Page 29 of Lucky Shot

What the hell?

With one last glance around, I head back to the car park and am behind the wheel when my mobile rings.

One glance at the screen has me grinning and wincing at the same time. Took him long enough. I can play this one of two ways. I opt for the apologetic player route. “Rush Mackenzie. Long time no talk, mate.”

“You’re avoiding me.”

“Bullshit.” I so fucking am. “Why would I be avoiding you?” I sound like the picture of innocence because that’s not ironic or anything.

“Did you forget to do something yesterday?”

“There were some issues.”

“Issues?” He chuckles. “I had a whole team there. Ari. Reporters. Media. You stood them all up.”

“Yes. And I apologize. It was . . . I’m here at the academy right now, actually.”

Silence greets my response and has me shifting in my seat. I wait him out. He clears his throat. “So you were trying to right the wrong before you talked to me. I get it. I see you for it. But you were still fucking wrong, and I’m calling you on it.”

“C’mon, mate. I had plans I couldn’t change. It wasn’t like you gave me a chance to explain that.” And the lies keep coming. “I’m here now. What else do you want from me?”

He chuckles and it’s not the nice, soothing one he uses with fans but rather the one that has a competitor looking over his shoulder in dread. “I was specific in what I wanted and needed from you. Ari laid out a whole marketing plan on how to maximize this opportunity for you,” he says as I glance at the blue folder sitting on the front seat that she handed me. The one I never opened because I don’t need to be told how to smile pretty and entice the press. “You didn’t deliver on it.”

I’m a grown man. I don’t need fucking lectures.

I pick up the folder, thumb through it without really reading it, and then shove it under the front seat. Out of sight. Out of mind.

“I thought you were on a flight back home,” I say.

“I am.”

Huh. Typically when people leave me, they don’t care what I do so long as I perform.

“Like I said, I’m here now.”

“Only after realizing you were in trouble.”

“But am I though? I mean, I made a donation. I showed up. I’m playing the part you asked me to.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re in Miami because of me. I’m the one who pitched the idea to MLS. I’m the one who sold you to my fellow owners. All in the hopes that you could grow the sport like I once tried to years ago when I first came to promote it. But the cold, hard truth, Hardy? The MLS? Man, they loved your star power but questioned if you could pull it off. My co-owners? They were sold on your talent but thought you were too much of a risk. The Hardy we all know on the pitch is a sure thing. The one off the pitch? He’s too much of a wild card to put this kind of money and trust behind. So if you ask if you’re in trouble, no, not yet. You blowing this academy off yesterday? That turns that not yet into a very big possibly.”

“Come on.”

“You want to be the laughingstock of football? Take a ridiculous contract with the team but never get to finish the season because you’re a liability off the field? This isn’t back home. This is how it is here in America. Cancel culture is real and that’s the door you’re knocking on.”

“Rush . . . I’m man enough to admit that I made a mistake. I’m here right now trying to fix it. Can you let . . . whoever you need to let know that I am?”

“I’ll let Ari know. She’s been tasked with reporting to everyone how yesterday went. It seems now she’s pivoting to a new strategy.”

“Well, that should be—”

“Enjoy the full week of camp there, mate.”

“What the fuck, man?” I groan and tilt my head up to the sky. He can’t be bloody serious.

“That’s what I had to promise my co-owners and Major League Soccer. You should thank me because I talked them out of suspending you from practice for the week too.”

“Rush.” His name is a plea and a rejection all in one. A whole week? “How the hell am I supposed to practice if I have to be at some damn football camp all week?”