Not just because he was the cornerstone of our team, but because taking him would gut the Howlers from the inside out.
My heart clenched, but my voice didn’t waver.
“We’re not losing a single player. Not now. Not later. Not to fixtheirmistake.”
Marchand exhaled. “She’s not wrong.”
ThankGodhe backed me up. He didn’t always, but when he did… he didn’t flinch.
Hollis tried again. “I’m not suggesting it’s a formal trade offer, only that?—”
“Then stop suggesting it,” I said crisply. “Let us handle our teams. The playoffs are already selling themselves. Let the games speak.”
Rhett moved in my peripheral vision, unpacking containers with practiced hands. He’d set the table. He’d poured water. He’d even dimmed the overheads and lit the candle I didn’t remember buying that sat in the center of the table.
He disappeared for a second, then returned with the bottle of wine and two glasses, setting them beside me as I paced back and forth in front of the island. When he raised his brows in silent offering, I nodded, nearly limp with gratitude.
The cork popped cleanly, the softestshhfff, and he poured the wine like it was an ordinary Tuesday and not the middle of a PR war.
His glass remained untouched. Mine, however—he lifted and held out gently. Like a gift.
I took it.
With the call still running in my ear, I sipped. Andmelted.
Roasted garlic and lemon teased my nose, warm and rich and mouthwatering. He’d brought the rosemary chicken from thatplace downtown, the one I’d once raved about during an early morning carpool on our way to an out-of-town pre-season game.
He’d remembered.
He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t hover. He justwas. A steady, grounding presence who knew exactly how to walk into a hurricane and not get blown off course.
I sank into the moment, just enough to breathe.
Enough to remind myself that no matter what flaming chaos waited on the other end of the line, I wasn’t alone in this anymore.
I sipped the wine Rhett had poured me, more for the effect than the flavor—although the citrusy white was crisp and exactly what I needed. I didn’t have the mental bandwidth to ask how he knew that too.
Because the Vultures’ owner wasn’t done pushing.
“We all want this to go away,” he said smoothly, that faux-genteel tone of a man used to buying his way out of a mess. “But the longer this drags on, the more damage it does. Perhaps if you’d taken the approach seriously, Marchand, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath.
Carrie, like thevultureshe was, swooped in to double down. “We made a genuine offer. You responded with stonewalling and now the league is left with a situation escalating in the press.”
“Becauseyouleaked it,” I said, tone cool.
Marchand’s chuckle cut through the line, dry and without humor. “You want to talk about escalation? You sent Rylan to us without formal process. You broke protocol. And now you’re trying to weaponize the fallout as if we’re the ones throwing punches.”
“The league has rules,” the Vultures’ owner snapped. “If you won’t trade, we’ll go to arbitration.”
“You can’t arbitrate what never existed,” Marchand said, suddenly sounding a little too much likeme. “We didn’t sign a contract. We didn’t even agree to talks. My head of PR said no. I said no. My captain saidhell no. There’s no case.”
It was almost funny—listening to him mimic my exact arguments. Almost.
Carrie started to speak again but Hollis cut in, his voice tight with irritation. “Enough. This isn’t a free-for-all. If this continues, both teams may face fines. Possibly even penalties.”
That snapped my head up.
