“I don’t want to pick a team and have them not pick me,” he answers reluctantly. “I know where I want to go, but it’s not up to me. It’s up to everyone except me and I fucking hate that feeling.”
I’m floored. It’s not the answer I expected. I knew there was a problem, but I thought he was torn between two teams or he didn’t like any of the ones looking at him and maybe he didn’t want to say anything. I had no idea his issue was so… emotional. I’ve never imagined him this way, not in all the time I dreamt of representing him. I saw the bravado and the bluster, the girls and the god on the field, and I thought that was all there was. That, and a boatload of talent. I never knew there was this vulnerability underneath it all. This angry, anxious guy holding himself back.
“You feel powerless,” I tell him quietly. “I get that. Everyone does. Everyone feels that way, but, Trey, I swear to you, you are not powerless.”
“Last night ESPN said I’m going in the second round in the Draft,” he whispers vehemently. “Maybe the third.”
“Brett Favre went in the second,” I respond calmly. “Tom Brady went in the sixth. Hell, Tony Romo wasn’t even drafted. The Draft doesn’t mean anything. It’s a chance for the NFL to televise drama, drumming up viewers for the next season. It’s a starting salary, that’s it.”
“Yeah, well maybe that matters to some of us. Maybe some of us need a paycheck.”
“We all need a paycheck.”
“Not all of us. Not when daddy’s the boss.”
I pull up short, my momentum lost in surprise, derailed by the sting of his words. “Did Hollis tell you that?”
“Nope. That was on ESPN last night too. They got a picture of you laughing with the Commissioner of the NFL, his arm slung over your shoulders, and I thought, ‘How the hell does she know the Commissioner?’ Then they showed your full name and I got it.” He chuckles, running the back of his fingers over his mouth. “I thought for a minute that you were his wife.”
“Gross.”
“Some guys like ‘em young.”
“Still gross.”
He nods his head, not looking at me.
“Does it matter?” I ask, terrified that he’ll say yes. That he’ll tell me he wants another agent.
Trey looks down at me patiently. “It depends on why you tried to hide it.”
“I didn’t try to hide it. I just didn’t tell you my last name.”
“Why?”
I sigh, shifting my shoulders restlessly. “I didn’t tell you because everyone always assumes that since ‘daddy is the boss’ that means I get everything handed to me. What they don’t know is that this is all I’ve ever wanted to do, and I can’t stand anyone thinking that I didn’t earn it, because believe me, I earn this every day. I was earning it before I even started working for him.” I feel my heart race in my chest as I choose my next words. As I make my confession that could send him running. “Do you know I’ve seen footage of every game you’ve played since your junior year of high school? I don’t know my own my sister’s phone number off the top of my head, but I can quote UCLA’s season wins and losses for the last four years because I watched every game. I watched you every game. I brought you to Brad’s attention. I pushed you down his throat for years to get him to sign you because I’ve believed in you and your talent more than any other athlete we’ve seen in years.
“And the Commissioner? I don’t know him through my dad. He hates my dad. He loves me because I went to college with his daughter. We pledged the same sorority and when she got in over her head with partying and started slipping in her classes, I helped her get back on track. I spent the last half of a semester in the library with her every night to make sure she graduated. It’s been two years and he still thanks me every time he sees me.”
“And hugs you,” he reminds me.
I shrug. “I’m very huggable.”
Trey grins, looking behind me as the doors to the elevator slowly slide shut. I know it’s happening by the way the sound changes. The way the noise fades slowly away and the walls feel like they’re closing in on me. Pressing me in closer to him.
“Looks like we’re going for another ride,” he mutters.
“Maybe it’ll give you the time you need to figure out whose ass I’m supposed to be all up inside pushing for you.”
Trey’s lip curls in disgust. “That’s a sick image.”
“It’s my job, one I’m good at if you let me do it, because trust me when I say I’ll work harder for you than Brad ever will. I already have.”
He searches my face. He breathes in and out slowly, but I can see the tension rising in his eyes like the sun on the horizon.
“The California Kodiaks,” he finally admits decisively. “I want to stay in L.A. to play for the Kodiaks. It’s the only team I’ve ever imagined being on.”