Chapter 27: Brandon
Inever truly understoodthe expression “you could knock me over with a feather” until I saw it written all over Leora Deventhorpe’s face. Leora is the Boston Buzzard’s public relations person, and apparently, I was the last person she ever expected to see asking to schedule a charity event.
When I gave her the Post-it with the website and told her my ideas, she stared at me, her mouth hanging open.
“So, I want to do a soccer clinic for both prospective players and referees. They’ve done a similar event with the Philadelphia Flyers before. Then, can we have the kids and their parents attend the game? You know, give them all sorts of free shit and maybe even have them come down on the field. Make a big deal out of them. It’s got to suck having a brother or sister who’s sick all the time. The sick one gets the attention. Never the healthy one.”
Leora doesn’t say anything, so I keep talking. “I mean, maybe the Buzzards could sponsor their gala or something? I saw it on the website. Something about red sneakers. But that’s for the sick kid part. I want to focus on the JustSibs part of it, mostly.”
Finally, she remembers how her mouth works as she closes it and swallows. “I can check the calendar. Usually these things are scheduled a few months out at minimum. So that would put us in September or October. Probably don’t want to go too much later in the year than that.”
“That’s great,” I say, my smile wide. “I emailed their person to get information. Can I send that to you so you can do ... what you do here?” I look around her small office, not sure exactly what she does. “Work your magic.” I cover, not wanting to seem as ignorant as I am.
I probably should know, but in the five years I’ve been with the Buzzards, I don’t think I’ve done anything public relations related. Certainly not anything for good.
This one, I blame on my dad. He’s managed my career since I was a kid. Not only is he not getting me endorsements, he’s not even helping me with my public image. He’s letting me flail and fail on my own, probably so he doesn’t have to take ownership.
He’s good at that.
I don’t want to be like that.
I turn back. “Hey, Leora, I’m sorry if I’ve been a little bit of trouble with my image and all.”
The shocked expression is back. I leave it at that and head for Andi Nichols’s Ford Escape. It’s in good shape—for a Ford—but it’s not new. I check the odometer. It’s got almost 100,000 miles on it.
She’s lucky this is still running.
It reminds me of my old Explorer. My mom’s Explorer.
Her place is tiny too. How much do referees make anyway? Plus, she said she still has a day job. This doesn’t make sense. I’ll have to ask her why she’s so stingy with her money.
What did she mean by not getting paid as much as her male counterparts? I had to have misunderstood. Surely that’s got to be illegal.
I have so many questions for her.
I meet up with Callaghan outside the training facility. He’s going to follow me up to Andi’s so I can drop her car off and then give me a lift home. There’s a small circle of people who can know about Andi and me.
I say that like we’re a couple.
Ha. That will never happen. I’d never want that to happen. Even if she is more interesting than I thought. And more attractive. Much more attractive.
The image of her soaking wet pops into my brain again.
Yeah, no. Not in a million years. Not if she were the last woman on Earth. She’s nothing but a hard-ass, ball-busting, prim and proper rules follower. That’s not my type.
She meal preps and has fresh avocados for Christ’s sake. Who lives like that?
That’s not the kind of life I want. Her apartment is sterile and devoid of personality. My place may be entirely made of oak, but at least it doesn’t feel like the inside of a hotel.
I mean, my place doesn’t feel like me either, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel like. Something’s always been off. The only one who made me feel even kind of grounded was my mom. Then she was gone, and Jess was recovering—and then spiraling out of control.
Jess had always been a daddy’s girl, so the chaos she created turned him into a cold shell of a human. To be clear, he wasn’t warm and fuzzy to begin with, but he’s become a downright ass ever since.
He made it easy not to have a home.
It’s one reason why I think I liked my house when I first looked at it. It was old and lived in, but it felt like a home. Maybe not mine, but someone’s. I had to start somewhere.
Not belonging anywhere—or to anyone—makes it easy for me to speak my mind. I don’t care what people think about me because it’s not like they’re going to be there in the end.
