Kennedy
Pure determination radiates off me as I park my car in the employee lot. I’m running a little late. The pep talk I gave myself in the mirror today took a little longer than I had planned.
But I’m here and ready.
I haven’t been to the field since Friday, and granted it’s only Monday, but I couldn’t tell you the last time I spent two days away from the team during the regular season, other than my interview trip to San Francisco.
I called in sick yesterday because I refuse to spend another day working for Dr. Fredrick, and Reese wasn’t back to work until today for me to tell her. I sent her a frantic email on Saturday night, asking for a meeting, and Monday afternoon was her soonest available time to chat.
Locking my car, and with that goddamn manila envelope tucked under my arm, I head straight for the clubhouse.
Isaiah is a lot of things, but if he could stop trying to be a martyr, that’d be great. Two days with these fucking papers sitting on my kitchen counter. Two days of thinking things over.
I didn’t need the time, but the one thing this solo weekend did accomplish was allowing me the space to decide that I will never work for Dr. Fredrick ever again. It took being away from the players I enjoy working with. It took being away from the one person I’ll miss working with the most, sharing hotel rooms on the road and getting to be a part of his game days here in Chicago.
The halls are busy with players and staff getting ready for the game tonight, and for the first time in three years, when the first pitch is thrown, I won’t be on this side of things. I’ll be out there in the bleacher section, watching just like any other fan.
Without hesitation, I swing open the main entrance door to the clubhouse. I’m not about to start knocking now when I’ve never knocked before. Besides, anything I might come across, I’ve already seen, and I’ve got too much adrenaline coursing through me to slow down.
“Kenny.” My name comes out like a breath of relief, and it doesn’t take me long to find him. Standing in front of his locker stall, Isaiah is so clearly worn out, the lack of sleep evident in the bags under his eyes and the slump of his shoulders.
My sweet, fun, thoughtful, idiot of a husband got divorce papers drafted. I get that he wanted me to have a choice, but I’d already made my decision. Those papers sat on my kitchen counter all weekend, so it’s his turn to deal with them.
Crossing the clubhouse, I feel the whole team watching us, but mostly I catalog Isaiah’s stare, watching as the realization hits him that I’m not in my team gear.
Because I’m not working the game tonight and won’t be working one ever again. At least, not here.
“I signed them,” I say, holding the envelope out to him.
His lips part, words evading him as he stares at me in disbelief. I push them in his direction. “Just take a look at them.”
He slightly shakes his head as if he were trying to shake the image away of me holding our divorce papers out to him, until finally, he takes them from me. But still he doesn’t open the envelope.
Instead, his attention bounces to my left hand to see if I’m still wearing his mother’s ring.
“Just look them over, okay?” I check the clock on the wall. “I have to go.
I have a meeting with Reese. We can talk after.”
There’s a combination of defeat and pride in his tone when he asks, “You’re meeting with Reese?”
“Yes. Right now. I have to go.”
Turning, I jog towards the door, still feeling all eyes on my back, watching me go.
“Ken,” he calls out.
With a hand on the door, I look back over my shoulder at him.
He offers a smile. Not the fake Isaiah smile that he forces out even when he’s upset, but a real, genuine one. “Proud of you.”
That seems to be our favorite thing to tell each other lately. I hitch a grin right back at him. “Me too.”
I don’t let my eyes deviate to the training room when I pass it, don’t let myself check to see whether Dr. Fredrick is sitting back behind his desk the way he always is. Head up, shoulders back, I walk straight to Reese’s office.
Well, Arthur Remington’s office, but he’s rarely around these days, and next year, it’ll officially be hers.
“Hi, Denise,” I say to Arthur’s secretary, the same one who called me the day after I got back from Vegas. “I have a meeting with Reese.”
Her smile is bright. “Perfect timing. They’re waiting for you.” “Oh, is Mr. Remington here today too?”
“Why don’t you head on in. Good luck, Mrs. Rhodes.”
My body doesn’t recoil the way it did the last time she called me that.
No, this time, I have to bite back my grin from hearing the name.
But that smile drops when I open the office door and find both Reese and Monty waiting for me.
“Come on in,” Reese says from behind the desk.
Monty is sitting in one of the chairs opposite her, the same one Isaiah sat in when we found out that our drunken decisions were going to be made public. I take the chair next to him.
“Are you here because of Isaiah? I promise I didn’t ask him to consider leaving. I’d never suggest that.”
Monty shakes his head. “This has nothing to do with Isaiah.”
This is strange, partly because Monty is in this meeting when it was supposed to only be with Reese, but mostly because the two of them are in the same room and they’re not arguing.
“You called this meeting,” Reese says, hands folded together on the desk. “What can I help you with?”
I try to remember everything I rehearsed in the mirror today, the same things I told myself all weekend.
Crossing one leg over the other, I sit up straight and begin.
“I know you and I haven’t worked together long,” I say to her. “But I have loved working for this organization the past three and a half seasons. The team, you, Monty”—I gesture to him—“have been highlights when I look back at my time here, but as of today, I’m no longer going to be working for the Warriors.”
Reese quickly looks at Monty, but neither of their expressions change.
Clearly, Isaiah filled them in already.
“Any specific reason why you’re quitting?” Reese asks. This. This is the part.
“Yes.” I clear my throat, swallowing the nerves. “When I came here three years ago, it was under the assumption that I was going to be the team’s second doctor. Because that was the position I was qualified to do.”
Once again, neither of their expressions change, but this time it’s more surprising. I really didn’t think Isaiah would ever tell anyone. He held that secret for so long.
