“I’ve got practice tomorrow,” I answer.
“So do I,” he says. “But I like pretending I don’t.”
Across the room, I spot Kirk. He’s hard to miss, mostly because he doesn’t want to be seen. Loud laugh. Broad shoulders. The kind of guy who takes up space without checking if there’s room for him. He’s holding court near the bar, surrounded by a couple of sponsors and one assistant coach who looks like he’s already regretting this assignment.
Kirk catches my eye and lifts his glass in a mock salute. I nod back, neutral.
“That guy,” Marco mutters, following my gaze, “is exhausting.”
“You don’t say,” I reply.
“He’s been chirping all camp,” Marco continues. “Acts like preseason’s a formality.”
I glance back toward Kirk. “For some people, it is.”
Marco snorts. “Must be nice.”
We’re shepherded toward one of the tables as more people filter in. I take a seat between Marco and a woman whose name I forget the second she tells me. Across from us sits Dan and his wife, both of them relaxed in a way that tells me they belong here. Dan’s contract is solid. His place is secure. That confidence bleeds into everything he does.
“This your first one of these?” Dan asks me.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“You get used to it,” he says, echoing the same sentiment I heard earlier today.
His wife, Jody, smiles at me. “You excited for preseason?”
I hesitate just long enough to be honest. “Yeah. And a little terrified.”
She laughs, warm and genuine. “That’s healthy.”
Dan nods. “Preseason’s where they see who you are when the lights aren’t blinding yet.”
Exactly.
The conversation drifts, easy and unremarkable. People talk about travel schedules, about how different the League feels now, about how fast everything moves. Someone asks how long I’ve been in LA, and when I say three years, they look relieved, like that explains something.
“So you’re already settled,” one of the sponsors says. “That helps.”
“It does,” I agree, even though the wordsettledfeels misleading at best.
At some point, Jody leans toward me again. “You should come by for dinner sometime. We’re trying to get the guys together before the season really hits.”
It’s the second time they’ve made the offer.
I smile, sincere. “I’d like that.” And I mean it. I do. I want to fit in here. I don’t want to be just another body on the roster. I want to be someone people want around. But even as I say it, I’m thinking about Rafe. “I’ll check my schedule,” I add, more than aware I said the same thing to her husband.
Dan nods. “No rush. Preseason’s busy for everyone.”
Dinner winds down without ceremony. Plates are cleared, chairs shift, and the room loosens into clusters of people standing with drinks in hand, conversations overlapping now that the formal part is done. I accept a glass of club soda and hover near the edge of one group, listening more than I talk.
That’s when I meet Candice. She’s introduced casually, but I recognize her immediately. She’s one of those people whose name floats through conversations without explanation, linked to the city, to the venue, to the broader orbit of the League and its money. Famous adjacent. Well-connected. Effortlessly at ease.
“Ollie, right?” she says, smiling in a way that feels genuine rather than practiced.
“Yeah,” I reply. “Nice to meet you.”
She gestures lightly with her glass. “I hear preseason’s coming up fast.”
