“What the fuck are you doing here?” Roland snarls.
“My god, Roland, put some pants on before you chew him out,” Deedee says.
“It’s my goddamn house, and these two both need toleave.”
“Then maybe I’m leaving too,” Deedee shouts back.
“Stop it,” Ziggy cries. “Juststop.”
I feel her hair and pull her into me. “Don’t look. Don’t look anymore.”
“What the ever-loving fuck are you doing here?” Roland hollers again.
“What the ever-loving fuck do youthink?” Ziggy replies, mostly into my chest now.
Eyes shielded.
Thank god.
I’ve seen too much, and I only saw a glimpse.
A man has limits.
I’ve reached mine.
“You fired Holt.” She’s shaking. “You fired Holt and you didn’t think I’d show up here and fight you on this?”
Ever been both the problem and the most grateful man on the planet?
That’s me right now.
But more than feeling like I’m the issue, I’m overwhelmed that Ziggy’s here to fight for me.
I fight for me.
I fight for everyone around me.
But I’m not used to people fighting for me. Yet, since she came into my life, I’ve discovered they do.
She fights for me.
My team fights for me.
My neighbors fight for me.
The couch croaks like Roland or Deedee is shifting on it.
Bare skin on leather.
I am never walking through this door again.
“You’re not in charge,” Roland says. “I am. He knew the rules.”
“Then congratulations. Your stupid, inane, pointless rule is going to cost you your entire rugby team. They’re quitting. All of them. You fire Holt, they quit. You trade Holt, they quit. And when they quit, Fletcher’s not selling tickets anymore. Crew and Porter and Tatum and the rest of them—they’re not either. The city won’t have any familiar players they want to root for, and all the work you’ve done for the past five years will be for nothing.For nothing. You lose. Game over.Matchover.”
Silence settles in the room.
She’s not wrong.
