“Enough with the royal references already,” Nico chided.
“Yes, Sir Nicolas,” Rowan responded, using Nico’s official title.
Nico dropped his head to the table. Tristan couldn’t contain his mirth as even Rowan’s stuffy countenance was broken up by a crooked smile.
“All kidding aside,” Nico began when Tristan finally gained control, “I suspect Rowan is right. Your constant chronicling of your every thought has earned you a place in the public eye. It’s not an impulse I understand, nor am I especially fond of some of the details you like to share. In my time, the name of the game was privacy. It hasn’t affected your play thus far, but if I had my wish, I’d issue you a gag order.”
Tristan let the words bounce off of him. He’d grown a thick skin over the course of his life. There were always haters. But he’d be lying to himself if he pretended Nicolas Ramsey’s opinion of his posting habit didn’t make him feel some sort of way. He couldn’t deny the endorphin rush he experienced when people responded to him, be it on the pitch or to his posts. Maybe that said something about him that he wasn’t ready to admit. His phone, which he had stashed in his pants pocket, burned against his leg like the heat of a blush in an embarrassing moment.
Ramsey gazed turned contemplative, his focus far away. “Given the current political dynamics, I think this is purely a palace ploy to cast the royal family in a good light. Supporting a combined national team helps everyone. The specific request for the two of you is ample evidence.” He let his statement linger.
Maybe Tristan should have paid more attention to the climate in his country, but his sister was the family activist.
Ramsey folded his hands in front of him, drawing Tristan’s attention back to him. “I don’t think it changes anything about our plan for their visit. Our public relations department is scurrying to find trainers for each of them. We’ll also present them with the team jacket. It’s two hours of your time.”
Rowan and Tristan nodded.
“On your way out, there is a folder for you that details protocol and the itinerary. Make sure you study it.”
Nico stood, and Rowan and Tristan followed. Leaving the manager’s office, Tristan picked up the two folders with
the House of Altamirano crest. He passed the top one to Rowan and tucked one under his arm. Rowan walked directly to the garbage bin and dropped the folder into it. Tristan paused mid-step.
“What’d you do that for?” he asked.
“Don’t need to read that shit.”
Tristan’s brows drew together, but Rowan hadn’t stopped his pace.
“Fancy a lift?” Rowan asked as he lengthened the space between them.
Tristan, still frozen, snapped out of it. “Sure,” he answered as he hurried to catch up.
The training center was a four-hundred-acre facility, recently reopened after a massive overhaul. There were six regulation football fields, two of which were indoors. A state-of-the-art physiology room, a decompression chamber, four dressing rooms, and a recreation center for the players that housed a number of video game consoles, big screen televisions, a pool table, a soccer tennis net, and a basketball hoop. It was a veritable playground. Tristan thought he could happily live in the facility. He might have to sneak in a king-size mattress and stow it away, but it was a sacrifice he would be willing to make. Aside from the spectacular amenities, he got to play with two of his best mates. The days he spent here were literally a dream come true.
They made their way to the strength and conditioning room. A couple of their teammates were already there, and Tristan realized his quiet early morning stroll through the facility had been upended by his meeting. He didn’t get an opportunity to dwell on the loss.
“Ah, look, Caleb, your boy is here.”
Caleb completed his set before he made his way over to Tristan and Rowan. After a regular handshake with Rowan, Caleb turned to Tristan to perform their complicated greeting, which consisted of some clasps, a slap, a few fist bumps, and a man hug, completed with a resounding slap to the back.
“Where ya been?”
“Meeting,” Tristan responded.
He didn’t want to get into the purpose of the meeting in front of everyone. He knew they would find out, but he was content to leave it at that. Caleb knew him well enough to know there was more and to wait for it.
Rowan moved toward a machine, and Tristan followed. They worked out in silence until the room emptied. With only Caleb remaining, Tristan turned to Rowan.
“What was that about?”
Rowan replaced the bar and sat up. “What?”
“You were crankier than normal during the meeting.”
“What meeting?” Caleb asked.
Rowan grunted, clearly shutting down the conversation.