“That’s not an answer.”
“Riggs just needed to learn to keep his hands to himself.” That was all the explanation I was ready to give to coach. I’d decided I’d handle Riggs in my own way.
“What the hell kind of cryptic—,” Coach began, but was interrupted by one of the owners, James McCroy.
“Let’s take this inside, gentlemen.”
I shrugged and followed James inside while Mike placed himself between Riggs and I. I moved to the opposite side of the large conference table just so I could look Riggs in the eye when necessary. Within minutes a few more of the owners began piling in, along with a few of the team’s legal staff. I rolled my eyes knowing most of this was for show. The owners had made clear their displeasure with what’d happened between Riggs and I. They’d gone so far as threatening to end our contracts and require back pay for what we’d been paid thus far. I was three years into a five year contract. Unbeknownst to the owners, not a dime of what I’d been paid had been spent. They could take it all, with interest, and I wouldn’t be hurting at all.
I wasn’t so sure Riggs could say the same. That’s why a sense of satisfaction rolled over me when I looked across the table and saw him squirm in his seat as he glanced at the owners as they conferred with their legal team.
“Let’s get started.”
“Let’s,” I agreed as I stared at James at the head of the table, with my hands clasped in front of me on the table.
“As both of you know, we are here because of the incident that occurred between Mr. Riggs and Mr. Townsend.”
My eyes shot across the table when Riggs grunted as he stared at me. Lifting an eyebrow, I angled my head. “Something you need to say?”
“Fuc—”
“Now, gentlemen, please!” James began, voice raised as I started rising up out of my chair.
“Tyler, sit down,” Mike ordered. “You too, Riggs. James, let me take this on,” he requested.
Only when I saw Riggs sit his ass down did I plant my ass back in my chair.
“Look, you two don’t like each other. We get it. But you are on the same team. We have a real opportunity to win the entire thing. The fucking Super Bowl. I’ll be damned if I let you two fuck it up over some bullshit spat—”
“It wasn’t bullshit,” I stated calmly but firmly, looking my coach directly in the eye. “Mike, I respect you more than anyone in this room, and you were the first phone call I made after whooping his ass.” I glanced across the table at Riggs.
“Fuck you!” He spat. “You didn’t do shit.”
My lips split as I chuckled, staring at Riggs. “I’ll let you show off for the room, but the evidence is filmed.” My smile diminished. “Of course, we could do a reenactment right the fuck here and now,” I growled, remembering the original reason I’d gone to Riggs’ home in the first place. The memory of bruises on Destiny’s arm from this piece of shit …
“Cut it out!” Mike growled as the rest of the owners began fidgeting in their chairs. “You’re on the same goddamned team and I don’t give a shit if that doesn’t mean something to the two of you. It means something to me. Fuck whatever this is all about. Tyler, you’re the quarterback. The leader on the field. And we both know your career ambitions once your time in the league has ended. Riggs, you and I both know this is the best thing you’ve got going and you need not fuck it up. So with that said, I expect the both of you to have your asses on the field for practice within the next thirty minutes.” And with that, Mike nodded at the rest of the owners and left the room.
I turned to face Riggs. “As long as you keep your hands where the fuck they belong from now on, I’ve got no problem,” I lied. His ass was still mine. No way a motherfucker was going to get away with putting their hands on my wife and just receive a minor ass whooping. But the plans I had for Riggs could be put on hold. For now.
I stood and nodded at the owners who were still talking, but as far as I was concerned, the need for talk was over. I was headed to practice, and then I had an even more important date with my wife.
****
Destiny
“Yes, Brenda, I know. I know,” I groaned into the phone. “Look, it was no big deal. I just talked with Morris for about thirty minutes. I passed along the same information that Paul told me to. As far as Morris is concerned, I am just a heartbroken widow who is looking to invest with him,” I explained my phone meeting with Phillip Morris earlier that day to Brenda. At the prompting of Paul, I engaged with Phillip once again, telling him that I had gotten some money from my supposed deceased husband’s estate and I was ready to invest. He was more than a little excited to take me up on my offer. He went around and around in circles explaining the supposedly complex investment strategies he utilized that he’d said would no doubt provide me with a pretty hefty return on my investment, in a matter of months. As the fake widow I feigned excitement over the prospects. As a seasoned professional in personal finance, I knew he was completely full of shit.
“This guy is a scumbag. I can’t wait until he is busted for this. There are real people behind the piles of money he is stealing. I did a little bit more research on him. Did you know he owns two homes? One, a two-thousand square foot condo in the exclusive Williamsport Towers, and another on the edge of town. The cost of both is close to one million dollars. Youknowhe didn’t buy those properties with his own investment gains.”
My voice was full of anger from just thinking about Morris’ extravagant lifestyle. I would never begrudge someone of partaking in all that life has to offer with the money they earned, or even with money they inherited. However, what I absolutely would not condone is a man who was literally stealing from unsuspecting clients to fund his extravagance.
“He’ll be caught,” Brenda assured me.
“He better be and soon. I’m not sure how long I can keep this going.”
“Keep what going?”
My head swung in the direction of my office door. Leaned against the doorframe was the man I’d missed since I’d gotten out of bed that morning. He was dressed in a light green button-up top that actually brought out the green color in his eyes. He’d paired the shirt with dark blue jeans. His hands were tucked into his pockets as if he was unassuming but the small smirk that played at his lips, coupled with the sparkling mirth I’d come to always look for in his eyes was there.
