I recoiled a bit at that insensitive statement but shoved it off. “No. I found out that they were applying for semi-pro status. I knew they weren’t worth their salt, so I had to break their spirit a little bit and get them to stand down.”
Wright started nodding and laughing. “There it is. Well, I think you certainly succeeded in that mission.” He crossed his arms and looked to the ceiling. “You know, I thought I remembered hearing something about a new team applying for semi-pro. They put a big game on their website, and I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. How surprised I was when I showed up and saw the Montpelier Vipers getting off the bus.”
I hunched my brow. Wright’s twos weren’t making four. On the one hand, he was acting as if he barely knew anything about the Widows applying for semi-pro, but on the other, he was saying he drove all the way to Montpelier just to see them. He was either trying to confuse me on purpose or just straight-up lying. Whatever the case, I quickly filed away a note that I’d have to mind myself around Wright or I’d get caught in a web. I wasn’t about to call him out on his nonsense for the shit Widows or their cocky captain, but if I was going to continue to see him for awkward beers, I’d have to make sure to stop myself after one bottle.
I emptied my beer and set it down on the table, and Wright raised an eyebrow. “Want another? I’m paying.”
I shook my head. “I’m good. Drinking too much after games doesn’t sit well.”
Wright laughed. “Young metabolism. You never know which way it’s gonna go.”
My resulting chuckle was forced. “Yeah.”
“Well, if that’s it, then, I suppose I won’t take up more of your time. It was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for indulging an old man just trying to get out of his office and experience a little excitement.”
“Sure,” I responded, even though I knew his innocent old man act was a farce.
We walked out of the bar and back across the street. Wright kept pace with me until we got to a sleek, red BMW. “I’d love to attend some of your real games, you know, without children running around on the field.”
I snorted at that. “I try to only play with kids once a year.”
Wright slapped a hand on my shoulder. “Send some tickets my way. If your game is anything like it was today, you definitely shouldn’t be buckled down by the semis.”
If he was trying to butter me up for free tickets, it was working. “There will be season tickets in your email first thing in the morning.”
Wright pointed a finger in my face. “There’s a good man. Take care of yourself, Matheson. I’m sure we’ll see one another again soon.”
He held out a hand to shake, and that time I took it with enthusiasm. “I look forward to it, sir.”
He gave me a final parting nod before climbing in his car and roaring it to life. I held up a hand as he backed out and then walked over to my car with much more of a spring in my step than the one I had when I approached it a couple of hours ago. The sun was tucked away for the night, and stars were starting to dot the sky. I smiled as I started my long journey home. I wasn’t sure what fortune I’d stumbled upon with Wright, but it seemed I’d finally found my way up and out of the semi-pros.
9
Quinn
“Will you stop it? Just come inside. I’ll make you a daiquiri, and you can sleep in your bed like a normal person.”
I was fighting with Alec, trying to get my backpack loose from his grip. “Let go. I don’t want to go home. I’ll feel better at MontRec.”
“You’re such a freak.” Alec griped, pulling my bag. “You’re just traumatized. You should be at home right now.”
“Yeah, I’m traumatized.” I pulled back. “I talked a bunch of shit and got my ass handed to me, and now I have to withdraw our application.”
“That’s your fault for taking that bet in the first place.” He grunted as he pulled. “Let go.”
“You let go!”
One of our neighbors stepped out of her house and stood, staring at us from her stoop. I didn’t typically like being the center of attention, despite my field of interest. On top of that, people in Montpelier were notoriously nosy. Whatever this one neighbor saw would be the talk of the town tomorrow. My phone was in my pocket, and my keys were in my hand, so I finally just let my backpack go. Alec tripped backward a bit, not expecting me to stop fighting, but he managed to stay on his feet. I turned around and walked down the sidewalk.
“Quinn!”
I ignored him. The truth was, I was embarrassed. He was right. I shouldn’t have taken the bet, and he was right when he said I shouldn’t have applied. My last two weeks had been one bad decision after the other, leading my poor, unwitting team to the worst, most publicized defeat in any of their careers. They had every right to be mad at me when they found out I applied without talking to them first and when I agreed to take on Zeke’s bet. None of them had texted or called me in the wake of the game, not even Kris. It was a sure-fire sign that they were pissed. They always called to console me after losses. They knew I took them hard and usually took them on myself. Their silence was louder than angry screams. They believed this loss was my fault, and they were right to blame me. I had walked them into a lion’s den without armor.
The cool, evening walk to MontRec was helpful to my waning spirit. I’d cried more on the car ride from MontRec home than I had in my entire adult life, but MontRec was like the warm embrace of a lover. It didn’t judge, and it didn’t ask questions. It only comforted. The second I realized I was in front of my apartment and no longer at MontRec, I wanted to go right back. I wanted to stare in shame at my application, and I wanted to defy Zeke’s command to wait a day and withdraw immediately. It was the only bit of power I had left, and I wanted to wield it.
I let myself into the employee entrance of MontRec and saw all of the supplies from the game sitting in a heap just inside the door. I hadn’t noticed who had moved them in my anguish. I imagined Alec gave Kris the keys, and she elicited some assistance in getting the items just inside the door. They probably didn’t even walk in. I didn’t blame them. I wouldn’t be able to face it, either, if I were them. I fully expected to start getting resignations from the team before tomorrow’s practice. If anyone showed up at all, it would be a miracle.
I gathered the scattered jerseys, rolled them up, and shoved them into a bag. I’d bring them down to the community center’s basement laundry facility later to be washed and then hang them up. I grabbed the footballs, which had been haphazardly tossed around, and tucked as many of them under my arms as I could. I dragged the buckets of pads, one in each hand, and slowly made my way back toward my office. I tucked the materials away in my closet and then locked it. My hand came to rest on the door as I considered the possibility of not opening it up again anytime soon. If everyone quit, I’d have to start the arduous search for more players, and it would be a while before the items got any use. I pushed that thought from my mind with a deep breath and went to sit down at my desk.
Under the right side of my desk, where there was traditionally more legroom, I had a small mini-fridge stashed. It was usually meant to keep my lunch and personal beverages away from the easy access of all of MontRec’s employees and visitors, but it also allowed me to keep a few beers hidden for just such an occasion. I pulled one out, popped the top off using the corner of my desk, and powered up my computer.