Page 71 of The Show

I had the distinct feeling he wasn’t just talking about tonight.

* * *

Two hours later we were on the couch, bellies full, and the game was playing out on the television, though that’s where the romance ended, because Penn was currently yelling at the screen. He was so loud that it wouldn’t have surprised me if the General Manager could actually hear him, because that’s whom all Penn’s current levels of animosity were aimed at.

The Lions were playing against the Red Sox, and had so far failed to score.

I tried to ask a couple of question about what was going on, but every time I did, something else happened in the game which took Penn’s focus and he started hollering again. So I stopped asking and tried to figure it out myself. Though while his eyes might have been on the game, his left hand never strayed from somewhere on my thigh. It was the only way I knew he knew I was still here.

From the way he kept yelling the G.M.’s name, most of his frustration was directed at him, though I wasn’t sure exactly why. I also couldn’t tell who the coach was. The commercial break came on and I was about to use it as an opportunity to ask more questions and get myself some clarity, but he pulled his phone out and hit dial on a number I couldn’t see quickly enough.

“Gramps?”

I could hear Lucian’s booming voice down the phone, loud enough for me to get the gist of what he was saying even if I couldn’t make out every word. But suffice it to say, Lucian had been watching the game too and held the same opinion Penn did, which sounded like someone was getting fired.

“He has to go, Gramps. He should never have fired Lieberman and not replaced him. He’s not making sound decisions for the good of the club.”

“No, I agree. What do you want to do?”

Penn was silent for a second, running his thumb against his lip. He turned to me, traced his finger down my cheek, and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I want him gone tonight. Give him a generous severance package and get rid of him. And I want a meeting called first thing in the morning, all the senior executives need to attend. I’m going to announce. I want to get to work on this properly, and I can’t do it in secret. I will become the G.M.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I’m sure.”

“That’s my boy. I’ll call Maypole now and get this organized. He’ll be delighted. He’s been wanting to hand this over since I bought it.”

“Thanks, Gramps.”

He threw his phone onto the large square ottoman at the side of the couch then pulled me in for a kiss, one of those kisses that no matter how short, always filled you with butterflies like you were back in high school and sneaking off to the bleachers. The type of kiss you knew could lead to something if you let it.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had one of those kisses.

“What just happened?” I asked when he moved back slightly, eyeing the screen where two commentators were also discussing what had just happened, though they were focused on the field and not Penn, like I was.

“I accelerated the timeline. It’s pointless waiting and watching. Buck got me thinking today; Icando something. I need to get this club fixed now, and it’s not going to happen as long as that moron is in charge.”

“Which moron?”

He nodded to where the camera had zoomed in on a man dressed in a Lion’s tracksuit and ballcap. “Trenton Furst. He’s the soon to be ex-General Manager, he’s been making a series of terrible decisions which have had a negative effect on the club and the team. He fired the coach earlier this season and hasn’t replaced him, the morale is low and it needs a boost. It needs direction.”

“Which you’re going to give it?”

“Correct.” He reached for the remote and increased the volume to listen to what the commentators were saying but it was too late. The high-pitched accordion tune rung out through the stadium as the game got underway again. Penn smacked his lips to mine, rearranged us so my legs were tucked over his lap, kissed me one more time, then turned back to the screen.

The snuggling didn’t last long.

Within minutes, he’d jumped up twice as one of the umpires had made a decision he didn’t agree with. He was now back on the sofa, his body hunched forwards and his elbows on his knees while his hands twisted together. Seeing him like that, the deepest sense of déjà vu overwhelmed me; from a period in time I’d not thought about in years.

“You’re so like your dad.”

Penn’s eyes shot around to mine, studying the sincerity in my expression. “Really?”

“Yes, absolutely,” I nodded, and Penn’s eyes immediately brimmed with tears. “Did Lauren ever tell you about the time we snuck down to get midnight snacks at, like, eight thirty?”

He laughed, shaking his head with a sniff.

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