I hovered in Coach’s office doorway. Like the locker room, with its cushy seating and high-end touches that included a smoothie bar and a dedicated massage room, the office was luxurious. Our team’s owner wanted everyone comfortable and happy while they were part of the team.
“Sit down; we have an issue,” he said.
A film of sweat coated my body—not the healthy kind that leaked from my pores during a workout or practice. This was oily, heavy. Like my mood.
I settled on the edge of the plush chair, my knees bouncing.
Coach Whittaker was a fit man, less than fifteen years older than me. His dark hair was beginning to thread with silver, but his eyes were keen and sharp.
“There’s an issue with your Green Card,” Coach Whittaker said as he closed the door. I relaxed back into the chair. That didn’t sound so bad. I wasn’t getting traded. Good. I loved this team, my teammates. The rest I could deal with. My shoulders eased, and I took a full breath.
“What do I need to sign to fix it?”
“This isn’t a sign-and-fix thing.” Coach paused, clearly struggling with something.
“I asked for more of our staff to get ahead of the issue, but it appears your first team was sloppy and made mistakes. I’ve been informed by USCIS—that’s immigration and customs—that your status is being revoked.” He rubbed his hands along the back of his neck, face tense.
Well, now,thatsounded really bad. I leaned forward, searching Coach’s face as I pushed down the panic building inside me. “I don’t understand.”
Coach shook his head. “Me either. I’ve worked with lots of foreign players, and this is the first such issue I’ve ever had. Basically, someone in Detroit didn’t do their job, so now, even though it’s only been five years and you should have the Green Card for ten, a local bureaucrat has decided to revoke your status. He plans to send your information to Immigration Court. We’ll have to work through legal channels to reinstate it.”
“What?”
“Gunnar’s aware of the situation created by Maurice Lambert—the bureaucrat.”
Gunnar Evaldson was the team’s owner and a Green Card holder himself. He was also a multi-billionaire and could simply buy his way out of such issues. Apparently, my measly millions didn’t have the same impact. Or it could be that I was Russian, and the political situation with Russia was deteriorating. Probably this government guy, Lambert, had seen an opportunity to raise his profile by going after the enemy. I snorted.
“I want you to know we’re working on finding you the best immigration attorney in the country. You’re a valuable member of the team, and we plan to do everything in our power to keep you here.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“For what it’s worth, I told the USCIS that taking any punitive action against you would cause more blowback here in the city, maybe even the country, but these are tricky times, and Lambert’s got a burr up his ass.”
I leaned forward, elbows on knees. “I don’t want to live in that country, haven’t lived there in years.Thisis my home. What can I do to make sure it stays that way?”
Coach pulled his glasses from the pocket of his shirt and tapped them on the desk. “Would you be willing to renounce Russia and request full citizenship?”
I held his gaze. “In a heartbeat.”
Coach leaned back in his chair and swiveled it, pursing his lips. “That woman Stol mentioned earlier this week…”
My stomach tightened again. Coach knew everything about everyone on the team. It was unnerving.
“Ida Jane Barlow.” I liked saying her name. I had, multiple times, until I thought that made me creepy. I didn’t want to frighten her, of course I didn’t. But I liked Ida Jane—too much. Just as I’d spent too many hours replaying our interactions in my head. I needed to let that, and her, go.
I wasn’t going to get involved with any woman for any reason. I’d made mistakes when I landed in Detroit, ones I wasn’t sure I’d ever live down. I wouldn’t knowingly add more now. Anyway, I loved being a Wildcatter; I wanted to retire from this team. That meant focusing on my game…not on a woman, any woman. No matter how pretty she was.
“Ida Jane. She’s American?” Coach asked. He stopped moving his chair and studied me. “She needs to be American.”
“As apple pie. But she says it pa-ie.” I smiled, remembering her accent when she’d been talking about birthday pie with her friend, her pretty face. Yeah, I liked her, and was looking forward to seeing her tonight.
I wanted to move forward with a relationship with her. My mind settled a bit with that choice.
Coach leaned forward, elbows on the desk, studying me. “Think you could talk her into marriage?”
I gawked at him.
“We need you here, Maxim. The only way to ensure that is for you to get married. I saw your expression when Stol was ribbing you—you like this woman. Better to be with someone you care about, you’re attracted to, than someone we find to fill the role.”
