Chapter 27

: Brandon

I never truly understood the expression “you could knock me over with a feather” until I saw it written all over Leora Deventhorpe’s face. Leora is the Boston Buzzard’s public relations person, and apparently, I was the last person she ever expected to see asking to schedule a charity event.

When I gave her the Post-it with the website and told her my ideas, she stared at me, her mouth hanging open.

“So, I want to do a soccer clinic for both prospective players and referees. They’ve done a similar event with the Philadelphia Flyers before. Then, can we have the kids and their parents attend the game? You know, give them all sorts of free shit and maybe even have them come down on the field. Make a big deal out of them. It’s got to suck having a brother or sister who’s sick all the time. The sick one gets the attention. Never the healthy one.”

Leora doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking. “I mean, maybe the Buzzards could sponsor their gala or something? I saw it on the website. Something about red sneakers. But that’s for the sick kid part. I want to focus on the JustSibs part of it, mostly.”

Finally, she remembers how her mouth works as she closes it and swallows. “I can check the calendar. Usually these things are scheduled a few months out at minimum. So that would put us in September or October. Probably don’t want to go too much later in the year than that.”

“That’s great,” I say, my smile wide. “I emailed their person to get information. Can I send that to you so you can do ... what you do here?” I look around her small office, not sure exactly what she does. “Work your magic.” I cover, not wanting to seem as ignorant as I am.

I probably should know, but in the five years I’ve been with the Buzzards, I don’t think I’ve done anything public relations related. Certainly not anything for good.

This one, I blame on my dad. He’s managed my career since I was a kid. Not only is he not getting me endorsements, he’s not even helping me with my public image. He’s letting me flail and fail on my own, probably so he doesn’t have to take ownership.

He’s good at that.

I don’t want to be like that.

I turn back. “Hey, Leora, I’m sorry if I’ve been a little bit of trouble with my image and all.”

The shocked expression is back. I leave it at that and head for Andi Nichols’s Ford Escape. It’s in good shape—for a Ford—but it’s not new. I check the odometer. It’s got almost 100,000 miles on it.

She’s lucky this is still running.

It reminds me of my old Explorer. My mom’s Explorer.

Her place is tiny too. How much do referees make anyway? Plus, she said she still has a day job. This doesn’t make sense. I’ll have to ask her why she’s so stingy with her money.

What did she mean by not getting paid as much as her male counterparts? I had to have misunderstood. Surely that’s got to be illegal.

I have so many questions for her.

I meet up with Callaghan outside the training facility. He’s going to follow me up to Andi’s so I can drop her car off and then give me a lift home. There’s a small circle of people who can know about Andi and me.

I say that like we’re a couple.

Ha. That will never happen. I’d never want that to happen. Even if she is more interesting than I thought. And more attractive. Much more attractive.

The image of her soaking wet pops into my brain again.

Yeah, no. Not in a million years. Not if she were the last woman on Earth. She’s nothing but a hard-ass, ball-busting, prim and proper rules follower. That’s not my type.

She meal preps and has fresh avocados for Christ’s sake. Who lives like that?

That’s not the kind of life I want. Her apartment is sterile and devoid of personality. My place may be entirely made of oak, but at least it doesn’t feel like the inside of a hotel.

I mean, my place doesn’t feel like me either, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel like. Something’s always been off. The only one who made me feel even kind of grounded was my mom. Then she was gone, and Jess was recovering—and then spiraling out of control.

Jess had always been a daddy’s girl, so the chaos she created turned him into a cold shell of a human. To be clear, he wasn’t warm and fuzzy to begin with, but he’s become a downright ass ever since.

He made it easy not to have a home.

It’s one reason why I think I liked my house when I first looked at it. It was old and lived in, but it felt like a home. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. I had to start somewhere.

Not belonging anywhere—or to anyone—makes it easy for me to speak my mind. I don’t care what people think about me because it’s not like they’re going to be there in the end.

Or even the next day.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Callaghan says from the driver’s seat. We just dropped Andi’s car off. I used her keys and let myself in to check on her. She was sleeping again, but she stirred when I shook her shoulder.

I could have sworn she mumbled something like, “Don’t touch me.” It was enough to tell me she was in her right mind. I crept quietly out, leaving the keys on the hook by the door.

Because of course, she has a hook for her keys.

“Andi doesn’t like me.”

“You call her Andrew.”

“Nicknames are a form of affection.” I don’t know why this is my response. I didn’t give her a nickname because I felt any sort of affinity. Quite the opposite, really. I did it to piss her off. It’s fun watching her get all riled up.

She doesn’t rile easily.

In fact, I’d say most of the time, she doesn’t have much of a reaction at all. But when she does ... whatever. She’s not my concern.

“I think I shocked Leora Deventhorpe with wanting to sponsor a charity event.”

“Let’s face it, you’re not usually the first in line to volunteer or shake hands. Do you even sign autographs?”

“Well, I take selfies and I even smile.” That’s a dig at Callaghan. His panties were in such a twist after he—we—blew the quarterfinals last year that he told a bunch of cleat chasers that he’d only smile when there was something to smile about.

He went viral for that, and not the good kind of viral way.

See? I’m not the only one. This social media thing really is a double-edged sword.

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to get good publicity for once.”

“You’re on that thin ice?” Callaghan glances over at me, raising his eyebrows.

“I thought you’d be in the know, being captain and all. I’m on probation. I don’t know exactly what that means, but I’m guessing they’re not going to be super tolerant of me fucking up much more.”

“I’d guess not. That’s the problem in our field. There’s always someone else, younger, healthier, more driven, ready to take our spot on the team.”

I shrug. I have no idea what I’d do if I didn’t play soccer, but the thought of not playing again doesn’t gut me the way it does Callaghan.

And the thought of not playing gutted Xavier Henry too. I don’t know him that well, since he just joined the team, but we all know—now—that he married a stranger to be able to keep playing in the USSL.

Hell, if I’d ever do something so desperate.

On the other hand, when I try to think about life without soccer, my heart rate picks up speed. Soccer’s been the one constant in an otherwise tumultuous life, even though soccer was the cause of the chaos to begin with.

“What would you do if you weren’t playing soccer?” I ask.

Callaghan says nothing.

“Oh, come on. Your shoulder has been messed up for months. You’ve had to be thinking about it.”

“It’s all I ever think about. I’m not getting any younger. Now that I’ve had my caps with the National Team, I’m probably going to work on transitioning away. CC needs to get more experience. I’m working with Max a bit more on goalkeeping coaching. I’m not trying to push him out of a job, but it’s a logical step. I’ll probably go to another team to be their keeper coach, if I can get hired somewhere.”

I laugh. “I don’t think anyone in their right mind will hire me for a coach. I’ve got a few years to figure it out.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“Really?” His eyebrows elevate. “I thought you were much younger. You act that way.”

Fair point.

Callaghan continues, “There’s an old saying in football, ‘Act like you’ve been there before.’”

I interject. “That’s about scoring. You know, not excessively celebrating. Act like it’s no big deal, and it’s what you expect. Vince Lombardi said it. And that’s how I do act.” I know my football trivia, especially that about the legendary Packers coach. Hell, the Superbowl trophy is named after him.

“Okay, well, act like a professional then. On and off the field.”

Entay’s trying to be helpful; I’m sure he is. Still, it chafes at me, and I don’t know why. It shouldn’t be that hard, right?