Callan
“How are you feeling about the game?” Charlotte asks, shoveling a forkful of salad into her mouth from next to me at the kitchen island.
Now that it’s too cold to eat outside, this is where we spend almost every evening.
A late dinner after a long day of work, and then usually into our room for some extracurricular activities before we finally turn in for an early night.
Especially this week. No one goes into the playoffs tired if they can help it, and especially not players who are starting to reach their expiration date.
“Chicago’s tough. We can beat them, but I can’t have as many sacks as I’ve been averaging this season.
” I don’t continue, keeping my deepest concern from her—that it’s me.
That I’ve slowed down too much to play at the same level I once did.
The level I need to play at to win championships.
“The cold isn’t going to help, either. We’re a solid cold-weather team, but they’re predicting snow.
Which means we’ll have to run more, and their defense is much stronger at stopping the run than ours is. ”
Charlotte nods. “I’ve got my snow boots laid out for the trip. I’m glad the team made the call to bump the flight up. The last thing we need is to get stranded due to a snowstorm.”
Winter weather on both ends is an issue, and the forecast is calling for a snow front to move through the central United States this weekend.
“I also bought myself a heated vest, electric boot warmers, and electric glove warmers. I know everyone is going to tell me I shouldn’t be out on the field, but like hell will I be watching this one from the owners’ box.
First of all, Chris is the biggest baby ever when it comes to the cold, and there’s no way I’m going to listen to him whine for hours…
” Charlotte continues, falling into another rambling story like she has been all night.
She seems anxious. Nervous, maybe, but I’m not sure why.
I listen as she talks, enjoying the way I have access to each idea at the same time she does. The light filtering through the kitchen windows catches her hair, creating shimmering sections as it catches in her loose curls.
She’s beautiful. And kind.
If forgiving me for missing the important things wasn’t enough, she didn’t even hold it against me. Just told me she understood and moved on.
I lean over and press a quick kiss to her cheek. “I’m glad you’ll be on the field with me. I like having you down there.”
“You don’t think I’m a distraction?”
As I tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, I whisper, “Only in the sense that I want to play even better to impress you.”
She giggles. “You’re ridiculous.” Her face goes serious after a moment, and she pulls her lower lip between her teeth. “Hey, so there’s something I wanted to talk to you about—”
My phone vibrates with an incoming call, and I look at the screen before telling Charlotte, “This is my agent. I’ll go take it in the office, but then I’ll meet you in bed, okay?”
“Sounds good.”
I make my way quickly to the privacy of my office.
“Callan, how are you?” Jon asks when I answer.
I stand in front of the window, staring out at the yard I always thought would be too big for me. The one I’m now envisioning filling with little kids who have hazel eyes and chatter nonstop. “Doing well. Ready to take on the Guardians this weekend.”
We make small talk for a minute before Jon’s tone changes, clearly getting down to business.
“Look, Callan, I normally wouldn’t make this call three days before a playoff game, but I’m worried that if I got wind of it, the media might have, too.”
At that ominous statement, I stop imagining my future children playing and give my full attention to my agent. “Okay. What’s up?”
He lets out a long exhale. “There are rumors you’re going to be traded.”
Everything around me goes silent as my entire focus seems to go to the sinking feeling in my gut.
“…likely Minnesota. Maybe New York. They’re the only two who need you and can afford you right now.” Jon’s still talking, but the only thing that’s registering is the deepest betrayal. I can’t move Nan to New York, let alone fucking Minnesota. Colorado is almost too cold for her.
“Has anyone said anything about timelines?” I interrupt Jon.
“No. Though I’m sure they’re waiting to see how far you make it into the playoffs.
” He pauses as if waiting to see if I’m going to erupt before continuing, “And to be clear, this isn’t anything official, but there’s a guy I work with who always seems to be able to separate the early signs from the random gossip.
He’s the one who passed this along to me. ”
“Okay.” I try to convince myself to be rational about this. Trades are a part of being a professional athlete. I know that.
But I truly thought I’d finish out my career with the Stallions.
“Are you going to be all right?” Jon asks after a moment’s silence. “I know we thought your connection with Charlotte would decrease your risk of a trade, but this isn’t on you, Callan. Your play this year has been excellent.”
He continues stroking my ego, like the good agent he is. Talking about my stats for the year, mentioning the good and forgetting the bad. Making promises about how much money we’ll get when my contract is extended with a team like Minnesota.
But all I can hear is that the Stallions, the team I’ve given my all to for the last seven years, don’t want me anymore.
And it’s not just the Stallions, but the woman in charge of them, too.
