Isn’t that always the way?
“What?” I don’t mean my tone to be so clipped, but my patience is at an all-time low. Mostly because I’m frustrated with myself, but I like to take it out on everyone around me.
It makes me super lovable.
“I need you to hear me out before you answer. Listen to it all before you say no.”
“You’re not selling it well so far.”
There’s a silence on the line. Then Justice takes in a deep breath before explaining. “You need to go to New York for about four days, so you’ll have to skip training.”
In the past, when endorsement deals have been on the table but they required me missing training, I passed on them. What good was cashing in on my soccer career if I didn’t have a career? And the only way to keep the career was to train and practice and play. I wasn’t pissing that away to stand around in a suit trying to convince people to buy a watch.
I don’t even wear a watch, for Christ’s sake.
“When?”
I swear, even through the line, I can feel Justice’s shoulders sink in relief that I didn’t automatically say no. His career depends on my success and the more deals I have, the more money he makes.
“Friday.”
“This Friday? Like tomorrow?” Shit. That’s not much notice. On the other hand, I doubt my shoulder will magically have healed by then, so really, the timing couldn’t be better. I can’t practice anyway.
“Yeah. It’s a whole weekend convention. There’s a cocktail reception on Friday and then trade shows throughout the weekend. They want to casually talk to you on Friday, have a formal sit-down on Saturday, and then, if you manage not to blow it, do a photo shoot and formal announcement on Sunday.”
Justice has left out one important detail.
“Who’s it for?”
The name makes me suck in a breath.
It’s one of the biggest names in athletic gear. Even without paid endorsements, my closet is full of items bearing that brand logo. They don’t usually have soccer players in their campaigns. Not enough name and face recognition.
This is huge.
“I’m in.”
We go over the details, including travel and wardrobe expectations. Of course, my casual wear is almost always joggers, so it’s easy, as long as I make sure to include those with the right logo on them. Heaven emails me my itinerary of flights from Logan to LaGuardia and reservations at the hotel approximately one block away from the Javits Center.
What a week. Named to the National Team. A campaign with one of the biggest brands out there. But as I reach out to lift my travel bag up, I’m painfully reminded that it might be gone already.
I wish I had someone to call. To share the news with. To talk about my fear of never playing again. But as I sit, phone in my hand, I realize there’s no one.
I suppose I could call someone on the team. That could get a little messy though because we’re all basically competing for the same endorsement deals. On the team, personal victories still go toward the greater good. This is entirely for personal gain, so it could breed feelings of resentment. That’s not what I want. I just want someone to talk this through with me.
I think about calling my mom, but she won’t be interested until the endorsement deal brings her swag, and even then, it’s not her style. If I could land a deal with lululemon, she might be more excited. And she definitely won’t be thrilled that there are more games for her to go to with my addition to the National Team roster.
Dad, undoubtedly, will criticize me for injuring myself, if he takes the call at all.
As my thoughts swirl down, I consider calling Hannah. She might not like me all that much—for reasons she has still yet to explain—but she’d at least appreciate the situation. She’d know what it meant. She’d understand my vacillating between extreme euphoria at landing this deal and massive panic that my career is done. She would understand the implications and the nuances. I just want to hear her voice.
Huh.
She’s not in my contacts. I could have sworn during all of our communication that I added her there. I could send her a DM on ClikClak, but knowing Heaven could be reading them too pulls me up. This is personal, and I have no one to share it with.
I guess I’m truly on my own.
