Chapter 11 #2
“I’m just trying to help her get her feet under her and start over,” I say, hoping that once I know she’s settled and can take care of herself, I’ll be able to walk away knowing I did what I promised I’d do.
“Mm hmm,” Audrey says, nodding vigorously just to show me how full of shit she thinks I am. “You better get going so you don’t miss your flight.”
I wave goodbye to my family and call up to Graham that I’ll see him at his concert in a few nights. I don’t make eye contact with Lauren on my way out, because I don’t want her face etched in my mind any more than it already is.
I’m finally walking into my hotel in Denver after a tense day of negotiation. Boston’s looking to trade one of its better players for two newer guys from Colorado, and even though Drew Jenkins wants in on the deal, it’s not going to happen.
I tried. But he’s asking for more than what Boston can give and they’re going with different players.
I don’t often lose, but in the end it’s a money game and Boston’s salary cap won’t allow them to pay Drew what he’s worth.
I have about thirty minutes to figure out how to break this news before I meet him for dinner.
I check in with the concierge and ask them to arrange a car to take me to the restaurant after I go upstairs and grab a quick shower, but as I’m walking toward the elevators, my phone rings. When I see Lauren’s name flash on my screen, I detour back to the couches in the lobby.
“Hey, what’s going on?”
In the background, it sounds like she’s at a construction site. “Our range got delivered today, so I just opened a box of pots and pans, and of course since they’re out on open shelving right now, the girls are using wooden spoons to bang on them like they’re drums.”
“How long until your cabinets go in?” I ask. I told Jules to expedite everything and I’d pay the extra rush fees, but it’s only been two weeks.
“I think they’re getting delivered this week. Right now I have a refrigerator, toaster oven, and sink, and now I have a range too. And Jules set up a workbench for me with a wooden countertop, so at least it’s possible to actually cook now.”
“I thought you hated cooking.”
“I do, but I also have kids to feed and I finally have my appetite back. But anyway,” she says, and lets out a sigh, “that’s not why I’m calling.”
“You just missed me? Ahh, that’s sweet.” Why am I trying to put ideas into her head?
“No, I’m pissed at you.”
“Really? How unusual.” I hope my tone conveys my sarcasm. Pissed at me used to be her natural state.
“I need you to stop interfering, Jameson.”
“And how am I interfering?”
“First the job at the Rebels—”
“Oh, you didn’t want that job?” I ask and I swear I can see her rolling her eyes even from two thousand miles away.
Another sigh. “Of course I wanted it, but I wouldn’t have known about it if it weren’t for you. And now Tammy too?”
“What about Tammy?”
“Don’t try to play like you didn’t set this up. A second too-good-to-be-true opportunity in two weeks? That has Jameson Flynn written all over it.”
“Are you saying,” I ask, my voice dropping so low it’s practically a rumble, “that I’m too good to be true?”
“I asked you not to interfere. You know that I want to do this on my own. And . . . I don’t know. I don’t want to feel like I owe you anything, but you keep getting involved.”
“Good, because you don’t owe me anything. If you need something and I can help you, I’m going to help. Not because it’s quid pro quo, but because that’s just who I am.”
“Since when?”
“This is how I’ve always been—” with people I care about.
“Then why am I just seeing this side of you now?”
“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough before.”
I think back to the conversation we had at dinner the night before I introduced her to Josh, where I told her about my father’s decline into alcoholism after my stepmom’s death and how, when he finally left, I stepped in to raise my little sisters.
I admitted that, despite my initial reservations about her because she was Carson’s niece, she’d proven me wrong and I’d been recommending her work to other agents at Kaplan.
Then again, did I ever show her who I was, or did I just open up about a few things in a half-hearted attempt to prove I wasn’t the asshole I’d shown her the first few years we’d known each other?
“Or maybe,” I add before she can respond, “I didn’t do a good enough job showing you.”
“It feels like you’re . . . a whole different person now than you were back then.
” Her voice is cautious, and I wish I knew why.
Is she cautious about changing her opinion of me?
Afraid that I might go and prove that I actually am the asshole she thought all along? Or is this about Josh in some way?
“I’m not a different person, Lauren.” I run my hand through my hair and lean my head back against the couch in the nearly empty lobby, wishing I’d just gone up to my room and called her back.
I don’t want to be having this conversation in public.
In fact, I don’t want to be having this conversation over the phone.
I want to see her in person and fucking look her in the eyes when I say these things to her.
“I’m just in a different place in my life now.
When you started working at Kaplan, I was only a few years into this career.
I needed to be successful, and I needed to be there for my sisters.
I poured one hundred percent of myself into those two things, and anyone and anything that fell outside of that .
. . well, I probably wasn’t the best version of myself in those cases. ”
I hear her breathing on the other end of the phone, but she doesn’t say anything. And then one of her kids lets out a blood-curdling scream, and she says, “Oh, shit. Sorry, I’ll call you back.” And the line goes dead.
“So here’s the thing,” Drew says as he sets his beer back on the table. “I get why it’s not going to work out right now. But I need you to get me back to Boston for next season.”
“I’m going to be honest with you,” I tell him, because he’s two contracts into this career and he needs to hear it.
“If you want to play for the Rebels, you’re going to have to play better than you’ve been playing.
When Colorado signed you, you’d had a great three years with Vancouver.
But they’re paying you based on how you were playing in Vancouver, and I don’t know what’s changed, but you’re not consistently playing like you used to. ”
Drew looks down at his empty plate and back up at me. “I’m just not vibing with this team.”
“You’re not vibing with them? What are you, sixteen?”
What happened to good old-fashioned hard work? Put your head down and do your fucking job. It’s not about how you “feel,” it’s about how you play.
“I got off to a rocky start with one of the guys,” Drew says, then proceeds to tell me a little about the situation, where he pissed off a much more established and respected player. No two ways about it, Drew fucked up and it sounds like it soured the whole team on him.
“It happens. So apologize,” I say. “Or go out there and play like you used to play and earn their respect. But right now Colorado’s spending a lot of money on you and you aren’t delivering consistently.
No way Boston is going to make you an offer unless you show them that you’re still the player they’ve seen in the past.”
Drew bites his lower lip in frustration, and his nostrils flare. “If I do turn it around this season, what are the chances you can get me to Boston?”
“They’d have to need another center. It looks like there’s a chance Piatza might retire at the end of this season, which is why I thought this trade had a chance, but he hasn’t announced anything yet. Why are you so anxious to get to Boston?”
“Not ready to talk about that. But if there’s an opportunity, keep me posted.”