The Right Move (Windy City Series Book 2)
The Right Move: Chapter 43

“You let me know when you’re ready,” David, my doorman says.

“Harold should be pulling up any minute.”

Standing in the lobby, the two of us eye the horde of fans outside the building. After last night’s win, we’re only one away from securing a playoff spot for the first time in six years. It’s not the equivalent of winning a championship by any means, but it’s still big for this city.

“I haven’t seen Miss Ivers in almost a week, and I heard there were movers taking her stuff away the other day.”

David is a discreet man, but we’ve known each other far too long for him to pretend to be discreet with me.

“I bought a house about thirty minutes away from the city. Indy is staying there.”

His white brows shoot up. “You’re moving?”

“I don’t know about that. I bought it for her, and I won’t live there without her.”

He nods, lips pressed together as if he’s thinking better of speaking, but decides to anyway.

“Mr. Shay, in my almost four decades of doing this job, you have been my favorite tenant. You’re kind, generous, and more down-to-earth than any twenty-seven-year-old who makes the kind of money you make should be. But son, in the almost five years you’ve lived here, the only time you’ve been able to step outside is to rush into a car or rush into the building across the street to see your sister. You’re not living here. You’re being watched.” He motions towards the crowd of fans waiting for me out front. “I will miss the heck out of you, but I hope you and Miss Ivers get out of here and replace a place where you can have a moment of peace.”

That’s exactly what that house means to me. I sensed it the second I walked in. It had the potential to be a home, and I could picture Indy in every room. I could see her in the garden or the kitchen. I could see her lounging in the living room or in our bedroom.

It’s the perfect place to hide, and I hope she decides to hide with me.

I pat him on the shoulder. “Dave.” Pausing, the two of us exhale a small laugh at my accidental use of Indy’s nickname for him. “David, if I do move, you and the family will have to come over to visit, yeah?”

“We’d love to.”

Harold parks right in front of my building and David opens the lobby door for me.

Keeping my head down, I sign a handful of autographs all while quickly continuing to the car. As soon as I’m safely inside, Harold takes off towards the practice facility where I’ll be rushed into yet another press conference before I’m even allowed to step foot on the court.

Resting my head back, I watch the city zoom by.

I haven’t slept much this week thanks to an overwhelming combination of missing Indy and regretting how I handled that morning a few days ago. I’m proud of her though. If I were an outsider looking in and saw the way I reacted to thinking she was pregnant, I’d want her to leave me too. She deserves to have everything she wants out of life, and a year ago, I’m not sure she would’ve been strong enough to walk away the way she did.

The last thing I want is for her to leave me, but I do love seeing her brave enough to stand up and demand what she wants.

But I am what she wants. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I am.

Now, if she could fucking call me and ask me to move in to the house with her, that’d be great.

She’s lived there for three days now and, yes, I’ve bombarded my sister with texts and calls. She doesn’t tell me much other than that my girlfriend is fine, so I try to leave it at that.

In our press conference, Ethan sits to one side of me and my coach to the other. It’s a nice reprieve to not be the only person behind the mic, but it doesn’t much matter, most every question is still being directed at me.

“Shay.” A reporter in the first row stands and speaks into the microphone. “How are you holding up under the pressure?”

“I don’t feel the pressure.”

Lie. Ethan watching me out of the corner of his eyes confirms that he knows I’m lying too.

“First potential playoff berth in six years if you can pull off the win tonight. You don’t feel any pressure?”

As always, I put on the mask. Calm. Cool. Collected.

“Nope.”

Another reporter stands. “What do you think it will say about your future in this game if you don’t make the playoffs this year? You’ve been in the league for five years now, and you’ve yet to lead your team into the postseason.

“I haven’t thought about it, seeing as I fully intend on us making the playoffs.”

The questions continue, and I couldn’t tell you my response to half of them.

“Since college, you’ve been referred to as the next Michael Jordan. At what point will fans stop making that comparison?”

“Do you think you’re adequately producing to justify the salary you’re bringing in?”

“Do you want a trade? There are stronger teams out there who would snatch you up in heartbeat if you became available. Do you think it may be best for Chicago to start fresh with younger talent?”

“Speaking of trades, do you think this is your last night in a Devils jersey if you can’t pull off the win?”

“No,” Ethan says into the microphone even though the question was directed at me. “He’s signed here for three more seasons. He’s not going anywhere. Anyone got a question for me? I’m here too, you know.”

A small chuckle settles among the crowd, taking some of the weight off my chest, but it doesn’t last long.

“Shay, do you feel the burden to be on at all times? To constantly be perfect?”

Ethan eyes me again before leaning forward to take over this press conference.

“Yes,” I say before he can stop me. “I feel the burden every day.”

Those words echo off the mic as the reporters go eerily quiet at my candor. I’ve never been so honest with the media in my life.

“I love this team and even more, I love this game. But for the past four seasons, part of me despised it. There’s been a constant pressure to not show any weaknesses, to not let you all know how scared I am to fail or to let this city down.”

The last reporter who asked a question takes a seat alongside his peers. Cameras continue to roll, and heads are buried in notepads as they jot down my statements.

