19. Michael
“We’re in Vegas, Fergie. You can’t just bail. We got a limo, for god’s sake,” Hicks pleads with me and motions toward the stretch Hummer parked in front of the hotel.
We won the game, which means the Heatwave players are ready for a celly night. And we’ll be in Vegas for three more nights before we need to fly back to Texas for game three of the series.
“I don’t know, man.”
A group of our people stroll out from the hotel lobby hooting and hollering.
“Fergie’s not coming,” Hicks announces.
“The hell he isn’t,” Landry says. “Fergie, get your ass in the limo. We’re celebrating. You made the game-winning shot, you gotta go.”
“I’m seriously so tired,” I say, hoping they get the picture.
“Alright, I never thought it would come to this. But you leave me no other choice. Rookies!” Hicks calls out.
Trevor Sincaid and three others pop their heads out from the crowd of players.
“Sequester our starting right-winger,” he says with a finger pointed in my direction.
“You can’t use the rookies to do your—“
In seconds, I’m being hoisted up into the air. “Put me down, you idiots.”
“No can do, Fergie,” Sincaid says. “We need you.”
“Yeah, you’re the only sane one,” one of the others says.
“Hicks! Tell them to put me down, I’m not going.”
“Into the limooooo,” Hicks yells out in the same way a mad queen would’ve said Off with their heads.
The limo doors swing open and the rookies toss me inside just as my teammates pile into the extended Hummer.
“This is ridiculous,” I shout out. “I’m not even dressed.”
“It’s Vegas, Fergie. Nobody cares,” Ryker says, clambering in.
“Where the hell are we even going? Please for the love of all things holy don’t say a strip club,” I cross my arms over my chest.
Libby might not be attached to me but if she found out I left her hanging for a strip club… I can just kiss our little arrangement goodbye.
Zane pops in last, “If we were going to a strip club do you really think my wife would let me come out tonight?”
He shuts the door with finality and Landry hits the glass between us and the driver to signal that we’re ready to go.
“I just wanted to sleep,” I lie.
“There will be plenty of time to sleep… after the magic show,” Hicks says.
“Magic show?!”
“Yes! We’re going to see The Mirage,” he says with spirit fingers in front of his face.
“Am I supposed to know what that is?” I blink at him.
“Yes, the Mirage. The Mirage,” he says like it explains everything.
“You repeating it over and over doesn’t make it make any more sense, Hicks.”
“You’ll see the hype when we get there,” Landry says as our limo honks at another limo parked in front of us.
It’s pink and glittery and women dressed in colorful skin tight dresses are slowly mounting. The last one to get in is Libby. Her arms are crossed over chest and she glares at our driver.
“Where are they going?” I gasp out pointing to the girls through the window.
“We told you, dumbass, The Mirage,” Hicks says.
Zane laughs, “Libby tried to get out of it too. But we told her we were all coming and she gave in.”
I reach for my phone and check to see a message from her.
butterfly
Raincheck?
I groan, wiping my hand over my face. My teammates have no idea that they just became the cock-block of the century.
stranger
We can plan a disappearing act of our own.
butterfly
Deal. I hate magic shows.
“Fergie! Fergie! Fergie!” The cheers from our front row full of my teammates has now caught on by the rest of the theater.
“I’m not going up there!”
“Rookies,” Hicks calls. The rookies seated directly behind me stand to their feet, hands reaching for me.
“No, No!” But I’m no use against four players.
My teammates are laughing as I’m hoisted onto the stage and cheers erupt from the attendees all around us.
The Mirage, as I’ve come to find out, is actually an illusionist. His skills include insane escape acts, sawing people in half and making entire humans disappear and reappear in places you would never expect.
I’m apparently going to be the last one. Thanks to my loud ass teammates volunteering me. I look to Libby at the end of our row. We’ve been texting the entire show. Every time I tried to get up to leave, Hicks called his Rookie brigade to hold me down.
And now I genuinely have to pee.
The Mirage’s stage crew preps me for the act right through an earpiece they secretly slipped into my ear to make it appear like I have no idea what’s going on.
“Fergie. Hi, if you can hear me scratch your left eye.”
I look around confused, but do as I’m told.
“Great! The Mirage will be making it look like you disappeared and show you anywhere your teammates might least expect you to be.”
I nod wondering if they can even hear me if I said something.
“So where would that be?”
The Mirage is still prepping the stage for the act.
“My bed at the Delano. It has a scenic view.”
“Perfect. We’ll send you there.”
That’s all the voice says before I’m being silently summoned by The Mirage.
“Ok,” I rise up from where I’ve been sitting to the side.
The masked man opens a set up curtains and motions for me to step inside.
I give him a weary look and the boys all start heckling me.
“Get in, already.“
“Don’t be such a wuss.”
I glare out them before I go behind the curtain and wave.
“He’s going to close the curtain and you’ll be dropped into a green screen area…in three, two—
“Wait, what?”
The floor disappears beneath me and I land on cushions surrounded by people wearing headsets and polos. A few of the reach out to me and instruct me to lay down while they set up the scene.
Above us I can hear the gasps from the crowd. The Mirage must’ve shown them I’ve gone.
“Just lie there and close your eyes. Pretend to be asleep. We’ll take care of the rest,” the voice from the ear piece says.
“O-okay.” I lay down on the cushioned floor.
“Awesome, now don’t move.”
A few seconds later, I hear the gasps and cheers from the crowd. I can especially hear the Heatwave players from the front row all laughing and cheering.
I don’t know what they saw but I assume it looked real.
“Great work,” the voice says again. “Now we’re going to send you back up. When the curtain pulls back. Just rub your eyes like you just woke up.”
I nod.
“Oh and one more thing, don’t disclose the magic,” the voice says. “Seriously, don’t be that guy.”
I gasp and hold my chest theatrically, “I would never.”
“Good. Thanks for participating. You’ll be asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement before leaving the stage.”
Before I can get in another word, I’m shot back up to the stage. The curtain is pulled and I rub my eyes and stretch for good measure.
I see the familiar faces of my teammate’s going wild when they see me. But it’s Libby’s face at the end of the row that has me cheesing.
Her jaw is dropped open and she’s shaking her head at me in total disbelief.