Page 132 of Mr. Charming

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We’re winning at life, buddy. Sure, our hockey career is up in the air, but I don’t care. We have Tedi and that’s all that matters.

Sixty-Five

Tweetie

I’ve showered and am changing in the locker room after practice when Coach Buford calls out to me. The guys all look at me, and I can see the uncertainty in their eyes. I’m annoyed at all the gossip going around. Everyone suspects I won’t be in Chicago next year, and they’re right, I won’t, because I won’t play for Bud Caldron. Period.

I set my bag back down and head into his office. I’m about to sit down, but he shakes his hand and points at the door.

“Come with me.”

I follow him out the door and down the hall toward the elevator, knowing instinctively that we’re heading up to the offices.

“Am I being let go?” I ask. “Fuck, he traded me?”

Trade deadlines are approaching, and I thought I was in the clear. How did I not even consider that Bud might trade me just to fuck with me?

“Mr. Gershwin wants to talk to both of us,” Coach says.

We step into the elevator, and my anxiety racks up. “Coach, the other night… did you talk to them? I mean, we’re so cohesive together.”

I don’t care where I end up, but I don’t want my team to suffer because of my decision. I was prepared to help the Falcons win the Cup and then leave. Not leave them in the lurch.

He doesn’t show any reaction. “Let’s just see what he wants, then we’ll go from there.”

I blow out a breath, and he steps off the elevator. I follow him down the hallway of the management offices. We reach our destination, and Mr. Gershwin’s assistant tells us he’s expecting us and to go right in.

Coach looks at me, and I want to throw up, but most of all, I want to call Tedi.

Mr. Gershwin’s office is a reflection of the man. It’s more like an old library with dark wood bookshelves, a big mahogany desk that sits in front of the window, and brown leather couches and two leather chairs.

“Chris. Tweetie. Have a seat.” He rises from his chair and walks around his desk, signaling with his hand that we should head over to the couches.

The Gershwin family has owned the Falcons forever, and I wonder who will be next in line to take over. I’ve noticed for a while that Mr. Gershwin struggles to walk a little and hasn’t been down to see the team as much as he used to. I’m pretty sure they have four daughters. Maybe it will be like Jana taking over the Fury from her dad.

He sits in a chair, and we both sit on the couch. “Do you guys want a drink?”

We shake our heads.

He laughs. “You guys seem terribly nervous. Tweetie, your leg.”

I look down to see it bouncing up and down. I press my hand on my thigh to stop it.

“I don’t get a thrill from scaring people, so let’s get right into it. I heard about the other night, Tweetie. You and Miss Douglas in the coatroom.” He tilts his head down and looks at me from under his bushy gray eyebrows.

I open my mouth, ready to out Bud, but I shut it. That’s not the point. I’m not going to be one of those people who points fingers. “I apologize for that, Mr. Gershwin. It was poor judgment on our part. And?—”

“I heard she resigned,” he interrupts.

I nod. “She did.”

Coach Buford whips his head in my direction. “She did? Jesus, who will they send us now?” he whines, dropping his chin to his chest.

“Well, that’s the second issue. The first issue I want to discuss is the fact that I fired Bud Caldron this morning. Effective immediately.”

Coach Buford and I gawk at Mr. Gershwin.

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