“You’re getting all moon-eyed, man,” he said. “Knock that shit off. We have work to do.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I said, taking a gulp of the hot coffee and then swearing as it burned my tongue. My phone buzzed and when I pulled it out and checked the screen, I saw a message from Nick Wilcox entitled “Call me - 911.” I looked at Finn and said, “I gotta go. Wilcox has an emergency.”
“I’ll call you when I have the details on the offices finalized,” he nodded as I got up and tossed a couple of twenties on the table. Finn shook his head as he swore, “Jesus, Connor, I’ve got the fuckin’ check.”
“Then add that to the tip,” I said, walking out to the waiting car.
The meeting with Nick did not go well from the start. I found him down in his office raging about the mess at Soldier Field, but as he vented his frustrations, I quickly realized he was more pissed about the fact that the team doctor was refusing to clear Johnny for play. The doctor had done a series of scans and had found several small bleeds in Johnny’s brain and said he wanted him to rest for six weeks before they scanned him again to see whether the damage would heal itself.
“I can’t have a team without a goddamn quarterback!” Nick shouted.
“What about Gaddis? You put him in the Bears game and he did okay,” I said wondering why Nick was getting pissed at me about a problem I couldn’t solve.
“Gaddis is a rookie! He won’t be at his full potential for another couple years,” Nick replied with thinly veiled disgust. “Riggs was our go-to guy. Healthy as a fucking horse and seemingly indestructible. Gaddis was brought in as quarterback in training. Now what the fuck are we going to do?”
“I have no idea; what do you suggest?” I asked as I felt completely out of my element. Tony Butler had handled all of the player requests and issues, while I’d steered clear of all of it.
“Getting your thumb out of your ass and hiring a goddamn GM would be a great start!” Nick shouted. His face was red and he gestured wildly as he read me the riot act about how much I was fucking up his team. I stared at him without saying a word until finally his frustration ran its course and he cooled down. He dropped heavily into his chair and rested his hand on his forehead as he sighed, “I’m sorry, Dax. I just got my hopes up early on and watching them get dashed is fucking killing me.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said as I left the office and took the elevator up to my office. I walked past the front desk and asked the receptionist if Payton had come in yet, and when she said yes, I changed my course and walked down to her office.
I stood in the doorway watching her work and marveling at how confident she looked sitting behind the desk. She had dressed more casually than normal, wearing a Storm jersey over jeans and boots with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and she looked much younger than her age. There was a softness to her I hadn’t realized was there when I met her, but the longer I knew her and the more I learned about her, the easier it became to see it. I still thought she was bossy, but I’d grown fond of her straight-forward way of dealing with things — even the most difficult things.
“Hey, how’s it going?” she called, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to the real world. “Did you need something?”
“Yeah, I just got done talking with Nick and I wanted to run something by you,” I said stepping into the office and closing the door behind me. “They said that Riggs took a hard hit on Sunday that caused some brain bleeds. He’s out for six weeks, but Nick doesn’t want Gaddis playing first string. I thought you’d know what to do.”
“So, Mr. Big Shot doesn’t know what he’s doing and wants help?” she asked. There was a sharp edge in her voice that I hadn’t heard since the fight we’d had at training camp, and aside from the obvious fact that I hadn’t made her the new GM, I couldn’t figure out why she was angry.
“I just want some advice,” I shrugged.
“Ah, yes, I believe you were the one who once said, ‘Nothing says I don’t give a shit like a shrug,’” she said sharply.
“What is wrong with you?”
“Me? What is wrong with me?” she asked incredulously. “Buddy, you have a serious blind spot when it comes to who I am and what I do, and I’m sick and tired of you telling me no and then turn around and come running to me for advice because you know nothing about the game!”
“Lower your voice,” I said sternly. “We’re having a discussion here.”
“Don’t tell me to lower my voice,” she said doing just that. “You need to get your head out of your ass and figure this shit out on your own, Connor.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I said holding up my hand. “I thought we were a team here.”
“Yeah, we’re a team until you decide you don’t need what I’m offering,” she retorted. “Then you run back to the boys’ club and choose them.”
“Look, there are all kinds of reason why I’m doing what I’m doing,” I began.
“I know, I know,” she said cutting me off. “I’m not old enough or experienced enough or have enough testosterone coursing through my veins. I heard you the first 10 times!”
I could feel my frustration level rising as her anger increased and the accusations flew fast and furious. I’d done my level best to try and meet her expectations, but suddenly I realized that she’d changed the rules midstream.
“Lady,
I’m coming to you for help and you’re telling me to fuck off,” I said. “So be it, but just understand that there are consequences for that. I’m not going to continue to be your whipping boy!”
“Oh right, as if,” she said, rolling her eyes. That did it. I knew I was dangerously close to lashing out at her, but I was still cognizant enough to know that it might not entirely be her fault. I shook my head and then turned and yanked open the door.
“I think we should have dinner out tonight,” I said as calmly as I could. “Given the situation over the weekend and the fact that your mother is blaming me for it.”