Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Easton
I arrive at the stadium, but instead of getting dressed, I find Jagger not only in the locker room, but at my locker.
This isn’t good.
All the shit I’ve been dealing with this past week, and now my agent is here to tell me I’ve been traded before the season has even started.
“It sucks that he’s not even getting The Pancake Man,” Decker says. “Hazel loves that place.”
Jagger appears relaxed in his expensive, perfectly tailored suit, bullshitting with my friends and teammates who are also his clients.
“Look who finally showed,” he says with his usual arrogant air. “You’re late.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “Like, a minute.”
“A minute counts.” He stands. “We need to talk.”
I glance at my friends, who all shake their heads and shrug that they didn’t rat me out.
Did I miss something in the media where someone snagged a picture?
I feel as if I’ve been locked in my condo all week, and if I did go out, one of the girls pushed the stroller for me.
We’ve been careful, but if Jagger already knows, then I did a shit-poor job of it.
Or I underestimated how fast word travels.
“I’ve got practice.” I toss my bag in the locker, sliding by him.
“Lucky you that you have the best agent who swindled ten minutes to talk to you.” He pats me on the shoulder. “Take the hint, Ian. This is what good agents do.”
“Already looking for our replacements?” Foster grumbles.
“Hell yeah, I have kids to clothe and feed. I’m a family man.” He points at Foster. “Much like all of you now, so, I need some young blood.” Jagger stands in the middle of the locker room with his hands in his suit pockets.
“Yeah, Reap, don’t you know the Falcons’ knees are creaking?” Hayes laughs, putting on his shin guards.
“Please, I’ve got the Chipmunks.” Jagger raises his eyebrows and leans back on his heels. “So, Ian.” He takes out his card and hands it to him. “Call me if you want to be paid what you’re worth.”
“And me?” Drew asks.
“I don’t represent dickheads.” Jagger doesn’t offer him any more of his attention.
“You represent Foster,” Drew says.
“Shut the fuck up, Drew. But what will we call you if Ian leaves your sorry asses? The DICs will be over.” Hayes frowns, and we all share a smile.
The third outfielder in their little trio, Camden, is quiet in the corner as he always is. Drew is the one who gives them a bad reputation because he’s young, cocky, and can’t help but let his mouth get him in trouble.
Jagger lifts his wrist and looks at his watch. “Tick tock, I have money to make. Let’s go. Ripley gave us his office.”
I glance at my friends again.
Decker pats me on the shoulder. “Sorry you don’t at least get the breakfast with the talk.”
I narrow my eyes at him.
“Yeah, they make the perfect sausage,” Foster says. “Made the lecture more tolerable.”
Jagger shakes his head, looking offended, but I’ve heard about my teammates all being taken to breakfast when something was going on with their career and Jagger needed to put them on the straight and narrow.
But he doesn’t have to worry about me. I’m in the best shape of my life, and I’ve never had a problem with my game.
“Yeah, the food makes it all more bearable,” Hayes agrees.
All three of them look at me.
“I’m not sure I know why you’re here?” I take my phone out of my pocket and walk toward Jagger.
“You’ll find out when we get in the office.” He looks around the room, where I’m sure everyone else is also wondering what my agent is doing here. Usually, that means bad news.
“You didn’t have to make a special visit for me. A phone call would’ve worked.”
Jagger laughs. “I’m here for the Falcons.”
We all groan because the players on Chicago’s professional hockey team are his favorites, and everyone knows it. Sure, they’re a dynasty—four years in a row winning the Cup—but with Tweetie’s retirement last season, it might be more challenging than they think to win this year.
I walk ahead of him. “When we win, you’re not on the bus.”
“I’ll buy my own bus with the money I’m making off you.”
There’s no shutting up for Jagger, which I respect. We’re one and the same, although he’s cockier than me, which is quite the feat.
We walk out of the locker room and down the hallway to Ripley’s office.
Jagger opens the door, and I go inside, which is adorned with pictures of Penelope and Hazel and even a wedding photo from Penelope and Decker’s courthouse wedding.
They’re dressed in traditional wedding apparel.
And here I thought Hadley and I would go in jeans or shorts, nothing fancy since no one has to know.
Decker’s wedding was about love. Ours is about favors.
It’s not the wedding I ever envisioned for myself, but maybe no one has to know about us getting married.
“Sit.” Jagger nods at the couch. He doesn’t sit with me, instead leaning against the edge of Ripley’s desk with his arms crossed.
I get comfortable on the uncomfortable couch. “I’m not sure why you’re here.”
“I like to check in with my players.” Something in his face says that’s not the whole reason he’s here right now.
I sigh and squeeze my eyes shut. “Who told you?”
