I take stock of how I’m feeling now. The nerves over this presentation have quieted, and now my heart seems to be tripping over itself just from seeing Gage. It’s obvious he’s had far more of an effect on me than I cared to admit, but I can’t help how I feel.
Brienne stands at the end of the table, not bothering with a chair. She looks to Callum on her right. “Where’s Coach Keller?”
Callum glances at his watch, irritation in his voice. “He said he would be here. Want me to go find him?”
A flash of ire flickers over Brienne’s face, but she brushes it off quickly. “No. I’m not going to hold up anyone to wait for him, so let’s get started. I’ll talk to him privately.”
The insinuation is clear. The private meeting will be about more than the film and probably include a good tongue-lashing for him being late to a meeting the team owner called.
Brienne leans forward and places her palms on the table, looking around at the handful of men congregated. “I’ve been approached by a well-known documentary filmmaker who wants to chronicle the rebuilding of the Pittsburgh Titans team.”
Everyone looks back and forth to one another but then back to Brienne as she continues. “I’ve given it a lot of thought and spent a lot of time talking with my management team, as well as Callum, about whether this would be a good idea for the organization. We’re making sports history, and nothing like this has ever happened in this league. I want people looking back on this inaugural team to know just how amazing my players and coaches are. How dedicated and fierce they are in their willingness to go above and beyond to help this organization rebuild. To create a team that, by all accounts, has the steepest uphill climb of any sports franchise ever. I want to memorialize the efforts and sacrifices you all are making.
“So, I have decided to green-light this project. The filmmakers have asked for the men here to sit for in-depth interviews. While the film crew will have access to the team as a whole, there are obviously key people in this organization who are indispensable to our success. That is all of you sitting here.”
Gage clears his throat. “How long will this go on?”
“Good question,” Brienne says with an acknowledging nod. “They’re probably going to film at least up until a few weeks after our season ends, whenever that may be. Much of it will be filming the team, but they’re going to want individual interviews with you all.”
She looks around to see if there are any questions.
“None of you have to do this,” she says when it remains silent.
And then, it’s not silent.
One man stands from his chair and says, “I’m out.”
It’s Coen Highsmith, the team captain and one of the few not on the ill-fated plane. I feel the tension in the room as everyone watches him.
He doesn’t say anything else, though, merely walks out of the room, closing the door behind him.
Brienne is completely unflustered. “As I was saying… this is not required of you, and your position on this team will not be affected one way or the other. I would personally love to see each of you do this because I think you are all pivotal to this team. I want you to look back on this documentary one day and remember your role in all this. I’m going to let you think about it, and if you can give me an answer by week’s end, that would be great. They want to start filming sooner rather than later.
“For those who may not know, this is Jenna Holland, and she is going to be the liaison between the organization and the filmmakers.”
I wasn’t expecting the introduction, and I have to force myself not to adjust the scarf around my neck.
I have to force myself to smile and look around the room at everyone.
While I think most are smiling back, I can’t tell because I’m too afraid to focus on their features.
Afraid of what I might see.
It’s Gage who slides his leg over and bumps his knee against mine. I don’t acknowledge it with anything more than a rush of pent-up breath being let out, but I get his message. It says he knows I’m nervous, and he’s right beside me.
At least, that’s how I choose to interpret it. Otherwise, he’s playing a weird game of footsie with me under the table.
I hold up my hand in a brief wave. “Hi. I’ll shoot you all an email with my contact information since I’ll be helping coordinate schedules for your interviews.”
“And Jenna will be handling all media associated with this,” Brienne tacks on, “so if you or your agent is contacted about it, you should refer them directly to Jenna. She’ll send you releases to sign. You may wish to have your agents and/or lawyers look them over. Our legal team has, but I’m not going to let them offer you advice. Your participation in this film is on an individual basis, even though you’re representing the team.”
One of the men raises his hand, a handsome guy I recognize as the starting goalie, Jesper Keane. “Are we getting paid to be in this film?” He flashes a cheeky grin at Brienne.
She laughs and shakes her head. “I pay you enough as it is. If you want extra money, go hunt down some endorsement deals.”
The guys all laugh, and Jesper says, “I’m in. I don’t need time to think about it.”
The other men rumble their assent, and Gage’s eyes come to me briefly before he looks to Brienne. “I’m in as well.”
Baden also accepts, and Brienne adjourns the short meeting. I stand from my chair, as do Baden and Gage.
It’s Baden who reaches out, squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll have Sophie text you about the party, okay?”
“Um…”
“You’re going,” he says, actually orders, and I frown at him. He shoots me a grin. “Yes, I’m going to push you out of your comfort zone, so deal with it.”
He’s gone before I can retort or decline or in any way be offended by his heavy-handedness. I also recognize he’s doing exactly what Emory did for me when I was in Arizona.
Pushing me toward potential.
“Tell me you’re going to the party,” Gage says from behind me, and I whirl around. I forgot he was standing there.
“Um…”
He puts his hand behind his ear, miming that he’s waiting to hear an affirmative answer.
I laugh and the only thing I’ll commit to is, “It’s a high likelihood.”
“Good,” he says with a broad smile. Why does he make my legs weak with just a smile? Is it because he’s asking me to be at the party? Is that more of my vanity being stroked?
I push those thoughts away. “So, what do you think about this documentary?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” he replies, pushing his chair back under the table and motioning toward the door.
I precede him, noting we’re the only ones left in the conference room. “Baden says you’re settling in well,” he says as we reach the door.
Chuckling, I nod as I step out into the hallway. “That seems to be the consensus every time I’m asked that question. But yes, I am. Still don’t have any living room furniture, but otherwise, it’s all good.”
“It’s a pretty big deal they’re putting you in charge of this documentary,” Gage says as I turn to face him.
“I don’t know that you can say I’m in charge, but I’m definitely going to keep things organized. I think I’ve got the ability to do that.”