Chapter 12
brANDON
The moment I walk into the locker room, Coach stops me before I can change.
“BJ and Grieg into my office. Now.”
I toss my bag into my cubicle and follow the Stinger’s team captain into Coach’s office.
“Why haven’t you returned my calls?”
I shrug. “My cell has been turned off.”
“Then turn it the fuck on,” he roars. “This is not something that will go away.”
I shake my head and lean back to stare at the ceiling. “Why? I haven’t agreed to anything. I want to train with the team.”
“Oh, now you want to train and be part of the team,” he snaps.
I glare at him. “I have worked my arse off for this team.”
“Your ass? Your ass? You do whatever it takes to benefit Brandon Johns. Do you hang out with the guys? I haven’t witnessed a game where you cared about cohesion or teamwork on the court unless your stats shined first.”
“Isn’t that what I’m paid to do? We only won certain games because of me.” Shit! That came out wrong. I glance at Grieg, and he looks livid.
“It’s not the standard we’re looking for at the Stingers. We’re a fucking team, and we expected you to gel.” He stops yelling and stares at Grieg. “Johns is being traded to the LA Sharks.”
Grieg leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “Fucking when?”
“This week or as soon as the association approves it.”
Grieg leans back in his chair and clasps his forehead with both hands. “The board has no idea about cohesion. If BJ leaves mid-season…” he jabs a thumb in my direction, “… the team will be in shambles.”
“I don’t want to leave,” I grumble, looking up at Coach. I damn well deserve answers, though. “Why now?”
“Because we lost some games we thought we could win. Thought you would pull us over the line. One in particular was in LA.” He crosses his arms and glares back.
“So it comes down to numbers. Not your numbers. We might be in the eight, but it’s not guaranteed that we’ll make the finals.
If we take a financial loss, then you can fix that.
LA is offering a substantial amount to take you back. ”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t make sense.” The Stingers would only agree if they were offered more than what they paid for my trade. It’s not a viable business deal for a team that already has a dynamic guard and power forwards.
“It does on paper, and it’s the math that counts.”
“Who is replacing BJ?” Greig asks, still sounding pissed.
“No one.” Coach links his fingers on his desk. The bastard doesn’t even look sorry that I’m leaving. “It’s why I need you to rally the team and keep us in the eight. I believe you can do it with or without Johns.”
I have never begged in my life, yet I want to fall on my knees at his feet and clasp my hands high in the air. “Coach… is there any way I can stay?”
I stand in the center of my apartment, slowly turning in place, letting the reality sink in.
By the door, five suitcases sit neatly packed, holding my clothes and anything valuable I could cram inside.
Nearby, Chase moves methodically, boxing up my gaming consoles, games, and monitors, which are the only pieces of my life that still feel like mine but I can’t keep.
“My kid is going to freak out,” he tells me. “I can’t believe you’re not taking this stuff with you.”
“They gave me forty-eight hours to be on a plane and have a fitness assessment,” I grumble. “Pack up three years of my life. I sold this stuff before moving here, and I’ll buy what I need when I arrive.”
Ewan assists the movers in getting to the door and brings back some paperwork for me to sign. “Two of your cars will be transported in a week. Can you sign here?”
I do and look up at Chase. “Can you arrange for all this stuff to be taken care of?”
“I can and have companies that can help.”
Firing Flint before the move wasn’t my brightest moment, especially since he handles everything that requires a personal assistant.
Ewan and Chase have been by my side for three years, and I trust them more than I trust Flint.
It helps when I’m paying their wage until the end of the month, so all this shit gets sorted.
I let out a long breath. How the hell did I end up here in the same situation? Again. At least I’m a lucky one, with no family or kids to sort out and no pets. It stings all the same.
I open the cupboard to see full shelves of food. “This needs to go to a homeless shelter.”
“Of course, boss.”
“And the furniture… if you don’t want it, Chase, then have a moving company donate it.”
“Are you sure you don’t want the movers to transport it to LA?”
I land a hand on Chase’s shoulder. “I sold most of my stuff before coming to Chicago because I wanted a fresh start. I’ll be in a hotel or furnished apartment for some time, and it suits me fine since I won’t be taking any of it home with me to Australia.”
Ewan squares his suited shoulders. “Most of my belongings will remain in storage. If you change your mind, I can arrange the storage for you,” his words trail off. He taps his pen on the notepad. Ewan frowns as he looks around my apartment, uncertainty in his eyes.
I wait for him to look at me.
“Mate, this fucking sucks.”
An hour later, Chase veers the black sedan onto the restricted runway as I stare at the private jet awaiting me. I’m seconds away from telling Chase to drive, to get me out of this hell.
My cell vibrates, and I let out a sigh, seeing my mother’s name.
“Mum. It’s not a good time. I’m at the airport.”
“I know, love. I wanted to say I’m thinking of you. Remind you that you can do this no matter how hard it gets.”
I close my eyes slowly, willing my heart to slow. “Thanks.”
“It takes strength not to ask yourself why or question the situation. No what-ifs. Mend what’s broken, son.
Starting with you.” I swallow down the ball of fear in my throat.
“Life goes on. It’s always darkest before dawn, and LA is your new dawn.
The start of a new chapter, even if it doesn’t feel like it. Just don’t run back to what broke you.”
“It’s exactly what I’m doing,” I grumble.
“No, you’re not. You’re stronger. Wiser. You have a goal. Stick to it. I’m here for you. We’re only a phone call away.”
“I appreciate it, Mum.” I close my eyes and give myself a moment to think of every positive reason why this is a good idea.
I refuse to carry the psychological baggage into the next phase of my career.
Charlotte is the focal point, and even if she never speaks to me again, I will at least get to see her.
The chance to make the championships has been a priority since I was in college, and this could be a sign—my last hope of succeeding before I call time on my career.
Maybe the universe has a plan for me all along.
A wave of gratitude comes over me. I am playing the game I only dreamed about when I was an eight-year-old boy who slept with his basketball. No matter where or what team, I am living out my dream.
I open my eyes, intending to let go of all the toxic energy and see this as a second chance.