Page 41 of Worth the Risk
“Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that. Shit, I’m sorry. Lowest guy on the totem pole here, Santzy. They made me come back here. I’m sorry,” he mumbles before launching out of the seat and charging back into first class.
I’m clenching my fists so tightly, I’m surprised my fingernails don’t puncture straight through the skin of my palms. I’m fucking furious. I take a deep breath, hoping my face doesn’t show how pissed I am. I refuse to look up, knowing Davenport is still watching me. Instead, I pull out my phone and fire off two texts, first to Hannah, and second to my agent.
Me: Hey Pix, it was torture leaving you this morning. Let me know your schedule this week so we can figure out some times to talk. FYI: your uncle is definitely on to us. He just sent another coach back to ask if anything had happened between us. I lied. We’ll tell him when we’re ready, okay? But you might want to make sure my name isn’t in your phone. Also, I left one of my keys on the counter for you, in case you want to sneak in and steal any of my clothes to sleep in. Missing you already. (Heart emoji)
Next, I text my agent.
Me: What’s your availability to talk about some concerns I have this week? I have a unique situation that may impact my time here, so I’d like to know what my options are.
Max responds immediately. I swear the man never sleeps.
Max: What did you do.
Me: Nothing that will require a press release.
Max: Luca …
Me: Remember me telling you about Caroline’s niece next door?
Max: I FUCKING TOLD YOU NOT TO
Me: Would it help if I told you it’s not just sex with her? She’s different, Max. There’s something about her, man. She’s worth it.
Max: Does Davenport know?
Me: I think so.
Max: What the fuck does that mean? And where are you, anyway? I thought you were flying out this morning?
Me: Delayed for fog.
Max: Answer the question about Davenport.
Me: I think he suspects. He doesn’t know for sure, but he’s doing everything possible to keep us apart. She was supposed to travel with us for this trip, and then suddenly, she’s pulled off the trip. And he looked a little too pleased with himself when I saw him this morning.
Max: That’s not exactly a good enough reason to assume anything.
Me: Then he and Woodward sent McNichols back here to question me about it. McNichols told me that Woodward and Davenport want me off the team.
Max: Jesus.
Max: You’ve got three options, I guess. One is you request a trade and get the fuck out of there before it gets bad. Another is you play it out and see what happens, but expect a trade at some point. And the last one is you just retire.
Me: Seriously? Nothing else? Trade, trade, or retire? Nothing keeps me here?
Max: You’re fucking the AC’s niece. You have a shitty track record with publicity. Your teammates are fine with you, or at least put up with you, but most of the coaches either don’t like you much or straight up despise you. And the owners are apathetic at best, but might love to get rid of your contract and free up some money. So yeah, those are your three options.
Me: Should I even bother putting forth the effort right now? Doesn’t seem like I’ve got anything going for me.
Max: Keep doing what you always do. Force their hand. They want to trade you, they’re going to have to get a fucking beast of a trade if you’re at the top of your game. Show them what they’d be missing. Prove them wrong, and prove me wrong. Prove that there’s a fourth option: that they keep you.
Me: I’m starting to feel like it’s not worth it.
Max: Maybe it’s not. If it’s not fun for you anymore, we’ll get you out of there. You can decide if you want to take your talent elsewhere, or retire at the top of your game. You have the power here, Luca. Not them. Remember that.
“Sir? We’re leaving. You need to turn your phone onto airplane mode,” a voice pipes up next to me. I don’t even acknowledge the voice other than to nod. I text Max telling him we’re leaving, turn off my phone, slap on my headphones, and block out the world.
And dream about Hannah.