"What does this have to do with the documentary, Beatrice?" Logan asked.
She watched my face carefully before answering. "One part of my job is to facilitate positive brand awareness for Washington. A documentary like this is priceless for what it allows our fans to see. Normally, they wouldn't get access to meetings, film rooms, trips … the kinds of things that would never make it on social media. But we can give them that, and this way, we're controlling the narrative. Yes, it's documenting the reality of an established player coming into a new organization, but Noah, this allows you to show people the kind of man you are. Behind the helmet and pads and stats."
My hands, loosely clasped between my thighs, tightened briefly as I dropped my head and processed what she was saying.
"The truth is, I don't think what happened in Miami will be an issue. Not now and not in the future."
I lifted my head. "Aren't you supposed to be convincing me that that's why I should be doing this?"
"Probably," she said with a wry smile. "But I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm simply stating the truth. You're a compelling person, Noah. Your reputation as a machine didn't come from thin air. But the players who matter to people are the ones who inspire devotion because they're heroes, not just record breakers. Look at JJ Watt or Peyton Manning or Drew Brees. Yes, they've broken all sorts of records, but they are beloved for so much more than that. That is why we’ll remember their names and treasure their legacies long after they stop playing."
Logan shifted in his seat. "You're asking him to show the other side."
"Yes," she said. "Show your fans that even for The Machine, it's hard to start over. It's challenging. But you're strong enough to overcome that challenge and find your place in an organization known for its positive culture."
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I could already imagine telling my father that I was doing this, could hear the disbelief in his gruff voice.
But my father wasn't here. I looked over at Logan. "What do you think?"
He held up his hands. "This is not my decision. Honestly, I'm not even sure why she needed me here."
Beatrice answered that easily. "Because you're his coach, and this will require your support when we've got cameras on every angle of his life."
Logan grimaced. "That sounds awful."
"Helpful, thank you," I muttered.
He gave me an apologetic look.
The skin on my knuckles turned white when I tightened my fingers again. She wasn't wrong, but I didn't fully believe she was right either. I didn't need to be adored for all of eternity, but I did want to be the best at what I did. I shouldn't need something like this to prove it. Numbers proved it. Rankings proved it. Wins and losses and trophies. The respect that I earned on the field was subjective, based on who was judging me, but all the things outside of it that could be charted and reported and put into history books were cold hard facts.
But if no one remembered me, no one cared about the man behind the helmet, would the numbers matter?
Not being able to answer that question for the first time in my career made me feel like someone just tossed me into a pool of oil, slimy and thick. I couldn't push through it no matter how hard I tried.
"I'll do it," I heard myself saying.
Beatrice smiled. "Excellent." Then she looked past us to the doorway. "Perfect timing, Molly. Have a seat."
It would've been comical—the way that Logan and I froze in tandem at the entrance of his sister. But it wasn't funny … it wasn't funny at all.
"I need you to stay in coach mode," Beatrice said to the man next to me. The one who was sitting as rigidly as I was. "Can you do that? Because your sister assures me that your role within this organization has nothing to do with hers."
My eyes narrowed at the way she said it, disbelief rife and heavy in the words.
Molly took a seat next to me, and I caught the slightest hint of peaches as she did.
Fine. I didn't need to breathe by her. No problem.
"Molly got this job on her own merit," Logan said tightly. "And I'm always in coach mode."
Glancing quickly at Molly, she was settling in her chair, focused entirely on her boss. For a split second, her chin tilted in my direction like she knew I was looking but she refused to acknowledge me.
"Good," Beatrice said. "Molly accepted the role of special projects liaison for Washington this morning."
Did the earth just open up underneath me? I actually looked at the ground to make sure it hadn't and that my chair was still on solid footing.
Logan exhaled slowly, audibly. "She told me a little bit about the opportunity you’ve given her."
"I'm so honored that Beatrice is giving me this chance," Molly said with a loaded glance at her brother. "I'm excited to work with Amazon." She paused, and her eyes flicked to me for the first time since she sat down. "And Noah."
My foot started tapping rapidly. I turned to Beatrice. "What does a special projects liaison do?"
"She'll be your point person. She'll be the one there every day for filming, get Amazon whatever they might need, finalize filming schedule with you, make sure the brand is protected through the process, and make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible. For Amazon, but most importantly, for you, Noah."
Every word was like a tiny slash over my skin. By itself, it didn't open much of a wound, but combine them all and I'd bleed out if I thought too hard about what it meant for me.
I'd be with Molly constantly.
My face was perfectly calm, but inside, a storm raged at the idea, wild and unpredictable. Because all I knew of her was that she was wild and unpredictable, something I couldn't or wouldn't even want to control. And she would be the one making sure everything ran smoothly.
Beside me, Molly kicked at my foot, a silent warning that her boss couldn't see over the expanse of her desk.
Logan dropped his elbows to his knees and buried his head in his hands.
I pinched the tip of my tongue between my teeth so tightly that I tasted the bright coppery tang of blood.
"Are we excited to get started?" Beatrice asked, as happy as I'd seen her.
"Yup," Molly said.
Logan let out a muffled curse, then lifted his head.
Beatrice stood. "Excellent. Gentlemen, I have another meeting to get to. Molly, please figure out the next couple of days with Noah before he heads to practice." With a demure smile toward the woman sitting to my left, she nodded regally. "Dealing with Amazon is officially your responsibility."
She left, and the thick vacuum of silence at her exit practically pulsed with all the things unsaid.
"This is the worst idea I've ever heard," Logan ground out. "Molly, you cannot be serious right now."
"You don't get a say in it, Logan. Coach mode, remember?" She folded her arms over her chest.
He stood, spreading his arms out. "When have I ever been able to shut off being your brother? Never. And I won't apologize for that."
I leaned forward with a groan. This was my fucking nightmare.
Molly stood and faced him, jaw set mulishly and eyes ablaze. "Logan, outside, now." Then she pointed a finger at me. "You, stay here. I'll be back in thirty seconds, and if you've moved from that chair, don't think I won't hunt you down at practice. Those guys don't scare me."
Logan's eyes were as wide as mine before she grabbed him by the elbow, and even though she was almost a foot shorter and a decade plus younger, she dragged my coach from the office.
Chapter Seven
Molly
Someone from the front office passed us, grinning unapologetically at the way I manhandled my big brother into the hallway.
Logan slicked his tongue over his teeth, ripping the hat from his head with an agitated tug of his hands. "This is a terrible idea," he said again. Like I hadn't heard him the first time he complained about it.