Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Jason Isner has been spotted at Chicago Rebels HQ where insider sources say he is “learning his way around the gym equipment” ahead of training camp, set to begin in just over six weeks.
Isner, known in Boston as the Green-Eyed Monster, a nod to his vaunted defense skills, his Kershaw green eyes, and the famous left field wall at Fenway, was brought onto the Rebels roster in a five-year, twenty-million-dollar deal, as the franchise looks to strengthen its defensive bench.
When asked if Isner’s surprise addition is being rushed so he can play with his brother, Theo Kershaw, for the first time in their professional careers, Rebels PR claimed this was not a factor.
We still have no decision on whether the legendary defenseman will remain with the Rebels or if he’ll hang up his skates before the season starts.
- @RebelsInsider
Jason
While my season with the Chicago Rebels didn’t officially start until training camp in a few weeks, I had no intention of showing up on day one out of breath and clutching my side. I would be smooth, sleek, and fit as hell.
Which meant I needed to put the beat down on my cocky nephews. Both of them were forwards—Hatch with Chicago, my new team, Conor about to start his maiden season with Detroit—so they were perfectly placed to suffer while I worked them over on the practice ice at Rebels HQ.
We were taking a break and happily shooting the shit about how my years in Boston somehow left me wanting as a native Chicagoan—no one appreciated my take on how deep dish was overrated—when Conor brought up Franky St. James and her quest for a sperm donor.
How he knew was a mystery, but then maybe she was spreading her desperation far and wide, hoping to catch a spoonful.
I was still irked as all get out over how she managed to get the last word the other night. I draw the line at choosing an asshole to be the sperm donor for my child. She should be so lucky!
Hatch, my brother Theo’s eldest, squinted at Conor, who was refusing to reveal his source like he was Woodward or Bernstein. Annoyed, he turned to me. “Did Sean say anything to you about it?”
“Just that he and Franky are friends and it would make things weird.”
Sean was kind of freaked out about it, for which I couldn’t blame him. “I told her she was out of her mind,” I added.
Hatch tilted his head, scenting blood in the water. “You talked to her about it?”
“I was driving home from dinner at Ro and Addy’s and saw her on the sidewalk.”
“And?”
“And I stopped to ask her what in the hell she was thinking. If she wants a baby so much, surely there are other options. People who would be crazy enough to have a kid with her.”
Conor narrowed his eyes at me. “Isn’t that the point? She feels she doesn’t have the usual options, so she’s resorting to sperm requests from the eligible men of her acquaintance.”
I snorted. “Eligible? Right. You know she has a list.” Before anyone could ask, I said, “You’re not on it, Hatchling. Too young. Neither are you, Connie. Definitely too young.”
I assumed so because she specifically said she was looking for donors over the age of thirty and would be avoiding the youngsters because it wasn’t already weird enough.
To think I was listed, but I was missing the cut because of some technicality pissed me off in ways I couldn’t begin to understand.
Hatch was still regarding me oddly. “Are you on it?”
“Apparently, but only as a formality. I don’t meet her lofty standards.”
“You mean your superior athlete genetic material isn’t sufficient?”
Just what I needed, someone else with opinions.
“Some jocks might make the grade. But this one”—I thumbed at myself—“isn’t evolved enough. Which is fine because if I had a kid, the entire Rebels roster couldn’t keep me away. I’m not like Nick.”
Conor shook his head. “It’s just sperm, man. People need to be less attached to it.”
Hatch pointed at him. “And that’s the kind of attitude that’s going to get you into trouble. You’d better be wrapping it before you’re tapping it, Connie.”
They started sniping at each other about birth control and who had the messier sex life. Neither of these kids was in the running with Francesca St. James, but I wondered who was—and why I even cared. Maybe because all this baby talk reminded me of Everly, my ex in Boston.
So I was a touch sensitive about it. Hearing the professor tell me I wasn’t qualified for her baby experiment had rubbed me the wrong way.
But maybe she was onto something. I tended towards the asshole end of the spectrum in her presence, so of course I wasn’t in the running.
Not that I wanted to be, but I didn’t like being dismissed so readily.
Fuck, I hated all this navel-gazing.
So I was glad when my nephews quit their fraternal bashing and we hit the ice once more.