Chapter 14: Xavier

Chapter 14: Xavier

"I don’t know if you’re going to be happy with this."

When your agent starts off that way, you can almost guarantee there will be no happy endings.

"Lay it on me, Tony." If it’s bad news, I want to know straight up. I stop my run, leaning forward slightly to catch my breath.

"It’s five years with a green card."

I close my eyes. There won’t be a trade before March. It’s alright. I can tough it out. I’ll hate every moment of it, but it won’t be the end of me. "Well, that’s that, I guess."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly?"

"I found a loophole. It’d allow you to be naturalized after you take care of one small detail."

Something in his tone gives me pause. "How small?"

I can practically see him shrugging his expensive-suited shoulders. "Tiny. No big thing really."

The more he attempts to play it off, the more I know it’s a big, huge, massive thing. "Tony …"

"All you have to do is get married. If your spouse is American, you’re eligible to apply for naturalization. Tomorrow. Or whenever the next date is. But definitely sooner than March. We could have you in Boston before the new year."

There’s no way he just said what I think he said.

"Pardon me? What was that?"

"We can probably have you in Boston before the new year. It’s time to get out of your lease and look for a new one."

I want to take a drink of my water, but I’m afraid I’ll choke on it. "No, that’s not the part I need you to repeat."

"You just have to get married. Surely you know some woman—or man—who will marry you. Love is love."

It’s rare that I want to punch someone when I’m not on the field. Other than my brother and Trent, I’ve not had that urge since I was a schoolboy. The urge is back now. "You want me to get married. I’m not even dating anyone."

"Call up your ex. I’m sure she’d be into it. Didn’t you dump her? She’d probably leap at the chance to get back together."

There were numerous and valid reasons why I’d broken up with Alycia, to begin with, the most important being I couldn’t stand her. She was a fake, only wanting to be with me because of what I could do for her. What my celebrity status could do for her. "That’d be a disaster. I’d rather stick it out with Baltimore."

"The word on the street is that they’re going to bench you for the season, and then not renew your contract, but that they’ll probably exercise the COVID option and keep you for two more years."

This is not what I want to hear. It’s the worst possible thing Tony could say. "Why would Camacho want to do that?"

Tony replies, "Who knows what he’s up to? But it ain’t good. You know that’s like the kiss of death for any athlete. Especially one like you, who’s banned by half the world as it is."

I rub my forehead. Stupid Phaedra and her stupid car. Stupid me for trying to be the nice guy. I wouldn’t be in this mess otherwise.

I saw her leave the party, and it was apparent that she was upset. I didn’t know she was high as a kite. If I had, I wouldn’t have gotten into the passenger’s side, trying to talk to her. It was only after she’d crashed her Porsche that I realized what an absolute state she was in. She begged me to say I was driving since she was in danger of losing her license and being sent to rehab. So of course, I lied.

I never expected her father, the Commissioner of the British Football League, to accuse me of trying to kill his angelic daughter and blackball me for life.

"So what you’re saying is I need to get married to an American and become a citizen, or my career is essentially in the loo."

"I’d say shitter, but otherwise yes. If you need me to find a woman—or man—for you, let me know. I can take an ad out."

"First of all, it’d be a woman, and second of all, are you off your rocker? You’re not placing an ad to find me a wife. I’m not that desperate."

Except I am. I don’t finish my run, instead walking back to my flat, trying to figure out how I landed in this mess to begin with. Or, more importantly, how to get out of it.

But the pit in my stomach tells me this might be the only way. I text Alastair.

Me: Tony found a way for me to be naturalized so I’m an American citizen.

Alastair: Alright.

Me: There’s one catch … I have to get married.

Alastair: Bloody brilliant. Who’s the lucky bird? (see what I did there?)

Me: That’s the problem. There’s no one.

Alastair: What about Alycia?

Me: I’d rather remove my own testicle with a butter knife.

Alastair: That seems extreme.

Me: So is Alycia.

The collective opinion is getting married for citizenship is not a bad thought. I’m not sure about the legality of becoming a citizen, based on fraud, but that’s far down on the list of priorities right now.

I literally don’t know where I’m supposed to find someone who will up and marry me immediately. And how do I even bring this up? Hullo, my name is Xavier Henry. I’m a footballer. Will you marry me?

In my head, that plays with an Inigo Montoya Spanish accent, though I’m neither Spanish nor in The Princess Bride.

Though it is inconceivable how quickly my life has gone to pot.

Will this even work? Tony thinks it will, but if I’m going to make such a drastic move, I need something more. I call Bjorn Janssen. I’m sure he won’t be able to take my call, but before I proceed with this cockamamie plan, I need a bit more of a guarantee.

"I’ve been expecting your call." As usual, Coach Janssen doesn’t mess around with things like pleasantries.

"Coach, what is the likelihood that Boston will sign me?"

"In the off-season, one hundred percent. If we have to wait until the international trading block, much less. We’ll already be into the season then, and we can’t hold a spot, assuming that we’ll be able to get you. We’re already at our international cap."

I nod. "Right. Okay."

"Your agent told you what you need to do, right?"

I swallow the massive golf ball that seems to have lodged itself in my throat. "Yes." It comes out in a croak.

"Xavier, it’s not the end of the world. Miller is excited to have you. We just need to know you’re committed."

"I am."

"Then do what you need to do. If you weren’t you, you’d have more options in England and Europe. This is it for you, and you have too much talent for it to be wasted. Camacho is an idiot with the direction he’s forcing Masters to take the team."

I don’t love the decisions Coach Masters has made for the Terrors, but I was never sure if those were his calls or if he was being directed. I guess there’s my answer.

"This is coming from Camacho?"

"Word on the turf is that Camacho is trying to get in tight with Jones."

Bjorn’s words hit like a punch to the gut. The owner of the Terrors is sucking up to the head of the BFL. "That explains it then."

"It’d be a penalty, and you’d have grounds for a lawsuit if they terminated your contract early, so you know they won’t do that."

"So I’m benched then."

"Masters said he still put you in because it’s not like he wanted to lose. You’re one of his best players. I think it crushed him to bench you."

"Would you bench me?" I have to ask. I’m not going through with this just to end up sitting for another season.

"I’ve talked about it with Robert Miller. He’s never been a big fan of Edmund Jones, and he doesn’t intend to start now. Plus, we all know the situation with Jones and his daughter is—"

I cut him off with the need to defend myself. "Rubbish. Complete and total rubbish. I would never—"

Now he cuts me off. "We know. Both Miller and I know, which is why we want you in Boston."

"It’s going to take drastic measures on my part."

"Isn’t the life of a professional athlete all drastic measures? Do what you need to do."

We disconnect without much fanfare. I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. My time in Baltimore, for all intents and purposes, is over.

And the same can be said for my entire career if I don’t find a wife immediately.