“So go see her. I’ll book you a flight on the agency and I’ll see you in three weeks. Deal?”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s a deal.” He pauses, his wheels turning so hard I can almost hear them. “I don’t know if I wanna keep doing this, Sloane. I miss my family. I miss my girl. I miss America. Hell, I even miss the fucking Gators. I don’t know if this is worth it, ya know?”
I nod my head even though he can’t see it. “It’s not for everyone. You’ve gotta make that choice for yourself. I think a trip home is a good way to get some clarity on what you want out of life. Do you want a paycheck? Or do you want to be happy?”
“I want both.”
“And I’ll never stop trying to make that happen for you, D.”
He sighs heavily. “Yeah, I know. Hit me with that ticket. I’m coming home.”
“You got it. And I’ll see you in March, alright? I wanna do dinner with you and your family.”
“My mom’s gonna try to hook you up with my brother again,” he warns.
“I look forward to it.”
“You’re twisted, Sly, but I like it. I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon.”
I hang up the phone with a heavy heart.
Demarcus is one of two official clients I have in my roster. The other is Paul Gibson, a free safety riding the pine for the Panthers. He wasn’t especially exceptional in college and he got on with the Panthers only because I shoved him down their throat for months and his dad is an NFL legend from the eighties. He got on with the bare minimum rookie salary of four hundred thirty-five thousand dollars and no contract. They could kick him off the team tomorrow if they wanted to, and every day I’m surprised that they don’t. The guy is a total tool, dropping his dad’s name left and right. He’s everything I hope to never be in this world and when my dad took him on as a favor to Mike Gibson, he was quick to hand him off to me, wiping his hands clean of the entire deal. I think Brad saw some kind of poetry in that. Or maybe he saw it as a slight. An insult to have me representing Mike’s son.
Either way, neither Paul nor I should be happy about it.
Everyone has that one client, though. The one that you’re emotionally invested in. That you want to see succeed more than any of the others. You’d think for me it would be Trey, but even if he was officially ‘mine’, I’d always be pulling harder in my heart for Demarcus. He’s a good guy with a big personality and an incredible work ethic. As unhappy as he is, he still gives it everything he’s got every game. Every practice. The coaches in Canada love him. I know for a fact I can get an extra five to seven grand on his salary next year, but I’m not sure D wants it, and that breaks my heart. I hate to think of him giving up something he loves, but if you’re unhappy where you are you can’t ignore that. Eventually something’s got to give.
My phone vibrates on my desk with a new message. It’s from Trey.
I gave my truck away.
I scoff, amazed. There’s no way he parted with the useless piece of shit.
Whoever you gave it to, you owe them money.
Very funny.
I’m told I should do stand up.
Someone is lying to you.
I think it might be you. Did you really get rid of it?
Gave it to charity just now.
That’s very philanthropic of you.
It was stupid of me. I didn’t think it through.
I smile, shaking my head. Already pretty sure I know where this is going. You don’t have a ride home, do you?
You know me so well.
I know you like to get stranded. Call a cab.
That’s cold.
Uber?
Arctic.
Text me the address. I’ll send you the bus route to get home.
Quit playing. Come get me.
I’m working.
This is work. I need help buying a new truck.
I’m tempted. That’s why he’s doing this; because Trey Domata is a master of temptation.
I really can’t, I tell him, holding my ground. I’m swamped.
I saw my name on a headline on NFL.com
DON’T READ IT! You promised a full media blackout!
I’m feeling weak.
Stop.
I shouldn’t be alone.
You’re a grown man. You’ll be fine.
Come on, Sloane.
Don’t say it.
Play with me.
He fucking said it. My body flushes, my hands holding my phone a little too tightly, and suddenly I’m the one who’s weak.
Send me the address.
You sending a limo?
No.
I stand from my desk. I grab my purse.
I know it’s wrong.
I’m coming, I tell him.
Miles Chevrolet and Cadillac
Los Angeles, CA
Sloane helps me check out a brand new Chevy Colorado. It’s red. It has leather seats, satellite radio, and Wi-Fi. That shit blows my mind. My old truck didn’t even have air conditioning. This one is pulling music from satellites in outer space.