Page 50 of Christmas Cheer

The way Keira shakes her head tells me exactly what I’m thinking, as well. There shouldn’t be shady shit.

“To be clear,” Godwell says, “We are willing to offer you just about anything. Wilmington is extremely excited to have an NFL team, but what they’re going to need to get them buying season tickets is a name they know. A name they already have on jerseys.”

Maurice puts a lot of sales reptitude into, “Allore, seventy-four. You can even keep your number. We already have a jersey made for you.”

“They didn’t,” Keira gasps as I crawl out from under her, setting the phone on the nightstand so she can keep listening as I head to my closet.

I already know what’s said here. I tell them it’s not about the number, either. Just like I told ESPN, I have family in Germany I need to be with.

Godwell asks what we need to do to get that family here, and as I dig through the clothing housekeeping hung for me, I hear my muffled voice negotiating harder than I ever have before. Than I ever thought I could. I mean, I know I’m good at it, but usually it’s negotiating with Thad over dishes.

Thad’s washed so many dishes for me.

With Bradley and Godwell, I negotiate the most wildly vague shit imaginable. I’m going to have a charity foundation that someone on the Juggernauts’ PA team will be personally assigned to and fully accountable for. It will provide scholarships to young athletes in high-cost, underfunded sports so they can continue to get the training they need to be competitive at the collegiate level. Keira will be on the committee to decide on how the scholarships will be awarded. The Juggernauts will also build a sports complex for young athletes in Wilmington. There will be both gymnastics and cheerleading.

If Keira wants a job there, she’ll have a pick of whatever she’s qualified for, whether it’s administrative or coaching or even on the board.

If she wants to be a cheerleader, there will be a spot for her next year. When I tell them she won’t be able to this year because we’re expecting in October, Godwell offers maternity leave for a job she won’t have for another year and only pays as a stipend for appearances.

If Keira wants tocoachthe Juggalettes — which is not their official name but social media has already run with it — they’ll bring her in as a consultant this year until she has the baby.

If she wants to work for the Juggernauts themselves instead, she has a degree in exercise science. Godwell will find something for her. Bradley is a bit grumblier, concerned that having a hot cheerleader wife of a player hanging out with the team can lead to drama because football players are testosterone-fueled meat-heads, and Godwell boldly declares that her team isn’t going to be like that.

“Hey, who all’s been signed already?” Keira calls to me as I pass through the bedroom with the jersey over my shoulder on my way to the door to let the room service in.

“Uhh, I know they’ve got Blaise Sinclair and Gabe Shaunessy. Merrick Briggs, too.”

“That’s a bold thing assumption she’s making, then.”

Yeah, Sinclair’s a chaos factory and Briggs is one of the biggest assholes in the league. Phenomenal players, but I’m glad they’re offense. I won’t have to deal with them on the field.

The recording is about over when I bring the platters into the bedroom so Keira doesn’t have to get up. I’m going to pamper her as much as I can while I’m here. At this point, Godwell has just slid a folded piece of paper to me. I’ve opened it and nodded. On the recording I say, “That’s nice, but it’s Keira’s decision.”

“You’d be ruining your life if you bow out of the draft now,” Bradley says. “The amount of money you’re being offered, that’s the kind of money that no one is going to offer someone who flaked out on it the first time.”

“Yeah, I get it. But not ruining my life, just my NFL career. There are other things in life that I also need to think about. Oh, one other thing. Could Keira be my—?”

The recording cuts off there. I was pocketing my phone at the time.

Keira’s staring at me. I can see there’s a question she doesn’t want to ask. Or, she’s dying to ask but is trying her best to hold back because she knows already that the answer’s going to crush her Berlin dreams.

I sit down next to her and kiss her gently, letting my lips linger over hers, savoring her. I’m going to miss that the next couple of months, too.

Then I hand her the jersey I’ve thrown over my shoulder. “This is yours. Whether I end up with the Juggernauts or the Adler, this jersey’s for you.”

“I’m going to swim in it,” she chuckles even as she puts it on over her lacey little bra, her sweater still somewhere in the den. She holds it out and frowns.

“Just think of all the baby space you’ll have there.”

“It’s not that.” She pulls it off and plops it on my head, coercing me to put it on. “It smells like factory. You need to wear it for a little while first.”

Well, that’s a good sign that gets my heart feeling fizzy, but I don’t say anything. I can’t gloat too soon.

“What were you asking at the end there?”

“Oh, if you could be my rally girl. Godwell said no, and also that it was offensive and sexist and misogynistic — which I thought were the same thing, but I wasn’t going to question that — and that she fully intended to contact the NCAA to recommend they launch a full investigation to ensure that no colleges are officially endorsing this.”

I hand Keira that same folded up piece of paper that Godwell slid to me in that crowded, anonymous restaurant on the opposite side of the state, where we were less likely to be recognized.

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