When Jon finally finishes, I reassure him I’m fine, making sure he knows to contact me as soon as he hears anything concrete, no matter how close it is to the game.
I stare at my phone, replaying every hit I’ve taken this season, every loss. The damning evidence piling high, convincing me it’s only right that the team trade me. Finally, I blow out a long breath and head to my room, that knot of dread getting tighter with each step I take.
Charlotte knows. And she said nothing. And she did nothing to stop it.
And who would blame her? This isn’t about me. It never has been. At least, not with her. If she thinks trading me will get her Langford Enterprises, that’s what matters. Not me, and definitely not Nan, the woman who has been ice cold to her since the day she walked into our lives.
I can’t even fault her for it since she’s been honest about her intentions this whole time.
I’m the one who forgot it was fake. I’m the one who let it become something more to me. I’m the one whose chest feels like a three-hundred-pound lineman just took me out.
After pushing on the handle to the door, I walk slowly into our room, barely catching the smile Charlotte gives me from her spot on the bed. Her eyebrows dip. “Is everything okay?”
I shake my head. “No. Or maybe. Do you know anything about me getting traded?”
Her eyes widen, but not in confusion or surprise. No. That’s panic at getting caught.
“Got it.” I continue toward the bathroom, nothing else to say at this point.
Charlotte follows me in, her red pajamas far too cheerful for the anger and despair I’m feeling.
Before she can speak, I turn around to face her. “How long have you known?” It comes out quiet. Almost sad.
“No trade offers have been made.” Her hands are up, like she’s trying to calm a spooked horse.
I am calm, though. Hurt, but calm. “But they’re on the table, aren’t they?”
“You know I can’t talk about business with you.” She takes a tentative step closer. “I’ve been clear about that.”
I snort a laugh. “Of course not. You can use me as a boy toy for your business, but you can’t even give me the common courtesy of a heads-up that I might be traded?
Did you even care what it would do to me to have to leave Nan?
To have to leave”—I cut myself off. Leaving Charlotte isn’t an issue I have to be concerned about anymore—“Denver.”
“You don’t understand. Things have ch—” Charlotte starts, but it hurts too much to listen to her defend herself like she didn’t know this would crush me.
“I do understand, Princess.” The nickname is a snarl as it leaves my throat. “You’re doing what you have to do to get your company. It’s what you’ve wanted this entire time. I… I thought things had changed.”
Her eyes widen, and she nods in agreement. “Yes, I was trying to—”
“Look, this isn’t working for me anymore.” I force myself to take a deep breath and then another. After running my hand down my face, I swallow hard.
Her eyes widen. “What?”
“I have a playoff game this weekend. I can’t spend my days wondering whether the woman lying next to me is texting someone about trading me.”
Jaw hardening despite the look of almost pain in her eyes, she whispers, “So what? You want me to leave?”
“Is that what you want?” My heart is torn between knowing it’s for the best and wanting her to tell me I’m wrong. For her to be the only person in my life to ever say it would hurt too much to walk away from me.
She chews on her lower lip. “I don’t… I can’t… I… still need my dad to think we’re together.”
It’s like an iced knife plunged directly into my stomach. I knew it was always about the illusion for her dad. But I thought it had turned into something more. For both of us. I guess I was wrong.
“Fine,” I say quietly. “I won’t tell anyone. But I can’t do this anymore.” I gesture to her in her pajamas, her stuff sitting by the sink. All the little things that, until fifteen minutes ago, made me feel like this was something special. Something long-term.
She nods once, her lower lip quivering slightly. “I’ll go and sleep in my old room. Everything will be out of here before you get home tomorrow.”
“Great,” I say before turning on the shower. I need to wash away this terrible fucking day.
She turns to leave, and despite my better judgment, I ask, “Was it all fake for you?”
Without turning around, she replies quietly, “Does it matter?”
I think about how I’d feel if she said yes.
If she told me I was the only one feeling the way I did.
And then about how I would feel if it had been real, and she still decided to trade me.
I’m not sure which would hurt worse. Actually, I do know which would hurt worse: if she, like my parents, had actually felt something, but not enough to stay. To fight for me.
“I suppose not.”
The truth is, I don’t deserve the kind of love my friends have, certainly not now, when everything in my life has to be about me, but probably never.
Everyone who has ever tried to love me has left, except Nan, of course, though that’s mostly due to the guilt she feels about raising my deadbeat dad.
“Okay, then.”
I climb into the shower, but as she leaves, I hear, “It was the most real thing I’ve ever felt.”
But when I open the shower door, she’s gone, and I’m pretty sure my mind is playing tricks on me.