“I’m an M.D., specializing in sports medicine,” I continue. “And Dr. Fredrick hired me to be his second-in-command, but when we met in person for the first time, and he realized I was a woman, the position that was offered instead was athletic trainer.”
That finally gets me a small reaction when Reese’s jaw flexes, as if she were grinding her molars together.
“And don’t get me wrong, I have loved my job, but I can no longer allow myself to be treated the way he’s treated me all these years. I think there was a part of me that stayed in hopes that he would see my capabilities, but that was a silly pipe dream. He didn’t care.
“When I went to San Francisco a couple of weeks ago, it was to interview to be their new Head of Health and Wellness. They offered me the job.”
“Did you end up accepting it?” Monty asks.
“No.” I turn to face him, hoping to assure him. “You don’t have to worry. Isaiah isn’t leaving Chicago because I’m not leaving Chicago. I’m going to interview with some local universities while I wait to see if a team doctor position opens with one of the other pro teams in the city. But my life is here. I can’t leave it behind.”
Monty’s smile is knowing. “Kennedy, this isn’t about Isaiah. This is about you. I completely understood him offering to leave for you.”
That feels good to hear. I’ve been so afraid that Kai and Monty were going to be upset with me even though I wasn’t the one to suggest Isaiah explore free agency next year.
“Thank you for saying that.” I turn back to Reese. “And thank you. Your family has been great to work for and I’m looking forward to watching you
take over next season. I think you’re going to do great.”
Hands on the armrests, I go to push up from my seat to leave when she slides a folder across the desk to me.
“What is that?” “Your employee file.”
“Okay.” It comes out as a question. “Am I taking it with me?”
“No, it’s for in-house use only. But it does list your work history, including your education and previous experience. I got that from human resources on Friday night.”
Lips parting, I swing my attention to Monty then back to her again. “You already knew? Did Isaiah tell you?”
“No.”
“Emmett suspected something was going on. He called me on Friday after Isaiah told him you were leaving, and I did some digging. I wish you would’ve said something sooner. My grandfather, God bless him, is a sweet man but can be a bit checked out and unaware at times. I’ve noticed the way Fredrick has been treating you this season. It’s been on my radar. I was watching, and I would’ve believed you if you told me the truth.”
Holy shit.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
“I should’ve seen it sooner,” Monty cuts in. “But my attention has been on running an entire team. It’s difficult to see the ins and outs of everything that goes on in the clubhouse.”
“No,” I disagree. “No, I kept it quiet on purpose, and I never let Isaiah say anything either.”
“Well, plenty of the other players spoke up on your behalf,” Reese says. “Word got out that we were looking into things, and by last night, every single player had filed a formal complaint on your behalf, giving firsthand accounts of the things they heard Fredrick say to you. He was terminated this morning.”
My entire body rears back as if the words slapped me in the face. In a way, they did.
What?
Reese chuckles at the expression on my face. Wide unblinking eyes, mouth dropped open, internally repeating her words again to make sure I heard them correctly.
“Really?” My voice croaks. “Really.”
“Well . . .” I stutter, trying to collect my thoughts, trying to find some words, but I can’t. What the hell is happening?
Reese speaks before I can. “Looks like I’m in search of a new Head of Health and Wellness.”
This cannot be happening. I came in here with the intention I’d never walk these halls again and now . . . Oh my God.
“I can’t.” I shake my head. “Will. That job should go to Will. He’s the second doctor and was here first. He’s next in line.”
“He wasn’t here first. You were. Which is exactly what he said when I spoke to him this morning. He agrees with me that the position should be yours.”
“He said that?”
“And he wasn’t surprised at all when I told him about your qualifications.”
“None of us are,” Monty says. “Kennedy, you’re impressively good at your job.”
My eyes burn. “Thank you.”
Reese sits forward. “So, what do you say? As the first female team owner, it’d be my honor to have the first female team doctor.”
I can’t believe this is happening, but before I answer, my attention swings back to Monty and as if he can read my mind, he dispels my concern once again.
“This isn’t because of Isaiah,” he repeats. “This isn’t to keep him here, it’s to keep you here. I’ll happily trade him if you need proof.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Please don’t do that.” His grin goes soft.
“So . . .” Reese urges. “What do you say?” “On one condition.”
“Oh, she’s making demands now.” Her tone is teasing. “Go for it.”
“I want an office manager. I don’t want to be doing paperwork all the time. I want to be hands-on in the training room and on the field.”
“Done.”
Well, shit. That was easy.
“One more thing.”
Reese nods for me to continue, trying to hold back her laughter.
“My previous position will need to be filled. I want to be the one to hire my replacement.”
“Well, that is part of your new job description.” Holy hell, it is.
“So, is that a yes?” she presses.
My smile blooms so wide, my cheeks pinch. “That’s a yes.”
“Perfect. I’ll get your new contract drawn up. And Kennedy, I know my grandfather set some archaic guidelines, saying that if you and Isaiah ended your relationship, one of you would have to go.” She shakes her head. “I don’t care about that. If you don’t want to be with him, you’re not going to lose your job over it.”
“I appreciate that, Reese, but that’s not going to be a problem.”
Her lips purse in a knowing grin, like maybe she’s known certain details for a while now. “Okay. Good to know, but um . . .” Her eyes trail down my clothes. “Any chance you could work the game tonight? I’m short a doctor.”
“I think I can do that.”
Monty stands from his chair. “I got to get ready for tonight, but Kennedy, we’re all glad you’re staying.”
“Thank you, Monty . . . for everything.”
“Don’t thank me. That was all you. But I need a win tonight, so you should probably go tell your husband that you’re sticking around.”
