dinner, when I first flew in for rookie camp in the spring. We had a lot more in common than either of us expected. I don’t think either of us was looking for a new friendship to develop, just a GM–quarterback understanding, but now, I’d call him a friend. He and his brother Becket, the in-house counsel for the organization, have been great since I moved to the city.
I don’t think it hurts that we’re winning games either.
“Alright, Declan. Have a seat.” Dad nods toward the chairs on the other side of his massive mahogany desk as he takes the seat behind it. He looks to Max, who’s standing by the window overlooking the stadium.
Max moves to lean against Dad’s desk, facing me. “Listen, Dec. You’re already aware that you’re our franchise quarterback. I told you when we brought you on board that this team is being built around you, and you have our full support. I think your contract backs that up. It’s been a hell of a season so far. That being said, I know you like to keep your private life private, but...” He trails off, giving me time to process the blow that’s about to come.
My spine straightens as a dull ache begins to form at the base of my skull.
Max leans back, gripping the desk behind him. “Look, part of being a franchise player is being the face of the franchise. I know you got the ‘Stay in line and don’t get any bad press’lecture your first week in rookie camp, but we need you to start getting some good press. They’re still hammering the nepotism thing home. They’re still bringing up the hot-head shit from your first Heisman run. They’ve been waiting to catch a glimpse of you and Curt Kenny in some kind of altercation and haven’t stopped talking about your issues with each other while you were both at Notre Dame. We need to start to counteract all that. If they aren’t talking about you, they’re talking about my father’s death and the mess he left. I’m doing my part to clean that up, and now it’s your turn. We aren’t giving them anything else to talk about, and that needs to change.”
I start to tap my thumb against my thigh. “We’ve won six games and lost two. Why the hell can’t they talk about that? I did the fishbowl thing with the first Heisman run. Didn’t work out too well for me. I avoid it on purpose now. I want them to be focused on my game, not where I go to dinner.”
My dad leans forward and steeples his hands on his desk. “Declan, I wish this were debatable, but it’s not. Part of proving your worth to this team is how you appear in the media. You need to let them get to know you. Give them something else to focus on. You don’t have a choice.”
Max pulls his phone from his pocket and swipes through a few screens. “My sister, Scarlet, can meet with you today.”
The throbbing in my head intensifies at the thought of meeting with his sister, aka the Ice Queen. “Why am I meeting with your sister?”
Max glances at me, not looking amused. “She’s the head of PR, Declan. She’s going to go over everything we need in detail. But it starts this weekend. The team has purchased a table for Senator Cabot’s fundraiser at the Union League. It’s this Saturday night. We need you to attend.”
Dad decides he needs to pile on to this shit sandwich of a conversation. “And you need to bring a date.”
I take a deep breath in and slowly exhale through my nose in an attempt to contain the annoyance bubbling below the surface. “I don’t have a date. I haven’t exactly made time for a woman in my life since I got to town.”
Dad places both palms flat on his desk as he leans forward. “Find a date, Declan. Preferably one you don’t have to pay. But if you do, get her to sign an NDA first.”
I bite my damn tongue and remind myself that I’m not talking to my father but to my coach. “Yes, Coach. Meeting with Scarlet and a fundraiser at the Union League Saturday night. Got it.” I stand, asking Max, “When am I meeting Scarlet?”
He checks his phone, types something quickly, then looks up. “She’s in her office now. She says to come up as soon as you’re done here.”
I nod, then turn to say goodbye to my father, who at least has the decency to look like he feels bad. He knows I like to keep my personal life private. The press was all over me during my first run at the Heisman, and it was a nightmare. I was labeled a hothead because of a fight I got into with a guy who now plays tight end for the Kings. “Declan, you were a first-round draft pick. You had to know you wouldn’t be able to fly under the radar for long. Time’s up.”
