“No, he wasn’t able to make it on such short notice,” I quickly lied. I did have a coach in mind, but I hadn’t asked him yet. “The one listed on the application, Cal Carter, is our coach.”
“Great!” He clapped his hands. “One task down.”
I gave an awkward thumbs-up. As long as he agreed, it was. “What else?”
“Well, all teams seeking semi-pro status must prove that they’re up to the rigorous game schedule. You play weekly games now, but with shorter quarters, correct?”
I nodded. “Our game against the Vipers was full-length, but typically, we run twenty-minute quarters. Games come out to just about two hours in the rec league.”
“Things are much heavier in the semi-pros. It’s all of the same rules and regulations as the pros, so you’ll have to get used to that. You’ll prove this by playing a series of games against other semi-pro teams.” A creepy smile crawled across his face. “It will end in a rematch with the Vipers.”
That thought rocked me to my core. I’d be perfectly happy never standing in the same state as Zeke Matheson again, let alone on the same field. “Why?”
He held out his hands. “As the two semi-pro teams in the city, something of a rivalry will erupt. The board will need to be assured that you can handle that professionally.”
I wasn’t sure how true it was, but I didn’t push. I’d already been given so much fortune. It was bound to bottom out at some point. “Okay.”
“I’ll take care of the advertising.”
“Advertising?” I yelped.
Wright let out a haughty, heavy laugh. “Well, of course you don’t expect this thing not to be televised, do you? The grand rematch between the Black Widows and the Vipers as they fight for semi-pro status. It’ll pack the Vipers stadium!” There was a manic, wild look in his eyes that dissipated quickly when he cleared his throat. “It’s all for you, of course. You’ll want the masses there to witness your rise to glory. Trust me on this.”
The number of people that had already seen the Vipers destroy the Widows was painful to think about. Imagining the Vipers’ stadium packed with people to watch them run all over us made me physically ill. I wasn’t in any place to argue, but the beer in my hand definitely wasn’t going to be enough.
“Anything else?” I asked, desperate to move the conversation away from that topic.
Wright shrugged. “Nothing all that exciting. I’ll send you an email with the minor details. There’s weight class stuff, dietary requirements, drug and alcohol policies, the whole nine yards, but I assume the Black Widows are comfortably within those requirements already.” He clapped his hands together again. “Oh, this is going to be good, Quinn. I feel it.”
I thought I’d be more excited than nauseous. “Yeah.”
He stood up. “Good. I’ll get started making the arrangements on my end, and you get started with yours.”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
I walked him back over to the employee door and let him out. Before the door closed fully, he looked back over his shoulder at me.
“Good luck, Quinn. I’ll be rooting for you,” he said, and he left.
10
Zeke
I was glad for a day off to take my mind off of the nonsense of the past couple of weeks. It didn’t matter how much I tried to put it behind me, every time I thought about Quinn or the battle against the Black Widows, I got angry all over again. I was only able to flip out on a call with my brother, Daniel, twice before he told me to come over for dinner and not to mention it, or else he’d hit me. And he would, and it would hurt, so I had every intention of keeping my mouth shut on the matter.
I walked into his apartment and was immediately smacked in the face with a melody of delightful smells—spices, searing meat, fresh vegetables, something sweet. Daniel was a world-class chef. He could go anywhere if he wanted. He could probably hit it big in a tourist city like New York or Los Angeles, but he was never able to get out of Idaho. He claimed it was because he liked living near me, but I knew the truth. He had fallen in love with someone he met back in high school. He stayed, hoping to one day reunite.
“Holy shit, it smells good in here.”
“Hey!” Daniel called from the kitchen. He walked out of the kitchen in his apron reading, “Kiss the cook.” It looked hilarious over his designer-ripped black jeans and black button-up. With his black hair and black eyes, he almost looked like a modern version of the grim reaper. “What’s up?” He held out a hand, and I did the cliche bro clap and shoulder bump.
“Well, certainly not things that I won’t mention because I don’t want to get hit,” I said with a grin, and he smiled.
“Good.” He pointed toward his living room, which was to the right of his apartment door. “There’s already a beer on the table. Make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s almost done.”
Daniel was my best friend. We were two of five brothers in my family and were the youngest two, with Daniel being about a year and a half older than me. All through school and into our adult lives, our preference was to hang out with one another. We had similar interests, ideals, and personality types, so we rarely argued. I’d been through more than one problem that he had helped me with, and my friendly-at-best relationship with my parents was because of the way they treated him when he made a passing mention to my parents about not knowing if his eventual life partner would be female. Homosexuality is not accepted in Judaism. Daniel was quick to tell them that he wasn’t gay, he just didn’t feel like he was entirely straight, but anything other than a woman was a problem for them.
Fortunately, my parents’ commitment to their children was greater than that to their faith, but the way it forced me, Daniel, and our older brother Uri away from the religion created additional problems. Our oldest brother, Adam, wouldn’t even speak to us. We got through it together, though. We always had each other, and that would never change.
I sat down in the living room, grabbed one of the beers, and took a deep breath. I was glad to kick back some. I didn’t do it often. I grabbed the remote off the coffee table and clicked on the television. It was sitting on a news channel, and I was just about to flip it off when something caught my attention—a clip of my game against the Widows.
“What the hell?” I turned the volume up on the TV and leaned in.
“Despite the Black Widows losing in their game against the Vipers, their official Twitter account announced that they are on the road to semi-pro status. The team’s captain, Quinn Dallen, is currently working with Commissioner Wright Johnson to get semi-pro games scheduled.”
“What?” I barked. “That snake!” My blood was boiling as whatever camera had captured the footage zoomed in on Quinn running with the ball.
“Hey!” Daniel walked into the living room and turned off the TV. “I said no!”
“Stop, Danny! This is important.” I used the remote to click the television back on, and Wright was on the screen with that same car-salesman look on his face. “This guy met with me yesterday and told me he was in agreement that the Widows should withdraw.” I picked up my phone and unlocked it. “I’ve got a tweet of my own. Let’s see her get around her fans knowing she’s a turncoat.”