Chapter 7: Callaghan
C
C: Did you see the story on ESPN.com?
While normally I wouldn’t be thrilled for my phone to be dinging with text alerts this early in the morning, getting a text from Chadwick Campbell, the backup goalkeeper, is a rare thing.
Basically, he only texts when the world is ending, like when they canceled the season for COVID.
I have to get up and go train anyway. Plus I need to see the PT about my shoulder, which is still aching after my last diving save attempt two weeks ago. My appointment isn’t until ten. I can take a few seconds to look before I get up and eat.
Without responding to CC, I open up my phone. It’s easy to find the top story.Curse of the Birdsby Chassen Donato.
I roll my eyes. Stupid title. I don’t want to read this. It’s about birds. Why the hell do I care?
I text Chadwick back.
Me: Who gives a flying fuck about birds?
CC: Keep reading.
I follow his directions, my mouth falling open. Oh shit, it’s about Xavier Henry, talking about his career in the BFL. Jesus, I hope they never talk about my stint there.
Somehow, Callaghan Entay never lived up to his potential.
That quote will haunt me until the day I die. It’s nothing compared to the ghosts chasing Xavier Henry, which are outlined in explicit detail in this article. The exposé continues to talk about his agent, and none of it is favorable. This guy perpetuates the stereotype of the slick wheeler and dealer, which is not at all whom I’d picture Xavier working with.
I sit up a little straighter as I get into the next part of the article though. It’s about his wife, Ophelia, who is apparently some sort of ClikClak star.
As well as a sex worker.
And she wrote a smutty porn novel about Xavier.
But that’s not the worst part. I don’t know how it could get worse, yet somehow it does. The slimy agent is AWOL and suspected of embezzlement, Xavier was linked to the Boston Buzzards, totally violating his contract, and their entire marriage is a fraud. The article ends with Bob Miller, the man who signs my paychecks, saying there are no formal business dealings with Xavier Henry.
Damn, I thought I had it rough. His career is done. He’ll never set foot on the pitch again.
It’s too bad. We could really use him on the Buzzards. I read the article again. It sits like old food in my stomach. None of it sounds like Xavier. He always struck me as honest and hardworking. He definitely was never one to skate by or dog it.
Even back in England, he didn’t seem like the type to get caught up in the party scene, which is why the whole Phaedra Jones thing surprised, well, everyone.
He never spoke up or said anything, which was pretty much admitting to his guilt. I wonder if he’ll take the same approach this time around.
Of course, he doesn’t have an agent right now to help him out. That’s another thing. Xavier Henry is straightlaced. I can’t see him being behind the scenes of an embezzlement scheme. I should reach out to Justice and see what he can do.
I don’t know why I want to help, other than, deep down in my gut, I like Xavier. And I know how bad the press can be sometimes. I text CC back.
Me: Guess we can’t count on him defending us this year. Too bad.
CC: You know what they say ... fooling leads to crying. But I never pictured him hiring a sex worker and faking a marriage.
Yeah, me neither.
But this is Henry’s issue to deal with. It doesn’t directly impact me. I should get up and start my workout. I don’t have to be back at the Buzzards’ training facility until tomorrow, but at my age, if I have too much downtime, I’ll never get moving again.
For a moment, the thought of not having to work out again sounds heavenly. I’ve been pushing my body so hard for so long. I don’t remember having a day without pain. Without bone-crushing fatigue.
