Page 11 of Lucky Shot

“Good. That’s great to hear because I thought you and your academy would be the best choice for this opportunity. And of course, we’ll try to make sure you get the most out of it as well. I’ll need a list of contacts and ways people can donate or volunteer to include in the press release.”

“Okay.” Is this for real?

“I was thinking we do this on Friday.”

“Friday, as in this Friday?” I think of all the things I need to do to polish this place up a bit if it’s going to be on camera.

Then again, do I want it to look polished? Would I rather it looks weathered as it does on the daily to try and garner sympathy from whoever watches these press pieces and maybe gain more support?

I’m not beneath that if it nets more for the kids here. They deserve everything.

“Yes, as in this Friday the fifth,” Ari says. “Will that work for you?”

“Yes. Sure. Of course.” I feel like a broken, optimistic record. I think I’m still in shock.

Suri takes a seat in front of me as she tries to figure out what’s going on. I haven’t taken any notes—as I’m prone to do during calls—and I know that and my squeaky tone of voice is definitely throwing her off.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to include in the press release?”

It’s my turn to pause and think. There are a million things I could say, but I know I need to keep it succinct. “Just that we welcome and accept any and all kids who want to participate, working on a pay-what-you-can model. It’s not the best of business practices because it lends itself to this—me writing letters to ask for donations—but our focus is the community and what’s best for the kids, and right now, that’s what is needed.” I rise from my seat and move past Suri to the doorway. I look out at the pitch that I know saved me all those years ago and the place I’ve called home longer than any other place in my life.

“It’s honorable,” she says but I think more of a prompt to get me to talk so she can move on with her day.

“Soccer comes first here but only as a means to show them there is something in their life—the sport, the team, a coach—that they can turn to.”

“That’s really beautiful.”

“And totally cheesy.” I laugh, hating that I’m suddenly nervous. “But it’s true. This place . . .” Saved me. “Has helped a lot of kids over the years.”

“It’s a touching story that will gain a lot of good press.” I can practically hear her figuratively clapping her hands together like she just found a media gold mine so she can make her player or the club look even more charitable.

I’ll be their pawn in this game. Not a problem. It’s all about the kids, so whatever benefits them, I’m here for it.

“Just a few more questions, if you will?” she asks.

I spend the next few minutes giving her a rundown of our program—age ranges, number of teams we field, approximate count of total academy size, the time our normal summer camp starts—so that she can make sure her staff has sufficient giveaways for everyone.

“That’s perfect. Thank you so much for your time. I think that’s everything I need at the moment, but I’ll definitely be in touch over the next few days. In the meantime, plan on a crew arriving at around ten in the morning, which will include a few staff members as well as our marketing team. They’ll need some time to scout the location to find the ideal place to film. Once everything is ready to go, our team ambassador will arrive close to eleven to begin his one-on-one with the kids.”

His photo op.

“That works. Um . . . obviously, the guest is supposed to be a big surprise for my players, but am I allowed to know who will be showing up from the team?”

She chuckles. “Oh, did I neglect to say that part?”

“Yes.” I chew the inside of my cheek.

“The player will be Alexander Hardy.”

My eyes shock open and my body startles. Oh. My. God.

Is she serious?

Her silence says she is.

She can’t be serious. Alexander Hardy. God on the field, a superstar off it, and a sex symbol every day in between.

Holy shit.