Page 7 of Their Greatest Strength

His jaw tightens at that answer. “Yes, it would seem so. Which is why I’m even entertaining this idea enough to bring it up.”

I wait for him to continue, unsure of what will come out of my mouth if I open it. Coach seems to be doing the same thing.

“I’ve had an . . . idea brought to my attention by a few members of the organization. And we’ve all decided that you are the best player we have who can help us turn it into something that could potentially change things for everyone.”

“They want you to marry a fan, Jamieson,” Coach declares, cutting to the chase.

Crickets.

I lean back into the chair and cross my arms, huffing a laugh. “And that’s supposed to fix things for us? A marriage between me and someone nobody knows? I don’t mean any offense here, but do we really expect anyone to fall for that?”

“Do you spend a lot of time on social media, Jamieson? Honestly, I don’t. But there is an entire team of people in this organization who know more about it than we could ever imagine. They’ve laid it all out for me, and I believe them. This is the easiest and fastest way to start a change here, and I’m only asking you to give it a chance. If you can’t, I will find someone else who will, and we can forget I even brought it up,” Graham says, his voice tight with restraint.

I scrub a hand down my face. “How would it even work? Are you planning on just picking some girl off the street and dropping her off at a church for me?”

Coach stifles a rough laugh while Graham reels backward, his features twisting with revulsion.

It’s the latter who speaks first, disgusted. “No. Of course not. We were planning on leaving the choice of who up to you. All you’d have to do is bring whomever it is to meet with me first.”

“So you can what, vet her?” I laugh, distraught, as I look back at Coach. “You don’t think this is a good idea too, right?”

He keeps his expression closed off. “It isn’t up to me.”

“It’s not like I have a contact list full of football fans that I can just call up one by one until we find someone suitable enough. And even if I did, how am I supposed to explain this? I mean, come on! I’m supposed to just get married to someone out of the blue? My fans won’t buy it.”

My phone doesn’t have a single contact saved outside of my family and close friends. When I sleep with someone, I don’t keep their number. Most of the time, I can even get away with whoever it is I take to bed not knowing who I am. It’s always been easier that way. There isn’t anyone to call on for this.

“I think you could convince them. That would be the entire point of this. The marriage would be certified to keep the truth behind the intent from coming out, but what you decide to do behind closed doors is up to you and the woman you decide to marry. Of course, we have a list of rules, but they’re mainly for security purposes. It would only be for two, maybe three months, and then we would help with the divorce. You’ll have our entire legal team at your disposal to ensure an easy transition both before and after this agreement,” Graham explains.

While my head is spinning, I manage to ask, “So, you think that after the divorce, the team won’t just fall right back to where we are now?”

“No. I don’t. With big enough headlines, you will help put us back on the map. The stands will fill, we’ll gain traction on socialmedia, and jersey sales will increase. You won’t be able to walk around Vancouver without seeing a handful of fans wearing your name and number, Jamieson. That’s a promise I can make to you right now. This will work, and we’ll have you to thank for it.”

“This is insane,” I declare on an exhale.

“It’s not a situation I expected us to find ourselves in, and I had to insist both legal and PR let me handle this conversation on my own to not overwhelm you. I fear this may be our last hope before we’re forced to find other ways to cut costs and find revenue to keep going.”

Fuck.

“It’s that bad?”

He keeps his confident stance, but I swear I can see some worry slash across his face. “I have investors and a board of directors to answer to.”

“Again, no offense, but why should I agree to this? You can’t punish me for saying no.”

Graham cocks an eyebrow, appearing almost surprised by the question. Like he wasn’t expecting me to know how to barter. “What do you want in return?”

“I’m not sure what’s on the table.”

“Your contract has already been taken care of.”

I swallow, running through options in my head. I’ve never been much for money. It doesn’t drive me or even give me surface-level happiness. The most important thing to me is my family. Everything I’ve done has been to make them proud. With a Vancouver Warriors legacy hockey star as a father, my choosing football instead of what was expected of me has always lingered in the back of my mind.

“What about a limited-edition jersey release? A collaboration between the Pythons and the Warriors,” I blurt out.

There may as well be dollar signs flashing in Graham’s eyes now. “For what?”

“A Bateman hockey jersey with both the Pythons andWarriors on the front. No number. Call it a legacy edition, I don’t know. But, yeah, I think that’s my condition. I’ll do this for you, and you’ll make the jersey happen for me.”

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