AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You think this is funny?” Rudy glowers down at me, which is not a usual occurrence since I’m 6’5” and he’s barely 5’9” on a good day.
Picking myself up off the floor, I sit back in my chair, wiping the tears of mirth from my eyes.
Rudy sighs.
“Listen, kid, you’re in the shit now. You took a joy ride in the team owner’s private yacht, and then you crashed it. You had to be rescued by the fucking Coast Guard. You put not only your life in jeopardy, but the lives of everyone on that boat. Do you have any idea how quickly this almost became an international incident?”
“Key word there isalmost,” I say. “Prince Yasin was fine. Hell, he even thanked me for the good time.”
“But his parents did not,” Rudy argues, pacing back and forth.
Finally, he sits back down and gives me a look, like he’s about to tell me my dog died.
Except I don’t have a dog. Too much responsibility.
“Brady,” he sighs again. I’m really getting fucking sick of his sighs. “Your actions have consequences.”
“So, what are they going to do? Dock my pay? Make me sit out the first couple of games? Good luck to that. Iamthis team.”
Rudy snorts, and then begins to laugh in a defeated and delirious manner. He shakes his head.
“No, Brady, nothing like that,” he says. Relief washes over me—and confusion. What else could they do?
“You’ve been traded,” he says.
WHAT?!
“What did you just say?” I demand. He couldn’t possibly have said what I think he did.
“I said, ‘you’ve been traded’. You’re no longer the starting quarterback for the New York Bulls. So, start packing, because you’re out.” He jerks his thumb to the side like a baseball umpire.
I don’t believe it. I just signed that new contract at the end of last season! What the fuck?
Fuck, I can hardly breathe.
“Where?” is all I’m able to get out.
This time, there’s pity in his eyes when he says, “San Antonio.”
Texas?Fuck, no.
“No,” I say, my voice flat. “Do something. Fix it.Thisis what I pay you for. You’re the best at what you do, so fuckingdosomething.”
“I’m sorry, Brady, but thisisthe best I could do.” At least he actually sounds like he feels bad about it.
“What do you mean, this is the best you could do? Call L.A.! Call fucking St. Paul! I can deal with snow. Call one of the dozens of teams that have been sniffing around me like I’m a bitch in heat.” I’m almost shouting now.
And I’m getting even more irate because Rudy-fucking-Goldstern is just sitting on my couch, shaking his head.
“I’m sorry, buddy, I am. But I tried. After the yacht fiasco, no team wants to touch you with a fifty-yard pole. San Antonio is the best I could do. They’re the only team that wanted you.”
My heart is pounding in my chest, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I got the hell out of that state in college, and I never looked back. Well, maybe once, but that doesn’t matter now.
I fucking hate Texas. The roar of blood in my ears is so loud, I can barely make out the rest of what Rudy is saying.
“...one year contract, with the option to sign a more substantial, long-term contract at the end of the season, permitting you do well, and don’t find yourself in breach of the morality clause.”
“The what now?” I squint at him, again unsure of what he’s talking about.
“They’re taking you, but you have to sign a morality clause. I’m just waiting on our lawyers to review it, but from what I’ve seen, it’s pretty standard. No illicit behavior, curfews before games, that sort of thing. We’ll work it out, don’t you worry about it.”
The slick, self-assured man I hired is back, now that the bad news is delivered.
I put my head in my hands, disbelief still clogging my brain.
A morality clause?FUCK.
I fucking hate Texas.
