I stop on the sidewalk, confused by his aggressive tone. “What are you talking about? What’s happened?”
“I’m fired, that’s what.”
“What do you mean you’re fired? You quit the Canada league. They can’t fire you.”
“Not them. Your dick of a dad. He sent me an e-mail today. Said my contract is up and they aren’t renewing it. Cold as ice, he told me I’m not a client of the Ashford Agency any more. Did you know about it?”
“Of course I didn’t know about it! Are you serious? That’s what it said? You’re not our client anymore? It wasn’t just a reminder that we need to renew with you?”
“Ended,” he tells me decisively. “I can read, Sloane.”
I put my hand over my eyes. The stupid, big ass bracelet beats me in the face. “I know you can read, D. I’m trying to understand what’s happening. I can’t believe this.”
“I can. Your dad has hated me since I got signed out of the country.”
“Jesus,” I mutter to myself.
“What am I gonna do, huh? I couldn’t get picked up with one of the biggest agencies in the damn country. If I go somewhere else I won’t be able to get a job at Burger King.”
I lower my hand. Take a deep breath. “Do you have those tickets I sent you?”
“To Domata’s game? Yeah. We got ‘em.”
“Go to the game. Have fun. Smile, make friends, shake hands. Act like nothing has happened. If anyone asks, you’re still my client. Don’t say you’re with the Ashford Agency, but you are with me. You’re my client, do you hear me, D?”
He hesitates, the heat draining out of him. When he speaks next his voice is tired and sad. I preferred the anger.
“Yeah, Sly. I hear you. I got you.”
Sun Life Stadium
Miami, FL
“Call her again,” I tell Hollis harshly. “She needs to know what the fuck is happening here.”
“I will. I’ll call her as soon as you let me hang up the phone,” he promises calmly.
“It’s fucked up!”
“I agree.”
“Who does Ashford think he is?”
“God, I assume.”
I shake my head, running my hand over my face. “I can’t deal with this bullshit right now. I’ve got a game to play. Why would he put this at my feet right now?”
“You should be in warm ups, shouldn’t you?”
“Tell Sloane to call me, Hollis,” I growl.
He takes a breath. “I will. I promise. Try to calm down, Trey.”
“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ do that.”
I hang up, tossing my phone into my locker. It ricochets off the back wall before bouncing behind my gear. I collapse down onto the bench, putting my head in my hands.
I’m in a bad place, a bad way. I’m having trouble breathing. Having trouble seeing straight. I can’t hit the field like this and I only have a few hours before I have to. I consider grabbing my headphones, the ones Sloane gave me back at the Combine, and going for a run. Some of the guys lift together before a game. Maybe I should join them. I have to do something. I can’t handle doing nothing like this. Not when I’m this thrown, this far gone.
“Are you okay?”
I look up to find a mass of big shoulders, dark hair, and black eyes towering over me.
Matthews.
He’s calm as always, so much that it infuriates me. I want to punch his smug face.
“No, I’m not fucking okay,” I snap, sounding breathless.
He nods his head slowly, his eyes scanning the locker room. “You might want to tone it down.”
“Yeah, alright.”
“One of the boys on the defense acting like this, that’s good news. People want them riled up. Angry. You, though? The quarterback? It’s ugly. It sends the entire team into a spiral. We don’t need that right now.”
“Is this pep talk supposed to be calming me down? Because if anything it’s making things worse.”
“It’s not a pep talk. It’s advice. Stop being a bitch.”
I glare up at him, amazed by his balls. The guy barely speaks five words to me since I joined the team and now he’s calling me a bitch?
“What the f—“
“Man up,” he interrupts, turning his back on me. “Everyone is watching.”
I watch him walk slowly away, my mouth hanging open. I release a puff of air held tightly in my lungs, rubbing my face in my hands again. I need to get right. Matthews wasn’t wrong about that. I have to calm down, but I have no idea how.
My phone rings, muffled and hidden in the mass of pads and uniform stuffed in my locker. I reach back to dig it out. I expect to see Hollis’ name on the screen calling to tell me that he couldn’t get ahold of Sloane, but I’m wrong.
It’s her.
I stand to put my arm against the shelf in my locker, blocking my face from the rest of the room. “Sloane, what the fuck is going on?”
“Hello to you too.”
“Sloane,” I snap impatiently.
“Which fire are you talking about?” she asks briskly, turning all business. “I’m chasing quite a few of them at the moment. You’ll have to be specific.”