“You think I don’t have connections?”
I look at the wall where Ripley has the lineup written on his dry-erase board. Shit, he moved me up in the lineup, fuck yeah.
“Focus.” He snaps his fingers in the air.
I narrow my eyes. My teammates wouldn’t have sold me out, so who did? “What?”
He crosses the room and sits in the chair adjacent to me. “So I heard a rumor about you—”
Fuck, here we go. He really does know.
“It’s not what you think,” I say.
“It’s not? Here I was hoping my source wasn’t right. They were?”
“Nothing was official before last night. Before that, it wasn’t certain.”
“Shit, East.” He stands and runs his hand through his hair, pacing the room.
I’ve never seen Jagger pace. Usually he has it together. He thinks this is bad and will affect my career. Fuck, I messed up this time.
“Do you have any idea how bad this is going to look? How do you see this working out?”
I shrug. “I’ve got a plan. It will be fine.”
He leans on the edge of Ripley’s desk again, his hands anchored on either side of his hips, his knuckles practically ghostly white. “A plan?” His perfectly waxed eyebrows lift. “Tell me.”
“Well, I made a deal with a friend, and she’s going to handle it while I’m in season.”
His eyebrows go from arched to furrowed, and he tilts his head.
“It’ll be fine.”
A beat of silence falls in the room.
He must be surprised I’ve already done the problem-solving of how I manage a season while having a son to take care of.
“I mean, others have done it before me,” I add, since three of my teammates, Hayes especially, are making the family thing work while playing.
“Not successfully.”
“That’s insulting.” I’m upset on my friends’ behalf that Jagger thinks they aren’t doing a good job at parenting.
He holds up his hands. “What’re the odds of keeping this under wraps?”
I sit up and place my forearms on my thighs. “That’s what I’d prefer. I’ve been taking precautions, but I’m not sure how much longer it can last.”
“I’d prefer if you just stopped it altogether. Get rid of the problem.” He arches an eyebrow.
I laugh but see he’s serious, and I glare at him. “I can’t do that.”
He shakes his head. “All you professional athletes think you can have everything you want.”
“I used a condom.”
Jagger’s head cocks to the side again.
“I did my part, and I have no idea how it happened.”
“From what I know, it’s pretty simple. You put your dick in her pussy, and now I have to do damage control.”
“There’s nothing you can do. It’s over and done, and he’s here.”
Again, Jagger’s face contorts into an expression I can’t name.
“I mean, he’s only six months old. And I’m keeping him.”
“What?”
“Tanner. My son. Isn’t that what you’re talking about?” I ask, leaning back on the couch.
Jagger straightens out. “You have a kid? What the fuck? These are the kind of things you call me about.” His voice raises.
“It just happened. His mom dropped him off at Peeper’s, like, a week ago.”
He stares at me for a long time, then shakes his head as though he’s trying to form sentences in the jumble in his head.
“Wait, why are you here?” I ask.
“Someone saw you leaving Bianca Banks’s condo building. Now there’s a rumor that you’re open to being traded to the Trojans.”
My head jerks back. “I’ve never been with Bianca Banks. Nor would I ever entertain being a Trojan unless I was desperate.”
For once, Jagger Kale doesn’t have words. “So, you have a baby now, and where is the mom?”
I give him the whole story about the baby being left, me taking the at-home paternity test, and getting the results that I’m the father. He comes to sit beside me on the couch, listening intently and drawing in a few deep breaths as if he’s trying not to lose it.
“But I got it covered. My friend, Hadley, is going to be his nanny as long as I marry her. She needs a husband to get her grandma’s bookstore, so we made a deal.” He should be happy I problem-solved this all on my own.
“You what?” His eyebrows go up and practically reach his hairline.
“Do you really need me to repeat it? It’s just for a year. I know I’ll have to figure out something else after, but I’ll have a better handle on Tanner then and it will be easier—”
“Easton.” He says my name in a controlled, calm voice that I know he’s forcing. “You promised to marry someone so she’ll be your nanny?”
I nod.
“These are the kinds of things you tell your agent. I need to get in front of this before it comes out. Did you already marry her?”
“Not yet. Today is the first day of our arrangement.”
He blows out a breath and scrubs his hands over his face. “I should’ve listened to Quinn and retired already. I can feel my blood pressure rising.”
I pat him on the back and stand. “Our ten minutes is up, but you don’t need to worry about me. Told you, I’ve got it handled.” I step toward the door.
“Sit.” The demanding tone he uses is one I imagine him using on his teenage son.
I do as he asks because I’ve heard that tone from my own dad, and it usually means there’s no arguing.
“What?”
He lifts his gaze. “We’re going to need to plan a very public proposal—”