Clearing my throat, I sit up and closer to the mic. “There’s this insane pressure in professional sports to be perfect at all times. To be a machine. I have thousands of people watching my every move to see if I’m worth my salary, and I can’t complain. I have the best job in the entire world, and I love our fans, but I am human. As much as I tried to convince myself I wasn’t, I am. I make mistakes. I have bad games. I miss important shots and I beat myself up over those failures more than any fan, coach, or GM would.”

Ethan adds an encouraging squeeze to my shoulder just as I catch Ron Morgan’s attention, standing in the back of the room.

“I’ve done some outrageous things to convince others I’m the right man for the job.” I take my eyes off Ron, returning them to the media. “And even more so, I convinced myself of things in order to believe I could be this machine who doesn’t lose his cool, who isn’t scared to fail. I’ve cut out friendships and relationships. I’ve isolated myself, and all it’s done is taken this game I love and turned it into something I resent.”

I clear my throat again when the room remains silent.

“My first two years in the league were some of the hardest of my life. Ticket sales were through the roof and my jersey was selling like crazy, so what’s there to complain about, right?” I chuckle a humorless laugh. “Fuck, those years sucked. I was in a dark place. Being new in the league was a wakeup call that I was no longer a man, simply an asset, and I didn’t handle the realization well at all. I’ve been lying to y’all for years. I feel the pressure every fucking day, but this season, for the first time in a long time, the game has been fun again.

“So, yes, I hope we win tonight, but the sun will still rise if we don’t. I’ll still have my family and friends and teammates if we don’t. And I hope I don’t get traded because I fucking love this team and I love this city, but that’s out of my control. So I’m going to go out there tonight and try my best while I have some fun with my guys.”

I stand from my seat, with a wave. “Thanks.”

There’s a blanket of noise behind me, reporters calling out my name, cameras flashing, but I don’t stop and turn around. I take off down the private hall blocked by security.

Ron enters into the hall through a side door. His back is to me, unknowing I’m behind him as he starts down the walkway.

“Mr. Morgan,” I call out, jogging to meet up with him. “Sir.”

He stops, turning on his dress shoes, his pressed suit perfectly in place.

“I apologize if what I said in there causes the organization any grief.”

He shakes his head, confused.

“I know that’s not really on brand for me to admit those things, but—”

“Thank God you finally did.” He laughs. “That’s the Ryan Shay I’ve been wanting people to see all these years. That’s the Ryan Shay I scouted out of college. It’s good to see him again.”

He smacks my shoulder, turning down the hall again.

“Are you trading me if we lose tonight?” I call out.

He laughs so loudly it echoes off the empty hallway walls.

“Hell no. I’ve got the best point guard in the league. Hell, maybe the best point guard the game has ever seen and he’s on my payroll. You think I’m giving that up? Not to mention, you’re kind of growing on me, kid.”

As I stay silent, Ron eyes me curiously before continuing.

“This probably isn’t what any profitable General Manager would say, but I’m not worried about the scoreboard. I want guys that want to be here. That enjoy their teammates. I want the rest of the league to look at the Chicago Devils organization and wonder how they could get traded here because the guys who play for me love their jobs. That is what’s going to win us a championship. That is what’s going to make us successful, and Shay, for the first time in five years, I think you might love your job.”

“I do, sir.”

“Good.”

He lingers as if I have something else to say and maybe I do. Maybe there’s something about this utter honesty thing.

“Can I tell you something that might make you change your mind and trade me?”

He chuckles. “Shoot.”

“Indy wasn’t my girlfriend when I first told you about her. We pretended to be a couple to convince you that I had softened up enough to be the kind of captain you wanted me to be. I completely lied to your face.”

Ron’s expression turns cold and stoic.

“She was just my sister’s best friend who moved in because I had an extra room.”

Ron’s serious face melts into a smile which morphs into uncontrollable belly laughs.

“No way!” He holds a hand to his chest. “Caroline was right all along! God, I’m going to hear so many ‘I told you so’s’ tonight when I get home.”

“Sir?”

“My wife, she knew you two were full of shit as soon as she saw you at the fall banquet together. On the other hand, you had me convinced. The only reason I had any doubts was because she was chirping in my ear.”

“She knew?”

“Of course, she knew! Who the hell goes camping in the middle of winter in Chicago?” He laughs again. “She assumed if we kept getting you two together, maybe it’d happen for real, and it did. Shay, you may have been lying to convince me you were someone else, but you became that man regardless.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“No.” His chest rumbles. “I think the whole thing is hilarious.”

I smile, feeling much lighter now that all this fake shit is off my chest. “I really do love her though. Now.”

“Yeah, no shit, Shay. You don’t make the kinds of changes you’ve made for any reason other than love.”

He puts his hand out to shake mine and as I do, he pulls me into a hug.

“So, to be clear,” I ask again. “You’re not trading me?”

“I’m fairly certain Caroline would trade me for a new husband if I did. She really loves having Indy around and I couldn’t think of a better captain for this team.”

Lips pressed together, I dip my chin. “Thank you, sir.”

He takes off down the hall again. “Dinners don’t end when the season does!” he calls out. “I expect to see you, Indy, Ethan, and Annie at least once a month all summer long.”

A smile slides across my mouth. “We’ll host.”

Hopefully.