Page 81 of Her Game Plan

Callan

“How are you feeling about the game?” Charlotte asks, shoveling a forkful of salad into her mouth from next to me at the kitchen island. Now that it’s too cold to eat outside, this is where we spend almost every evening. A late dinner after a long day of work, and then usually into our room for some extracurricular activities before we finally turn in for an early night. Especially this week. No one goes into the playoffs tired if they can help it, and especially not players who are starting to reach their expiration date.

“Chicago’s tough. We can beat them, but I can’t have as many sacks as I’ve been averaging this season.” I don’t continue, keeping my deepest concern from her—that it’s me. That I’ve slowed down too much to play at the same level I once did. The level I need to play at to win championships. “The cold isn’t going to help, either. We’re a solid cold-weather team, but they’re predicting snow. Which means we’ll have to run more, and their defense is much stronger at stopping the run than ours is.”

Charlotte nods. “I’ve got my snow boots laid out for the trip. I’m glad the team made the call to bump the flight up. The last thing we need is to get stranded due to a snowstorm.”

Winter weather on both ends is an issue, and the forecast is calling for a snow front to move through the central United States this weekend.

“I also bought myself a heated vest, electric boot warmers, and electric glove warmers. I know everyone is going to tell me I shouldn’t be out on the field, but like hell will I be watching this one from the owners’ box. First of all, Chris is the biggest baby ever when it comes to the cold, and there’s no way I’m going to listen to him whine for hours…” Charlotte continues, falling into another rambling story like she has been all night. She seems anxious. Nervous, maybe, but I’m not sure why.

I listen as she talks, enjoying the way I have access to each idea at the same time she does. The light filtering through the kitchen windows catches her hair, creating shimmering sections as it catches in her loose curls.

She’s beautiful. And kind.

If forgiving me for missing the important things wasn’t enough, she didn’t even hold it against me. Just told me she understood and moved on.

I lean over and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’m glad you’ll be on the field with me. I like having you down there.”

“You don’t think I’m a distraction?”

As I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, I whisper, “Only in the sense that I want to play even better to impress you.”

She giggles. “You’re ridiculous.” Her face goes serious after a moment, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Hey, so there’s something I wanted to talk to you about—”

My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and I look at the screen before telling Charlotte, “This is my agent. I’ll go take it in the office, but then I’ll meet you in bed, okay?”

“Sounds good.”

I make my way quickly to the privacy of my office.

“Callan, how are you?” Jon asks when I answer.

I stand in front of the window, staring out at the yard I always thought would be too big for me. The one I’m now envisioning filling with little kids who have hazel eyes and chatter nonstop. “Doing well. Ready to take on the Guardians this weekend.”

We make small talk for a minute before Jon’s tone changes, clearly getting down to business.

“Look, Callan, I normally wouldn’t make this call three days before a playoff game, but I’m worried that if I got wind of it, the media might have, too.”

At that ominous statement, I stop imagining my future children playing and give my full attention to my agent. “Okay. What’s up?”

He lets out a long exhale. “There are rumors you’re going to be traded.”

Everything around me goes silent as my entire focus seems to go to the sinking feeling in my gut.

“…likely Minnesota. Maybe New York. They’re the only two who need you and can afford you right now.” Jon’s still talking, but the only thing that’s registering is the deepest betrayal. I can’t move Nan to New York, let alone fucking Minnesota. Colorado is almost too cold for her.

“Has anyone said anything about timelines?” I interrupt Jon.

“No. Though I’m sure they’re waiting to see how far you make it into the playoffs.” He pauses as if waiting to see if I’m going to erupt before continuing, “And to be clear, this isn’t anything official, but there’s a guy I work with who always seems to be able to separate the early signs from the random gossip. He’s the one who passed this along to me.”

“Okay.” I try to convince myself to be rational about this. Trades are a part of being a professional athlete. I know that.

But I truly thought I’d finish out my career with the Stallions.

“Are you going to be all right?” Jon asks after a moment’s silence. “I know we thought your connection with Charlotte would decrease your risk of a trade, but this isn’t on you, Callan. Your play this year has been excellent.”

He continues stroking my ego, like the good agent he is. Talking about my stats for the year, mentioning the good and forgetting the bad. Making promises about how much money we’ll get when my contract is extended with a team like Minnesota.