“So Dylan got caught up in a cock war over who was going to claim you for the season?” She shook her head. “That sounds more like him.”

“He’s not really like that. I mean, he was. I know he was, but he’s been nothing but great.”

“You’re sleeping with him. You don’t qualify as unbiased.”

“How did you know?” My eyes flashed to hers. Were all my secrets written on my forehead?

“The paint for one.” She huffed. “But it’s Dylan James. He wanted you. He got you. It’s a simple equation.”

I closed my eyes. She made it sound so dirty. As if I didn’t matter to him. I knew that wasn’t true. We had shared something together that defied traditional boxes and labels.

“This fake engagement works for us, ok?” I tried to muster some sort of defense. “I need your help, Charlie. Please don’t judge what mistakes I may have made before now. I’ve done the best I could.” I straightened my shoulders.

She sighed. “You’re right. What’s done is done. But before I even go anywhere near these files, I need to lock down this auction story. I’m going to need the names of every player who was there. If it gets out there that your engagement isn’t real and that the Warriors participated in auctioning a woman? Can you imagine? Every woman who has ever worked for the organization is going to start suing for sexual harassment. You’ll never escape the image of being a piece of property. And damn it, you own that team, Vanessa.” She slammed her palm on the writing desk.

I nodded. “I think Dylan can help you with that. He was there.”

“Good. And I will see Steve first thing in the morning. He is such an asshole for this. A fucking auction?” She rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say any more. I’ve got this now. I’m going to talk to Dylan. I’ll take the safe with me.”

I nodded. “Please.”

I sat at the desk while Charlie strolled confidently to find Dylan. I watched through the glass door as she talked to him about the auction. He nodded from time to time. It was like watching something unfold on TV. But it was in my kitchen. This was my life now.

31

Dylan

I loved the first game of the season. Understatement. I was fucking obsessed with it. There was a kind of energy that buzzed in the locker room that we didn’t feel the rest of the season. It was the promise that anything could happen.

We could win our division. Set records. Make the fans erupt. Everything was possible. The Super Bowl. Complete victory. The ultimate championship. It was all in our reach.

Right here in this moment, all of it was only a game away. Nothing was set in stone. The Warriors had just as much chance as the Wranglers to break free from the pack. We were all gunning for the same thing. A winning season. A glorious road to our dreams coming true.

Isaac slapped me on the back. “Ready?”

We reached for our helmets. The equipment crew had polished them for the game.

“Hell yeah.”

“They are insane out there.” He motioned toward the tunnel. The stadium was filled.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard them this loud before.”

We both knew what it meant to Vanessa to have the tickets sold. To have this kind of turn out for the home opener. Now it was our turn to do our part for her. We had to win this damn game. Put the W on the scoreboard. Thrill the crowd. End the speculation that the Warriors were too distracted in the pre-season. This was our chance.

Running through the tunnel, my adrenaline pumped through my veins. I jogged through a cloud of smoke, surrounded by fireworks. The music was deafening as we took the field, crossing in front of the fans.

My eyes traveled up the massive rows until I found the ownership box. I couldn’t see her from here, but I knew she was there. I knew Vanessa was watching. I strapped my helmet on and lined up with the rest of the team.

We all knew it was coming. The tribute to the man who had built this team. But it was hard to stomach the photo montage that played after the national anthem. There were pictures of Vanessa as a child with her grandparents. Pictures of McCade with players through the years. If we didn’t know better, you’d think the league’s favorite owner had died. The slide show was a tribute to a man we had never liked. But we stood in solidarity, wearing our Mac patches and respected the video until the last shot played.

Applewhite shouted at us to huddle around him.

Isaac was next to me. “That was fucked up, wasn’t it?”

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