Page 6 of Cross Check Daddies
“You’re not listeningto me, Cam,” Tanner says through a mouthful of cereal, spoon paused midair as he stares at me from across the breakfast bar.
I blink and refocus, realizing I’ve been staring at the same coffee mug for who knows how long. “Sorry,” I say, rubbing my jaw. “Just distracted.”
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I lie, and when he keeps watching me, I redirect, “What were you saying?”
He shrugs and leans against the counter like he didn’t just sleep past his alarm. “Thinking about trying out that cryo thing. Good for muscle recovery, right?”
“Sure,” I say. “But don’t skip practice. And be here when the housekeeper comes. She’s doing the whole place today. Don’t leave her hanging.”
“Yes, bro,” he groans, rolling his eyes like I’ve asked him to do something impossible.
He tips back his bowl to drink the milk and then says, “What’s the meeting with the owners about?”
“You know I can’t tell you even if I knew. Which I don’t.”
He lifts one shoulder. “If someone’s getting traded, you better tell me. I don’t want to find out in the locker room.”
That hits hard. I know exactly why he’s worried. The last few seasons have been a media circus, the kind of shitshow PR teams have nightmares about. First, it was Daisy, the journalist—Ace’s niece, of all people—and ended up in bed with Mason, Kieran, and Beau. Not just in bed. Publicly, unapologetically, scandalously theirs.
Then came Madeline, our game-day mascot. She started dating Leo, our assistant coach, and somewhere along the way, added Asher and Ford into the mix. The fallout? Suspension threats, owner meetings, team boycotts. It all ended with a wedding and a public relations pivot, but it didn’t erase the mess.
So, yeah. The suits upstairs are antsy. Whispers of trades have been swirling like vultures. Tanner has a right to be on edge.
“I’ll let you know if anything’s actually happening,” I say, grabbing my keys and my phone.
He nods, eyes still on me like he knows I’m holding something back.
I shower quickly, dress in a crisp polo and dark jeans, and head out.
The drive to the arena is smooth, Miami blurring by in a flash of palm trees and heat shimmer, but my head is nowhere near the road. It’s still in Sunvale, two hundred miles and a decade back, standing outside Brooke’s old house with a cheap six-pack and stupid hope. She’d opened the door in cutoff shorts and that sarcastic mouth of hers, and I’d been gone from that first look.
And now?
I scrub a hand over my face and curse under my breath.
Inside the arena, the team offices are already buzzing. Ace stands near the conference room door with two coffees in hand. He hands me one.
“Any clue what this is about?” I ask, taking a sip.
He shakes his head. “Could be a new scandal. Could be free donuts.”
“Praying for donuts.”
The double doors open, and in come the owners: Mr. Harrow, who always looks like he just walked off the golf course; Mrs. Ellison, in her usual power suit and blood-red nails; and Mr. Kapoor, who runs the financials and rarely smiles.
They move with purpose, followed closely by Lena Hart, our team coordinator; Jeremy Henry, the team lawyer; and the rest of the marketing and PR teams. A new guy lingers near the back—mid-thirties, expensive watch, perfectly tousled hair—and I peg him instantly as the new head of PR. He has that sheen.
The room settles fast.
Mrs. Ellison starts. “We’re not here to talk trades or penalties today. This is about optics. Image. How we get this franchise to stop trending for all the wrong reasons.”
Ace crosses his arms beside me. He’s not thrilled already.
“Let’s be honest,” Harrow cuts in. “We have seats to fill and headlines to bury. The scandals, the viral content, the goddamn TikToks—it’s been too much. We need a distraction. A good one.”
The new PR guy steps forward. “Our team has been exploring new avenues to rebrand and engage the younger demographic. Currently, most marketing and engagement is digital-first. Twitch, Roblox, streaming platforms. We’re losing out on that audience.”
