“I didn’t mean to hide,” Keeley continues, bringing my mind back to the present, “but when you walked in and tossedyour phone against the cushions, yelling ‘fuck’ several times, I deduced that you might need a minute to yourself. My brother owns the title for the world’s grumpiest human, so I can tell when it’s better to stay out of the way.”
Wow, okay. “Thanks for that.”She’s a talker.“I was actually asking why you wanted to see me.”
“Oh.” Keeley throws her head back and laughs out loud, the light sound pulling another genuine response from within me. This time a smile. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Storm’s media liaison. I’m here to help make this as easy and painless as possible. At least when it comes to the public’s perception of what’s going on.”
“Great. Any idea who’s here to help with theplayers’perception of what’s going on? Or management?” I chuckle so she’ll think I’m joking, but if she has an answer, I want to hear it. I couldn’t give a fuck about what the media thinks. It’s the people within these stadium walls that concern me the most, and it’s not looking good.
Keeley smiles sympathetically. “There lies your first problem. No one knows what’s happening. There are rumors, of course. That’s always going to be the case. But with so many conflicting stories, no one knows what to believe. And you’re the man they’re expecting to set it all straight. The man we’reallexpecting to set it straight.”
She stares at me in question and I wince.
“Fuck.” Spinning away from her, I run my hand through my hair and inhale slowly. I prepared for this. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. “It?—”
“Sucks to be you?”
A throaty chuckle rumbles out of me as I turn back around, and Keeley shrugs, a mischievous grin lighting up her face. That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking, and yet, hearing it aloud feels wrong.
My eyeline shifts to the field out my window, and a moment of calm washes over me. I chose this. I’m here because I want to be here and I’ve never shied away from a challenge.
Closing my eyes, I let the moment consume me, vowing to fight my battles head-on from here on out. I’m SalvatoreFuckingD’Angelo. I’ve got this.
“I take it back.” Keeley cuts into my thoughts, drawing my attention, and I catch her gaze morphing from amusement to curiosity, then to something that looks a hell of a lot like respect and understanding. “It doesn’t suck to be you at all. You’re not just the man we expect to set it straight; you’re the man weneedto fix the problem. And something tells me you’re going to do a hell of a job.”
My stomach clenches, and for the first time since making the decision to buy this team, I think I have an ally.
So, instead of puffing my chest out and confidently accepting the compliment, I offer her a rare moment of truth.
“I’m not so sure you’re right. I guess we’re going to find out.”
Chapter One
KEELEY
SIXTEEN MONTHS LATER
The dark clouds hover ominously over San Francisco Storm’s practice field, but no one pays them any mind. Not the players crowding around their fearless leader, as he fills them in on the team’s upcoming fundraiser, or the spectators waiting outside, lining up for their chance to watch their favorite team in action.
Mondays are usually reserved for recovery and video review, but once a season, we open practice up for our fans and they never disappoint. There must have been thousands lined up when I arrived this morning, and that was hours before we were due to let them in.
Murmurs start up around the field when Sal pauses, but his deep voice cuts through the chatter, commanding attention as the players fall silent, all eyes in his direction, everyone hooked on his words.
Including me.
“On top of the open practice today, we have a huge week ahead of us, leading into the biggest game of the season. Not only is Chicago one of our toughest rivals this year, they’re also sitting pretty with an extra notch on their belt. But we’re a much sexier team.”
Laughter rings out and I subtly roll my eyes. Sal is the last person here that would ever make a record of his sexual encounters, but the guys seem to enjoy his humor.
“You all played like champions yesterday, and I’m going to need you to bring that A game again this weekend. We need to show them we’re the team walking away with a trophy this year.”
The respect he garners now, after so much uncertainty when he first arrived, is amazing to watch, and I’m in awe of the time and energy he’s invested into gaining everyone’s trust.
His eyes briefly flit to mine as he takes a quick breath, and I don’t miss the thanks reflected back at me.
Sal’s a confident man, and he knows how to keep a room quiet, but when it comes to matters dear to his heart, that confidence wavers. This year, Storm’s raising money for Motor Neuron Disease, a matter that affectsmemore than it does him, with my mom suffering from ALS. Sal and his daughter, Paige—one of my closest friends and future sister-in-law—run the D’Angelo Foundation that organizes the Storm events. This year they suggested MND for their fundraising charity, and my family will forever be grateful for that.
Sal and my mom became friends after my brother, Easton, one of Storm’s players, started dating Sal’s daughter, Paige. He cares just as much about my mom’s health as we do, and standing up there to talk about it just now hit him hard. Not that anyone really noticed. He’s a pro when it comes to hiding his feelings.
I wink, and the smallest of smiles tugs at his lips before he continues on.
