Chapter 3
Steven
Get your ass moving.
The inner voice had no patience with my self-pity.
Neither did I.
Footsteps drew my attention a few seconds later.
“There you are,” Assistant Coach Brent Scanlon said, his tone strangely devoid of emotion. “We thought you weren’t coming.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Exhaling, I lifted my head.
The fear in his eyes was more palpable than I’d seen before. These ridiculous stories were getting out of hand.
He noticed I was standing near the window and joined me, shoving his hands into his pockets. His expression changed several times as he watched what was happening in the parking lot. While I’d always considered him a thoughtful man, I could tell he was struggling with whatever was on his mind.
“You can say it, Coach. I fucked up.”
“How many shifters are playing in sports?”
The question came out of the blue. “I don’t know. Hundreds I would guess by now.”
“Try less than a hundred at this point. And do you know why?”
“Because we’re hated.”
Coach Scanlon sighed. “By some. People hate what they don’t understand and you have to admit, it’s tough to comprehend how folks who look like you and me can suddenly and willfully shift into a snarling beast. All they know are the horror stories read to them or told around campfires when they were kids.
Or watching American Werewolf in London or any of the other werewolf movies depicting shifters as heinous murderers. ”
“Yeah, well, that’s not who we are!”
“I know that, Steve. A lot of people do. There are good and bad eggs in every group no matter how or where you grew up. Or if your parents were rich or poor. Whether you’re black, white, or little green men running around.
But here’s the thing. Shifters had the light shone on them because they chose to make themselves known in the world instead of living in the shadows any longer.
That means shifters of every species need to prove themselves more than just about anyone else.
It sucks, but that’s the way it is. That’s just something for you to keep in the back of your mind.
Whenever you’re ready, we’ll sit down and talk. ”
“Yes, sir.”
“And try not to bite anyone’s head off.” He grinned as he backed away, his attempt at making a joke falling flat on me.
Little did he or any other human truly understand the hardships we’d endured both before and after our discovery.
After a minute or so, all I wanted was to get the sermon over with so I could somehow figure a way out of the mess. As I headed toward the office, I could hear the group already starting without me.
I’d thought I’d grown pretty close to the men in the room, but I could tell by the uncertainty in their eyes and the way every muscle in their bodies was tense that maybe what I’d believed to be friendship was really just people tolerating who I was for financial gain.
“What did you need to see me about, Coach?” Might as well get the party started.
The coach remained behind his desk as if it were a nice barrier to keep me from ripping out his throat, whether to cure a beast’s hunger or because of what he was about to say to me. “I’m not going to beat around the bush here. You’re being traded, son.”
Just what I thought. “To?”
“Tampa Bay. They have a place for you,” my agent answered.
Gabe Andrews wasn’t a bad sports agent. In fact, he’d sought me out as a client based on my brother’s recommendation. It had been the single time Saint and I hadn’t been at odds.
“The Tampa Bay Gators?” My jaw was clenched and I shifted my stare from the coach to the assistant coach then to my agent. All three had smug looks on their faces as if they were harboring a secret among the three.
“You make it sound like you’re being demoted. They’re considered a hot up and coming NHL team.” Coach Giovanni Rufini was a take no shit kind of man. In fact, he reminded me a little of my father. “Plus, Florida is nice this time of year.”
Leaning against the wall, I folded my arms across my chest.
“You’re sulking.” Gabe Andrews had been my agent for less than a year, hunting me down after my canine abilities had been discovered.
“I’m not sulking. I’m simply thinking about my options.
” Tampa Bay had made a big splash during the past year.
They were edgy with a young team and way too much testosterone.
They were also on a losing streak, not expected to come up in the standings.
Being caught dead playing with them would not be good for my career.
Now I wondered how long it would be before someone mentioned the ridiculous interview on Friday. It was coming. I could tell the three men were literally bursting at the seams to say something.
“You’ll be seen as a hero if you can help them turn the season around. The sky is the limit if you do.”
Oh, my fucking God. Gabe was serious.
“Nah,” I snorted.
He lifted a single eyebrow, another infamous look that meant he was deadly serious. My entire body tensed. “There are fewer shifters in Tampa Bay.”
