Page 56 of Nutmeg + Mistletoe
But I surprised him.
I studied the team. Broke down the gaps, the weaknesses, the places I knew I could strengthen. I put together a full assessment and sent it to him and Coach Jones before negotiations even got serious.
And, of course, I sealed the deal with a little extra charm. Told them my father was a longtime fan of Coach Jones. And that mynonnathinks Xavier is “really cute.”
That part was 100% true.
“I trust you got all of your fun out of your system that week in Vegas?” Xavier says, eyeing me with a half-smirk like he already knows too much.
Before my official move to Atlanta, Xavier let me borrow his personal jet and take a few of my buddies to Vegas. A full week in a penthouse. And one night I guess you could technically call a honeymoon—courtesy of Xavier Darcy.
Honestly? He’s one of the kindest people I’ve met in this sport. Ruthless when it matters, but fair. Generous.
“Yes, sir. Plus, I’m sure Atlanta has plenty more for me to get into,” I say lightly, forcing the words to sound casual.
Hoping I don’t sound like a man starved.
A man who hasn’t slept or eaten right since that night. Sinceher.Since the woman who flipped my life upside down and disappeared before I could even learn her real name.
Xavier laughs, but there’s not much humor behind it. More like a warning wrapped in a smile.
“Well, not too much fun, okay? One of the reasons you ended up being good for this team was because you came with no baggage.”
What about a—how do you Americans say it?—ball and chain?
“Right!” I nearly yell. “No baggage here, sir.”
I stretch out my hand, giving him the most polished version of my ‘model professional’ grin. “Well, I’ve got to get to the field to meet the team. Coach will have my ass if I’m late on my first day.
“We can’t have that.” He claps me on the back. “Let’s get drinks soon.”
I nod. “You bet,” I say, and I actually mean it. Because right now a forty-something-year-old man is about the closest thing I have to a friend here.
As I head toward the field to meet my new team, there’s this strange pull sitting low in my chest.
But it isn’t heavy.
It isn’t uncomfortable.
If anything...it feels familiar. Strangely familiar.
Maybe it’s the way the leaves are starting to shift on the trees, how the air smells like the start of something new but steady, like the seasons themselves are gearing up for another chance.
Even driving here earlier, walking these halls now—it all hums with this quiet rhythm I recognize but can’t quite place.
It feels peaceful.
Settled.
Almost like home.
Chapter seventeen
Cocoa & Concussions
Marlow
Three months into my new role and, not to brag—but actually, yes, to brag—I amkillingit.
