Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86515 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Opportunity. That’s one word for it, but another is exposure. Patrick Rowe wants eyes on his new dynasty.
I’m not happy about this distraction. I’ve built my career on shutting out noise. Media has always been part of the job, but I learned early the difference between answering questions and letting people inside your life. I vow to be diligently aware of where those cameras are and do my best to stay the fuck out of their way.
The meeting ends and players rise to funnel into the aisle, voices lifting, energy turning restless. Guys start talking about camp, about housing, about the city, about dinner plans.
It’s normal.
It’s the start of something.
Arch stands beside me as we join the flow toward the exit. He bumps my shoulder again. “Captain,” he says, the corner of his mouth tilting. “Look at you.”
“Don’t,” I toss back.
“Maybe I’ll call you Your Highness,” he quips, and I roll my eyes.
We hit a bottleneck at the door as the hallway outside fills with bodies. The jam forces us to slow, and that’s when Miller ends up directly in front of us again.
He turns slightly, and his eyes meet mine. For a second, there’s a hardness there. Not exactly anger—more like he’s bracing for the punch he expects me to throw.
I give him a nod. “What’s up, man?”
He nods, a slight chin lift, then pushes into the hallway before disappearing into the crowd. I’m guessing he doesn’t like the fact he’s on the same team with his wife’s ex, but that’s not my problem.
Arch whistles under his breath. “Yeah. That’s going to be fun.”
I don’t answer immediately because my mind isn’t on Miller. Not really. He’ll either get over it or he won’t.
Instead, I wonder about how this documentary is going to pan out and what will be expected of us. I know we have an entire media department, and I expect we’ll get a briefing of some sort.
To say I’m not happy about this is an understatement.
A camera in this place will be a spotlight, and spotlights have a way of finding the exact thing you’re trying to keep hidden. That’s the biggest lesson I learned from my failed relationship with Cherry.
I step into the hallway with Arch, and the noise of the building swallows us. Training camp hasn’t even officially started yet and Portland already feels like it’s getting too bright.
CHAPTER 2
Juno
By the time I hit Beaverton traffic, I’ve already done three things I swore I wouldn’t do today. I answered an email before coffee, moved a meeting without asking Marta first, and checked my text messages while sitting at a stoplight.
I know better and still I did it all anyway.
The problem with being a go-getter is that the “go” part doesn’t come with an off switch.
My brain has a dozen browser tabs open at all times, and I’m not effective unless I’m juggling multiple balls simultaneously.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text against the cup holder, but I don’t even look. The car is in motion and while I’ll pick it up when fully stopped, I draw the line when my foot is on the gas.
Besides, I already know it’s Evan, and I know what it’s going to say. I’m excited. Tell me you’re excited. I’m definitely excited.
He’s a huge hockey nut and he’s been telling me nonstop that this is his dream job. He’s not only my cameraman but my right-hand man and about the closest thing to a best friend I have. We’ve been together as a team since our graduation from college and I wouldn’t want anyone but him by my side for this project.
The sky is gray as I pull into the Portland Wildfire Performance Center, but from what I understand about the Pacific Northwest… that’s par for the course. I eyeball it suspiciously, noting the bulbous clouds waiting to dump rain, and realize I forgot an umbrella.
I park in the guest lot and for half a second, I stand outside my car to stare up at the massive building, the air biting at my cheeks.
It screams power and money, and maybe that will end up being the theme of this documentary I’m going to create. But you never know until you’re in the thick of it.
Inside, the lobby is empty, but that’s not surprising since there are hardly any cars in the lot. I understand the players had a team meeting this morning, but I’m not ready to start filming yet, as I need a better lay of the land. Today is going to be about me checking things out.
A security desk stands dead ahead, staffed by a man with shoulders like he played football and a face like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Juno Paxton,” I say before he can ask. “Meeting with Patrick Rowe.”
He checks a list. “You’re early.”
I smile, all teeth. “Thank you.”