“You heard what I was saying. When Old Man Bells gets an idea in his head, he takes it to the extreme.”
“Still, this isn’treallygoing to happen, right? He’ll get over the fight tomorrow.”
“It’s not just about the fight. He saw some... Snapchat story you shared the other night.”
“How the hell does Bells have Snapchat?”
“His granddaughter showed him.”
“Jackie showed him?” I grimaced. His granddaughter had been taking more and more of an interest in the team’s dealings lately. “Fuck me sideways. What kind of world are we living in where we can’t snap our nights anymore?”
“I know, ahorribletragedy. Maybe you can just like, not post anything, anywhere, ever again. Kind of how we did when I was partying in the eighties.”
“Did you used to get down, Coach? I’m having a hard time picturing that.”
“Not the time, LeBlanc.”
“Sorry about that. No more posting. Anything else?”
Coach Slanch hesitated. His eyes drifted to a picture of the team from six years ago—his first year as head coach. I was the only player still left on the Tigers roster from that squad.
I stood up and put my palms on his desk. “Coach, youknowI love this team. I’ll do anything it takes to keep what we have intact. I’ll light my hair on fire. I’ll take a salary cut. Anything. We’re winning it this year.”
He cracked a slight smile, which made me worry. “Hedidmention two other things.”
“Hit me.”
“Number one, get more involved with Chicago charities.”
“Easy. That’s all I’ll do besides train with the team during my suspension. What’s the second?”
He paused and folded his hands on the desk. “Get. A. Nice. Girlfriend.”
My shoulders sagged. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where in my contract does it say you can control my dating life?”
Shaking his head, Coach Slanch shrugged, then flipped his palms out. “You say you’ll doanything. Well, that’s what Bells was thinking about it. It’s some kind of symbol for him of yourinstability. After your wild Snapchat night with that girl that went viral?—”
“Snapchat is done! And that wasn’tagirl, that wastwogirls! And they are just friends.”
Coach Slanch gave me a dirty look.
“Mostlyjust friends,” I added. “Look, I’m deleting Snapchat right now.” I pulled my phone from my pocket and uninstalled it, showing him. “Gone! Now how do I get involved with the charity stuff?”
“Do you by chance have Jake Napleton’s number?”
Jake was a fellow Chicago sports star who played baseball. I’d met him the past year at a killer yacht party. We all ran in similar circles.
“I do. I’ll call him up.”
There was a knock on the door. “Sir, time for your post-game interview,” a young woman with a clipboard said to Coach Slanch.
“Thank you,” he said and rose from his desk.
As we left, he leaned into my ear, grabbed my shoulder, and whispered: “For the love of God, LeBlanc, do something good for the world during your suspension. I want to see a positive story about you—for once. Do not—I repeat, do not—get yourself into trouble again.”
“I told, you, I will.”
“Good. Get serious. Goddamnit, If we don’t finish this season together, Dustin...” He cleared his throat. “Remember what we talked about here. And make it happen.”