“That means I’ll be big news. Not what I want.”
Coach Rufini held a hard glare. “Not necessarily. They don’t really understand how it’s possible. It’ll be your chance to blend in.” His words weren’t of encouragement but a full-scale push.
“What’s the offer? Nine?” I grumbled out the questions with attitude.
Not that I was a greedy son of a bitch, but after living like a pauper for a very long time, I was eager to make a few changes. If I was forced into a shitty trade like this, I might as well get everything I wanted.
Once again, the three men silently conversed with each other. I’d walked into the three men who controlled my career already in an animated conversation.
That they’d abruptly stopped the moment I’d walked in.
“Six hundred.” Gabe was none too happy providing me with the contract number.
I burst into laughter. “I didn’t know you were a comedian.”
“I’m not joking.” His expression was dead serious.
“For one year? What happened to the typical million to start?” I shrank back, my skin clammy. This wasn’t possible. Unless you were being tossed to the bottom of the barrel, there was a financial protocol everyone followed.
“You need to prove yourself. Again.” Assistant Coach Scanlon had never been a fan, which meant today he was positively gloating. “Which might take an act of God to do.”
I resisted lashing out. “Three-year contract?” While lower than I’d expected, the money was certainly much more than I’d made the last couple of years.
“Hell, no. A one-year contract, to be renegotiated if all goes well.” Gabe was matter of fact, which meant there’d been more conversations about the offer, very difficult conversations.
What the hell was going on? I tried to shove aside the crap from the Today Show. Whatever this deal was, it had been in the works for days if not weeks, so the smoking gun had nothing to do with the decision. What other reason?
Sure, I had a bad boy reputation, but I was nowhere near as bad as a few of the dudes in the league. This had to be about my status as a werewolf. The word grated on my nerves more than if I’d been called a serial killer. I wasn’t a goddamn werewolf!
I might as well toss everything out. There was no time like the present.
“Is the shitty term because I’m almost twenty-four?
That I’m a playboy? Or because I’m a shifter?
” The eighteen- to twenty-one-year-olds received the three-year terms. In some coaches’ minds, I was already an old man for the sport.
However, I could tell by their smug looks that was the least of my problems. “Just another wave of discrimination. Right? I’m a shifter so I’m an automatic danger to the team and the fans.
Goddamn it! That isn’t acceptable.” I pounded my fist on the coach’s desk to make a solid point.
Gabe cringed as if I’d punched someone.
They certainly knew the cause and effect of my bouts of anger.
If the team was really using age as a factor in the short contract, that was all bullshit.
I was in excellent shape. The best of my life and certainly a hell of a lot better than the other members of my team and theirs too.
Maybe I should start some additional rumors about my attributes.
I was nine feet tall. I could fly like Superman.
I could leap tall buildings. Without breaking a sweat.
And sex.
Well, with two cocks, I could certainly go all night.
Shifters had heard it all.
“The shitty contract term is because you’re a hothead with questionable ethics. Plus, you have anger management issues.” Coach Rufini kept his voice low, which was odd for him. He was the real hothead of the team, always yelling from the sidelines.
I’d heard enough about my bouts of rage to last me a lifetime. Weren’t wolves supposed to be hot-blooded?
I wanted to argue with him, but what was the point? I used manifested anger as a tool when it suited me.
“And let me guess, you’re even happier with the possibility of me leaving with the news that broke this morning. Right?” I threw out the question, laughing as soon as I did. I could tell by their faces I was dead on. “You do realize that crap is bullshit. Right?”
Coach Rufini suddenly moved from his desk, heading toward one of the windows in his office, the one overlooking the parking lot.
He stood facing the glass with his hands in his pockets.
“Son, we don’t need the kind of publicity you bring with you to the table.
I’m not going to lie about that. But the decision is really in your best interest if you want to make it to the big leagues. Your time is running out.”
Well, there it was for me, as blunt as could be.
My keen hearing could tell there was a commotion outside. I headed toward the window, sucking in my breath when I peered down at the parking lot. There was the press, security unable to remove them. I was certain they threw out some crap about filing lawsuits.
Both Gabe and the assistant coach seemed to be holding their breath. Wow.