Page 6 of Sealing the Deal

“Cake,” we all say in unison, before I hurry forward to give Mama a hug.

There isn’t a day that goes by when I’m not completely in awe of this woman. If I ever start to doubt my capabilities, I think of Mama and how she’s everything to everyone at once. She’s a savvy businesswoman and sports agent, always thinking one step ahead. And she’s Mama. Always there with a cocoa and a pep talk when we need it. She’s become a doting grandmother to Izzy’s daughter, Madison. And she does it all with a fresh loaf of bread in the oven.

“You look tired, girl,” Mama says in my ear as she wraps me into the kind of hug that’s been anchoring me for what feels like forever. “You need anything?”

“I’m good, Mama. Thank you.”

She lets me go and ushers me into the big ranch kitchen with units on one side and a long oak table and benches on the other. Like always, the air smells like coffee and sweet treats that make my mouth water.

The main house belongs to Dylan, Izzy, and Mad now. Mama had three new houses built among the trees by the lake last year. One for her, one for Jake and Harper, and one for Chase, giving everyone their own place to stay at the ranch when Jake and Chase aren’t staying at their city apartments.

A step behind me, Dylan is ribbing Jake about a fumbled pass in yesterday’s game and Izzy is moving to fix coffee, ignoring Mama’s attempts to get her to sit down and put her feet up. I make my way to the table and start slicing the chocolate cake, adding thick slabs to each plate, throwing out my own commentary of last night’s game. And that’s when every phone in the kitchen buzzes at once.

“Harper’s calling,” Jake says, putting the phone to his ear, just as Mama does the same to hers and Dylan and I pull ours out. I guess from his expression he’s got the same Stormhawks news alert that’s staring back from my screen.

BREAKING: SECRET BUYER REVEALED AS PROPERTY BILLIONAIRE

I click the link and scan the article, words hitting like punches. Billionaire. Ruthless restructure record. New York. Property tycoon. Ashborne Holdings. Communities in ruin. And a single name—Grayson Ashborne. I stop reading and share the link to the Red Zone forum for the fans that rely on my page to get their news. At the last second I add a hashtag that feels like it sums up a lot of what I’m feeling right now. #NotMyOwner.

Jake calls across the kitchen. “Harper says hi. She’s on her way. News about the new owner just broke.”

“I got it,” I reply, tension snaking across my shoulders. There was still a part of me that had hoped the rumors about the new owner were just that—rumors. Except he is a billionaire from New York, which means the other part about his lack of football knowledge is probably true too. Dammit!

I look up to see the worry written across Dylan’s face as he nods to where Mama is still on the phone by the sink, her back to us.

“Who’s she talking to?” I whisper.

Before Dylan can reply, Mama is saying goodbye and waving us to the table. “We should all sit down. I just got a call from Coach Allen. This is worse than we feared.”

Izzy passes out mugs of coffee and we all sit—Izzy and Dylan, Mama, and me and Jake. We’re quiet as we wait for Mama to fill us in on her call.

“You remember Front Range?” she asks.

Dylan frowns. “The manufacturing plant on York Street? The one that closed down a few years back?”

Mama nods.

“I don’t know it,” Izzy says, looking from Mama to Dylan.

“It was a big employer in Denver. They built utility trucks—snowplows and fire engines, agricultural machinery, that kind of thing,” Dylan explains.

“Coach Allen’s brother ran the plant for twenty years. Then it got bought by a New York company who promised streamlining. What that translated to was pulling back on its community outreach and the little league teams it sponsored. Then it started letting people go and selling some of the high-tech equipment. Two years after it was bought, it closed completely and the land was sold.”

“It’s a mall now, right?” Jake asks.

Another nod from Mama. “The company that bought Front Range was Ashborne Holdings. They’re a New York company who buy struggling businesses and strip them for parts, making a profit in the process. And anyone in their way is crushed, like Coach Allen’s brother and his family, who are still struggling to make ends meet.”

“And they’ve just bought the Stormhawks,” Dylan says with the same anger and hurt in his voice that’s crowding me. “What the hell were the Huberts thinking?”

I sigh. “That’s what I want to know. Why did the Huberts sell in the first place, and what do Ashborne Holdings want with the Stormhawks?”

Mama looks equally horrified. “I don’t know. But if they follow the same pattern as Front Range and no doubt hundreds of other businesses they’ve bought, we should assume they’ll strip and sell and not give a damn what gets destroyed in the process.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dylan says, jaw clenching.

Izzy leans forward looking just as furious as Dylan. “According to the articles online, Grayson Ashborne is in real estate, right? I bet the training ground is worth a lot of money if he tears it down and builds apartment blocks.”

I open the Red Zone page and read the comments flooding in beneath the article I just shared. “Fans are as worried as we are. There’s already talk of a protest outside the stadium later this week.”