"I'd say shitter, but otherwise yes. If you need me to find a woman—or man—for you, let me know. I can take an ad out."
"First of all, it'd be a woman, and second of all, are you off your rocker? You're not placing an ad to find me a wife. I'm not that desperate."
Except I am. I don't finish my run, instead walking back to my flat, trying to figure out how I landed in this mess to begin with. Or, more importantly, how to get out of it.
But the pit in my stomach tells me this might be the only way. I text Alastair.
Me: Tony found a way for me to be naturalized so I'm an American citizen.
Alastair: Alright.
Me: There's one catch … I have to get married.
Alastair: Bloody brilliant. Who's the lucky bird? (see what I did there?)
Me: That's the problem. There's no one.
Alastair: What about Alycia?
Me: I'd rather remove my own testicle with a butter knife.
Alastair: That seems extreme.
Me: So is Alycia.
The collective opinion is getting married for citizenship is not a bad thought. I'm not sure about the legality of becoming a citizen, based on fraud, but that's far down on the list of priorities right now.
I literally don't know where I'm supposed to find someone who will up and marry me immediately. And how do I even bring this up? Hullo, my name is Xavier Henry. I'm a footballer. Will you marry me?
In my head, that plays with an Inigo Montoya Spanish accent, though I'm neither Spanish nor inThe Princess Bride.
Though it is inconceivable how quickly my life has gone to pot.
Will this even work? Tony thinks it will, but if I'm going to make such a drastic move, I need something more. I call Bjorn Janssen. I'm sure he won't be able to take my call, but before I proceed with this cockamamie plan, I need a bit more of a guarantee.
"I've been expecting your call." As usual, Coach Janssen doesn't mess around with things like pleasantries.
"Coach, what is the likelihood that Boston will sign me?"
"In the off-season, one hundred percent. If we have to wait until the international trading block, much less. We'll already be into the season then, and we can't hold a spot,assumingthat we'll be able to get you. We're already at our international cap."
I nod. "Right. Okay."
"Your agent told you what you need to do, right?"
I swallow the massive golf ball that seems to have lodged itself in my throat. "Yes." It comes out in a croak.
"Xavier, it's not the end of the world. Miller is excited to have you. We just need to know you're committed."
"I am."
"Then do what you need to do. If you weren't you, you'd have more options in England and Europe. This is it for you, and you have too much talent for it to be wasted. Camacho is an idiot with the direction he's forcing Masters to take the team."
I don't love the decisions Coach Masters has made for the Terrors, but I was never sure if those were his calls or if he was being directed. I guess there's my answer.
"This is coming from Camacho?"
"Word on the turf is that Camacho is trying to get in tight with Jones."
