On the other hand, the article on ESPN.com said that Miller denied being in talks with Henry. With publicity that bad, he would have to say that though. I think about what Hannah said. Someone was trying to clear Henry because that article was crap. It didn’t sound like him, the guy I knew when I was in the BFL.
The press can be brutal, especially when they have a salacious story to run with. I’ve no proof of whether the story is true or not. Nothing tangible, that is. Hannah contacting me, especially with her reaction to me tonight, should be evidence enough.
On the other hand, Henry did show up at our reception with his new bride in tow. Literally. They were on their way home from the courthouse if his Instagram feed is any indication.
But I did see them together. The way they danced, never tearing their gaze off each other. The gentle hand he put on her back. The death glare he gave me when I was checking her out. Those are not things a man does if he doesn’t have some semblance of feeling toward his partner. Those weren’t things he was doing because someone was watching.
Those are things a man in love does.
Or at least what I imagine a man in love would do. I’ve never felt that strongly about anything, other than soccer. But people give you funny looks when you give your cleats or shin guards loving caresses.
On my way home, I text Coach Janssen. It’s hovering on too late to get in contact, but I reach out nonetheless. I’m not sure what I’m even going to say that’s not going to sound completely ridiculous, so I simply ask to meet with him before I come in for my workout.
Because of the hour, I’m not expecting him to reply so quickly.
Coach: Actually, I was hoping to catch you tomorrow for a sit-down. 9 a.m.?
Shit. Sit-downs are never good. This is it. The end of my career. The fact that I failed to stop those PKs which cost us a shot at the finals. He’s going to start CC. I’m out.
And then there goes my chance at the Global Games.
The one last thing I need to do.
Those thoughts haunt me during the drive back down I-95. It felt like I made the trip up in minutes, but it feels like it’s taking hours to get back home.
Home.
My cold townhouse that’s new construction and nice enough but feels as empty as my life. It’s too big for me at almost 2700 square feet. There are rooms I virtually never go in. I’m not home enough to. But at just under a million, the price was right. It was high-end enough to be fitting for someone in my career.
At least that’s what my mother said when she picked it out for me. She’s a real estate agent to the wealthy of New Jersey. She’s even appeared on an episode or two ofReal Housewives.
We have very different priorities in life.
It was fine when Mom found it for me. It made Katherine spitting mad since I was still renting an apartment when we were married. She’d been bugging me to buy a “nice little house.” I’m not going to lie, part of the reason I bought this place—in addition to not wanting to let my mom down—was to piss off Katherine.
Not super mature, but no one’s ever accused me of that.
As I pull into my garage, I start to wonder if my stupid ego didn’t bite off more than it can chew with this place. If I lose my spot, then the endorsements are sure to dry up fast. Soccer’s not big enough in America to carry me for long with the few deals I currently have.
I was banking on the publicity surrounding the Global Games to get me one or two more big deals so I’d be set for a while until I can figure out what life is like after soccer.
I’d better get started on that.
After a terrible night’s sleep, it’s finally time to head to the training facility. In my head, I rehearse all the reasons why Coach shouldn’t bench me. I’m about a thousand times more nervous than I am on a game day.
But when I’m staring down the kicker taking a penalty shot, I know it’s all about the fake out. Trying to psych out your opponent so he second-guesses his plan and falls right into your trap. I’ll do the same thing now.
I take a deep breath, trying to center myself.
Without giving Coach the opportunity to sit me down and begin awkwardly demoting me, I open his door and stride in, sitting down before being invited.
“Thanks for meeting with me, Coach. I have some information that may be useful to you and the front office in terms of our roster for next year.” I continue on, without giving him a chance to stop me. “The Boston Buzzards as an organization has had quite the growing year. From the bottom of the league prior to the COVID shutdown to making the semifinals is a growth not before seen. Miller has a great vision for this team, and I’m proud to be a part of it. I think with a few more lineup changes, we could go all the way next year.”
Coach Janssen sits back, folding his arms over. He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? Do tell.”
“No one expected us to go from the bottom to the very top in one year, so I think we outperformed expectations. However, our defensive line still needs some shoring up, and—if the rumors are true—you’ve been talking with Xavier Henry. Now I know he’s got some bad press right now, but I’ve also heard from a very reliable source that most of that article is false. He’s not like that at all. You should know that since you coached him in Baltimore.”
Coach nods. “I agree that the article sounds a bit out of character for him.”
