Jeremy Davis sat hunched over his desk, elbows planted on the polished oak, fingers steepled in front of his lips. The office—his office—inside the Denver Coliseum was a study in contrasts: the world outside was a cacophony of echoing footsteps, distant cheers, and the metallic clatter of preparation, while within these four walls, the air was thick with tension and the scent of old leather and fresh coffee.
Melissa perched on the edge of the visitor’s chair, her notepad balanced on her knee, pen poised but unmoving. She watched Jeremy with the kind of concern that only comes from months of shared late nights and early mornings. Across from her, sprawled in the battered armchair, was Luke Elliot, owner of the Omaha Cattlemen and Jeremy’s oldest friend in the league. Luke’s boots were cros
