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I expected this development. The article yesterday was in poorer taste than the first one that he called me about. There was no way I wasn’t getting a talking-to today.
“I’ll head up there now,” I say, heading toward the bank of elevators.
“See ya on the field.”
Maybe. I nod at him and keep walking.
My hackles are raised as I step out of the elevator onto the top floor. Kepner’s assistant waves me through, apparently waiting for me to arrive. That’s never good.
I rap my knuckles twice against the open wooden door, and Kepner looks up and over the top of his glasses, jerking them off his face when he sees me.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask.
“Come in and grab a seat.”
He sits back in his chair, crossing an ankle over the other knee, and watches me get settled across from him. I set my bag at my feet and don’t bother getting too comfortable. Something tells me that I won’t be here long.
“You probably know why you’re here,” he says.
“I have a pretty good idea.”
He sighs, sitting up. “I thought you and I were on the same page.”
He and I? I blink. Does he think I’m to blame for this?
“Well, Mr. Kepner, with all due respect, I’m pretty sure we are on the same page. We might even still be on the same page. The one who is not is Exposé.”
“If they hadn’t broken the story, someone else would’ve.”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. “That story? They must have paid that asshole a nice chunk of change to go on record, and the shit he said wasn’t true. Not that it’s really any of your business.”
“If it affects my business, then it is my business.”
“Then I would reconsider having them in your media room. Because the shit with Branch, the shit with Chauncey, and this shit with me—they’re the common denominator.”
“I don’t need you explaining how business works, Miller.”
I sit back, taking him in. I’ve worked with Kepner for a number of years now, and I can’t decide if he’s always been this way or if his people skills have slipped this much.
Who does he think he is, talking to me like this?
“Let’s cut to the chase,” he says, resting his forearms on the desk. It’s easy to see how he’s a formidable general manager. His stare is unnerving. “Yesterday afternoon, I was presented with more headlines swirling around you. And I was informed that my locker room was talking about this and not the shit we pay them good fucking money to do.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not any happier about it than you.”
“No, Miller, it doesn’t.”
I shrug. There’s not a lot I can do about this. I don’t know what he wants from me.
My conversation with Branch has played out in the back of my head over the past twenty-four hours.
“You know, the one thing that I keep thinking about is how fast life changes. He said I was lucky to get to decide when football was over for me, because lots of guys don’t. But that I need to take that philosophy and apply it to the rest of my life—make choices while they’re still mine to make.”
I can’t shake those words, can’t stop thinking or feeling the weight of them.
Life does change fast. And my life has revolved around football since I was eight years old. I’ve said more times than I can count that I’ll get to this or that when football is over. That I’ll play one more season. That I’ll cash one more check.
But what if all of this is just … stuff?
