Everyone in my family has tells galore. Sabrina tugs on her ponytail when she’s lying, my big one is my left eye twitching when I'm about to cry, and Granny's is her pursing her lips together and making that veryhmmnoise she just made when she's got something to say but is trying to hold it in.
"What are you not telling me?"
She rests the cup on the counter and offers me a contemplative look. "I loved your grandfather with all my heart. And I love all my sons—your dad and your uncles—too. Very much. Money is nice to have, but family has always been the most important thing to me."
I'm not sure where she's going with this, but I nod and say, "Okay," anyway. If I thought she might clear things up, her next words prove me wrong.
"No one is perfect, Rein. And sometimes, despite people's best intentions, they make mistakes. Big ones."
Granny's words are still rattling around in my head the next day. I pressed her to clarify what she meant, but a guilty look crossed her face, like she'd revealed too much. She then suddenly remembered she had to get ready for her weekly bridge game at the club with her girlfriends and practically booted me out of her house, so I'm none the wiser.
"All right, get your shit together," I tell myself as I pull into the gravel parking lot of Clovelly House, one of the nicest and most awarded inns in the county, for my business meeting. I need to have my head in the game. This is what I came back to Gilberton to do after all. And if my meeting with Cory Tillford goes well, the Gilberton Grizzlies will be mine.
Cory's an eccentric guy in his early sixties who comes from serious old money. He bought the team over a decade ago but never got around to starting it. It's ridiculous. Everyone in town is fed up and just wants someone to put on a jersey for on a Friday night.
And I'm going to be the one to make that happen. It's the logical next step for me, being back home and closer to Granny and involved in football again now that my playing days are well and truly over.
I get out of the car and stop dead in my tracks when I spot Beau getting out of his car.
"Well,shit."
6
Beau
"I'm not stalking you, I swear," are the first words out of Rein's mouth as he approaches.
I'm surprised to see him, sure, but I don't for a minute think he's stalking me. Younger me might have fantasized he was, but current me, no… Okay, maybe a small part of current me wishes he was, too. Especially with the way that charcoal suit and black turtleneck sit perfectly on him, the fabric fitted to his strong, athletic frame.
I may have said I never wanted to see him again, but Gilberton is a small town, so we're bound to run into each other.
Except…we're not in Gilberton, we're in Clovelly, two towns over.
"It's fine. What are you doing here, though?" I ask, since I am curious.
"I'm here for a meeting with Cory Tillford."
My eyebrows hitch. "That's weird. So am I."
Rein makes a surprised face, and then his gaze sharpens as it clicks for both of us at the same time.
I scoff under my breath. "That motherfucker."
Ten minutes later, Rein and I are sitting opposite Cory Tillford in a small conference room with paneled wood walls, a long polished table, and tall mullioned windows looking out over the lush green grounds. The air is filled with the faint scent of old books and fresh coffee. If a casting agent were looking to fill the part of 'eccentric old man who has more money than sense,' Cory would fit the bill perfectly with his wild silver curls, roundtortoiseshell glasses, and bold paisley tie. Dude looks like a living Guess Who tile.
When I found out he was selling the team after doing nothing with it for ten fucking years, I took it as a sign from the universe. I'm going to buy the team and give the good people of Gilberton the minor league football team they deserve. Some people may look down their noses at the minor league, like it isn’t worth taking seriously, but let me tell you, after coaching it for thirteen years, I can promise you the players grind just as hard as the pros, care just as deeply, and mean as much to their community as any NFL roster ever could.
Now, I don't have anywhere near the money required to buy the team myself, but over the years, I've made a number of contacts who do. I've assembled a coalition of investors, and I'm confident I've got enough cash to make the winning bid.
Or, Iwasconfident until discovering Rein is a potential buyer. His pockets run very,verydeep. But I put that worry aside for now and tune in to what Cory has to say.
"I called you both in here today because I've received five formal bids to buy the Grizzlies," he says. "Your bids were the first and second highest."
Rein and I lock eyes for a beat. Great. I can see where this is heading. Cory is building a case for a bidding war, and fuck, how much more can I squeeze out of my investors?
"Icouldplay you off against each other…" Cory steeples his fingers. "But I won't."
My chest tightens, breath stalling for a beat. "Go on."
