Realization sizzled through her. These were the media moguls who owned their Major League affiliate, the Buccaneers. Why were they here?
“Tomas Swarez, our attorney, is here as well.” Heather returned the distinguished-looking man’s nod, her nerves jumping higher and higher until they reached her throat and made her swallow hard. What was going on?
The attorney passed a folder to her father and looked at her apologetically. “If I’d known you were coming, I would have prepared a purchase offer packet for you as well, Ms. Gadway.”
Heather set down her mug. “Purchase offer?” Her heart raced. Were they selling the team? A sharp glance at her father showed him looking straight ahead, a slight tick appearing beneath his left eye. A sure sign he was unsettled.
The Gowette brothers exchanged a long look before the older one—Sam—faced her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Ah, yes. It’s an offer we’ve been discussing with your father. Our purchase of the Falcons.”
A hot flush started in Heather’s gut and burned its way up to her cheeks. “I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” She turned to her father and said in a low voice, “The Falcons are not for sale.”
The lawyer straightened his tie and cleared his throat after a nod from his employers. “With all due respect, Ms. Gadway, this deal has been negotiated with your father, the sole owner of this property. We’d appreciate the chance to proceed with our discussion without further interruptions.”
“What is going on?” she whispered to her father.
“Heather. This has nothing to do with you,” he growled beneath his breath. His brown eyes slid her way and narrowed at the edges in a way that used to make her duck under her covers.
But she wasn’t a kid anymore. And this had everything to do with her. The Falcons were her family’s legacy. Sure, she wasn’t the son she imagined her father would have wanted. But there wasn’t anything a man could do for this team that she couldn’t. Her father needed to give her a chance to turn it around rather than sell. Believe in her instead of ripping everything she did apart.
She opened her mouth but closed it when her father’s index finger tapped the table in front of her. Fine. She’d listen, but he wouldn’t possibly sell the team without talking it over with her first. Would he?
“Shall we begin?” the attorney intoned, and all the men flipped open their folders in unison.
Heather leaned to the right and read over her father’s shoulder. The Gowette Corporation was proposing to purchase the Falcons for eight million dollars, a ridiculously low price. Her heart beat so loudly she wondered if her father could hear it. But he refused to meet her eye as he scanned the document.
A knock on the door sounded when her father reached the last page. The one with the empty signature lines.
“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” said Frank Williams, the Minor League’s director. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair clipped short around his square-shaped head. His eyes darted to Heather, and he smiled in recognition. His daughter was her high school best friend and former softball teammate. “I stopped by to check in on the Falcons and heard there was a sale meeting. Thought I might sit in if that’s okay.”
Heather breathed a bit easier. She knew Frank well and had always thought him a fair person. He’d never agree that eight million was a reasonable price. Not for a team that grossed half of that a year. Or at least, it used to before the fabric mills had all shut down. A lot had changed since she’d left home.
In fact, she’d hardly recognized Holly Springs when she’d driven through it the other day. Gone were the crowds bustling along the streets. Many of the coffee shops and local artisan spots were boarded up. Even the children’s bookstore had shut down. Worse yet, the people walked with their heads low, as though the pride they’d once had in their formerly thriving town had left along with most of its populace. It broke her heart.
The Gowettes and their lawyer nodded and grinned at Frank as if greeting royalty. His opinion held a lot of sway, and they obviously were courting it.
“The proposal is to purchase the Falcons for eight million dollars, a price previously negotiated between my clients and Mr. Gadway,” announced the Gowettes’ representative. When he raised his coffee mug for a sip, she noticed his hand trembled slightly. He had to know this was a terrible offer.
Frank cleared his throat and peered at her father. “And that price is agreeable to you, Dave?”
Her father paled and, for the first time since she’d seen him in the hospital, looked defeated. “I’m out of options. And the price is fair since they’re not going to use any of the Holly Springs facilities.”
Heather sucked in a harsh breath. “Why? We just built the new stadium ten years ago, and the old stadium is still a decent place for targeted practices.”
“Because we’re relocating the team closer to Pittsburgh,” the older Gowette brother cut in flatly, clearly losing patience with her.
“But the Falcons have always played in Holly Springs.” Heather struggled to raise her voice, yet the more upset she got, the more her brain muted her vocal cords. She turned to her expressionless father and put a hand on his arm, feeling the thin parchment of his skin. He seemed to have aged overnight.
“Your grandfather founded the team here in the ’30s. We have an obligation to this town. Its people.” Sure, the growing trend was Major League owners buying their Minor League affiliates, but she’d never imagined it happening to the Falcons. Her family couldn’t give up a tradition they’d started long ago.
“Joe, Sam, Tomas,” her father said, his voice filled with the gravel that came from shouting for most of his life. “I’d like a moment with my daughter. Alone.”
The men shot her disapproving looks and left. Frank remained, sitting quietly after her father nodded for him to stay.
The creases in her father’s broad face deepened when he turned toward her, his firm jaw showing the slightest droop. When had her dad ever looked his age? He gathered her hands in his, his familiar calluses chaffing her palm. “It’s time to be a grown-up, Heather, and that means making tough decisions.”
Disappointment stung her, but she wasn’t surprised. Criticism was his way of caring, right? She gritted her teeth and ignored the old hurts.
“I’m listening, Dad. And I can’t believe that we talk every day and something so important to you—and me—never came up. Please do bring me up to speed.”
Her father sighed. “Since the fabric mills shut down and the brand new Double-A stadium went up on the other side of Raleigh, we’ve lost money for five years straight. I’ve tried to keep it from you. Didn’t want you to worry, but the truth is, I can’t afford to keep going.”
“You should have told me. I would have come home to help instead of just visit.” She squeezed his hands, wishing he’d trusted her with the truth. But open communication had never been their strong suit. Living with an addict meant keeping secrets. It was a pattern they’d never broken free of, even after her mother had left and she and her dad had attended Al-Anon meetings together. Although the group was a way for friends and families of substance abusers to share their experiences, Heather and her dad had never talked about it outside of meetings.
Her
