Chapter 39

: Brandon

D isappointed.

There’s no other way to put it. I’m disappointed that Andi’s fully dressed and practically out the door. I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. She has to go. She’s got to get her shit organized before she flies to Atlanta.

I don’t want her to leave.

Ever.

“Want me to go with you?” I ask, only half kidding. I don’t want her to walk away. I want to spend hours—days—exploring her body and what this thing is between us.

I have never felt a pull like this before. It’s like my whole world is off its axis, and she’s the only thing propping me up.

The thought of her leaving makes it hard for me to breathe.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think you’ve helped enough this week,” she says wryly.

I’m wearing the robe she just discarded. I could get dressed, but I’d rather be enveloped in her lavender-citrus scent for a while longer. I lounge on my side, my head propped on my hand. I stay on my bed, willing myself not to get up and drag her back here with me.

Andi’s about to walk down the stairs when she stops. “We got sidetracked before. Why?”

“Why what?” I try to remember what we were talking about and when we got distracted.

“Why did you risk it all for me?”

I smile. “That’s easy. Because you’re worth it.”

Andi closes her eyes and inhales for a moment. Then she’s gone. I hear her footsteps run down the stairs. Then I hear the door open and shut. Her car turns over and backs out of the gravel driveway.

She’s gone.

I roll flat, staring at my ceiling.

She’ll come back.

She has to.

In the meantime, I contemplate never getting dressed and eating everything in my kitchen until I look like Thor, post-Thanos’s snap.

I picture Andi, sitting at my kitchen table with her list of things to do to try and save her career. She just got up and did things. She made things happen.

She’s like a machine.

Thinking about my multiple sessions with Watson Ross—damn, I’m probably going to have to find myself a new therapist—I evaluate Andi’s actions.

From where I’m sitting—er, lying—it’s easy to see that this is her trauma response. She shuts down and then attempts to control everything by micromanaging. I’m the opposite. I yell and scream and pretend nothing matters.

But now, something matters.

Andi matters.

I matter too.

With this new-found revelation, I decide to skip my self-destructive wallow-fest and do something. I get up and head downstairs. I dig through a drawer to find some scrap of paper. Seriously, does Andi carry paper on her at all times? Weird.

I start my list.

Fire Dad

Figure out what I want to be when I grow up

Okay, there’s not much to go on, but it’s a start at least.

I’ve got to be smart about number one. I scour my emails, trying to find all the accounts that my dad has started over the years in my name. Not an easy feat when you have over 10,000 emails, but the search bar is key.

Also, my dad may be the world’s biggest asshole, but he’s organized if nothing else. He likes making money, and he likes putting all those numbers in spreadsheets to add them up.

He also uses a financial advisor to manage all my accounts.

Bingo.

I’ve never signed a legal contract with my father to act as my agent. It just was, and no one questioned it. I signed whatever I needed to whenever I needed to. I log in to each and every account, double-checking.

His name is not on a single one.

He didn’t give me enough credit to ever want to take control of this. Maybe he didn’t think I was smart enough. Doesn’t matter. I must be the luckiest son of a bitch alive. First Andi and then this.

Now it’s time to change my passwords.

––––––––

I T TAKES ME ALL DAY and several calls, but I’ve done it. I’ve talked with the financial advisor who is now aware that Nicholas Nix will no longer be acting on my behalf. Based on the shape my accounts are in, I’d say my financial advisor is doing a bang-up job, so I keep everything where it is.

Now it’s time for the hardest phone call of all.

“Hey, Dad.”

There’s silence on the line. He’s still there, just giving me the silent treatment.

“So, I’m not playing with the Boston Buzzards anymore.”

“You’re going to be a hard sell anywhere at this point. No one wants someone like you.”

Andi wants me .

“Well, I guess it’s good for me that I don’t want to play soccer right now.”

“You’re just saying that. In two days you’ll be regretting it. I’ll have to act quickly, but maybe the Baltimore Terrors are sketchy enough to take you on amidst all the controversy.”

No doubt about it, I’m going to have to find another therapist ASAP. There’s so much here to unpack.

“I told you, I’m done playing soccer.”

“What do you think you’re going to do? You have no other skills. And it’s not like you have endorsements to fall back on.”

Suddenly my lack of endorsement deals seems totally clear. I thought my dad wanted to keep as much money for himself as he could. In reality, he thought it was an ace up his sleeve. One he’d play—like he is right now—when he needed to control me.

“I dunno what I’m going to do. Maybe I’ll go play football. I’ve always wanted to do that. I’ll figure it out. All I know is I’ll be doing it without you. You’re officially fired as my agent. I’ve sent you an email with the details of your termination. Have a nice life, Dad. I certainly plan to.”

I disconnect and then promptly block him.

It feels amazing.

I shoot Andi a text message.

Me: Thinking about you. Hope everything is going well for you. I’ve got amazing news on my end, if you want to hear it. If not, no worries.

She promptly texts back.

Andi: Of course I want to hear your news, but I’m just about to take off for Atlanta. I need to do a bunch of research for my meeting and pre-game with James. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a distraction.

I smile at this.

Me: In a good way or a bad way?

Andi: In the best way. I’ll call you when I have an update. I can’t wait to hear your news.

I’m tempted to keep texting, but she said in black and white that she has work to do. I can respect that.

Without anything else to distract me, I replay the conversation with my father in my head. He’s right. I have nothing to do. Except one thought bounces around my brain, refusing to stop. Refusing to quiet. Refusing to let me think of anything else.

It’s a stupid idea.

It really is.

Not to mention, it’ll never work.

That may all be true, but I’m still me. I’m still going to go for it. It worked with Andi. Maybe there’s a chance with this too?