Page 8 of Mad Rivals
Fuck.
I can’t do liquor like I could when I was in my twenties. Mornings like this are a reminder that I’m halfway through my thirties. I’m closer to forty than thirty. I’m nearing my midlife crisis. Is this where I get a little red sports car and find a woman half my age to mess around with?
Well…maybe nothalfmy age. Maybe half plus a few years.
I push the thought out as I sit up. I’m a little queasy, and my head feels like someone sliced it open with a machete. Ibuprofen doesn’t touch it. A steamy shower does little to help any of it. A greasy breakfast used to be the hangover cure. At thirty-five, well, it’s not anymore.
I find some Pedialyte at the airport and chug it, and that seems to help the pounding in my head a little.
I sleep the entire way home, and when the plane touches down in Chicago, it feels like I’m home again. San Diego was nice. It was good. It was great, actually, meeting my teammates and the coaches, getting to know the city, looking at various places to live. Making friends. Taking numbers. Eating at DJ’s favorite places. The dude loves to eat.
But it doesn’t feel like home. Yet.
Maybe because it’snothome yet. It will be once I get out there and make this thing more permanent, but I don’t really need to worry about that until July. I’ll have weeks here and there where I need to be out there, and it would probably serve me well to move sooner than later, but more than likely I’ll spend the majority of this offseason keeping my dad off my back right here in the Windy City.
Ironically, that means spending more time with him…something I’m not really looking forward to.
But he beckoned me home with some big business deal he wants me to be there for, so I booked a flight to keep him happy.
Part of me would rather stay in San Diego. I’d rather go out another night with Clay. Maybe not feel so rushed and take some time to enjoy the ladies.
But that wasn’t what life had in store for me.
I stand near my windows overlooking the lake. I stand here a lot—right here in this very spot. I should put a chair here, but this feels like the place where I do my best thinking. What’ll I do when I don’t have this view anymore?
I saw a place in San Diego that looked out over the beach. Maybe that’ll replace this view.
I suppose I don’thaveto sell this place. Between the trust I got when I was twenty-five and my paychecks, I probably have enough to keep this place and rent a place in San Diego for the next year. Who knows what’ll come next? It doesn’t make much sense to put down roots out there if I’m only going to come back here to run the business.
My phone starts to ring, and I see it’s my dad calling.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Madden, it’s your father. I’ll need you at the office in the morning by nine. Our meeting is at nine thirty, and I’ll expect you in a suit and ready to ask questions. I’ll be shadowing you to see how you handle things.”
Great. Just fucking great. So this is a test from my dad when I’m still hungover as fuck, and I’m not even sure I want thisbusiness.
I draw in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then I head over to my computer to get some research done ahead of tomorrow’s big meeting.
* * *
Sure enough, when my alarm blasts the next morning…I’m still hungover.
Fuck. It’s been a long time since I drank enough for a two-day hangover, but here we are.
I take my morning run along the Lakefront Trail, and when I get home, I crack some eggs into a pan and toss a few slices of bacon into the skillet. I make some toast and slather it with jelly, and I dig in a few minutes later. The breakfast seems to awaken my senses, but I could use some strong coffee to really get me through the day. While I’m eating, I look up what drink at Starbucks has the most caffeine in it, and after my shower, I suit up as Dad requested. I spend little time on my hair, and I’m ready with plenty of time to spare.
I decide to walk to the office. It’s only a little over a mile, and while these shoes aren’t the best for walking, I need the exercise and fresh air. It’s a rare gorgeous day for this city where it’s not too cold, not too humid, and not raining, so I’ll take it.
I place a mobile order for whatever it was that was recommended on my walk over, and I stop short when I see the line at Starbucks snaking out of the building.
Honestly, I will never understand why people don’t just get the app. The line isalwayslike this, and I assume it’ll be another ten minutes before my drink is ready. I glance at my watch.
I still have plenty of time to wait and get to the office by nine.
It’s a five-minute walk from here, and if it’s not ready, then I’ll just abandon it and fight this hangover off so I can impress my father with the research I did ahead of this meeting.
Order in process, the app informs me.
