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Chapter 4
Brady
From the second I stepped foot off my plane, I’ve wanted nothing more than to turn around and go the fuck home.
God, what an ugly, little shithole town.
It makes sense why the Rangers probably need me. In fact, the whole trade is probably the most excitement they’ve had in years, especially judging by how empty this place gets after eleven o’clock at night.
I can’t imagine that a single decent club or an upscale lounge is anywhere to be found. The only strip clubs are hours away, so none of that after practice, either.
I don’t even want to get started on the food. I’m not a picky eater by far, but hey, I’m rich. I’m not eating at fucking Applebee’s.
Honestly, if playing for the Rangers, and being wrapped up in this whole “morality” clause doesn’t kill me, boredom probably will. But who knows? It’s only my first day.
As I drive to the stadium, literally in the worst mood ever, I turn on some Lil’ Wayne and crank it up loud, as I normally do. It always puts me in a good mood.
Then while sitting at a red light, I notice a little old lady peering at me, her beady eyes piercing with judgment.
Why is everyone in this town so afraid of me? I look straight at the old lady, smile, and turn up the music. Angry and intimidated, the granny sinks into her seat and faces the road.
As I speed away, the engine of my newly-rented Bentley revving a resounding “fuck you” to all the cars behind me, I can’t help but laugh.
As I pull up into the stadium, Willis waddles out.
“You’re late!” he hollers as he approaches the passenger side door with his little clipboard, which I swear must be stapled to his wrists or something. “Wait, did you buy this car? Your agent told me you were going to chill out on the exorbitant spending while transitioning.”
I hop out the car, engine still running. “It’s a rental.”
I throw the keys to Willis, who barely catches it as it bounces against his fingers like he’s playing a game of hot potato.
“Can you park that?”
Willis stares at me in disbelief as I walk past him.
“Hey, that’s not my job!” he screams after me. “Hey, get back here!”
As I step inside the stadium, it suddenly gets quiet. Everyone’s looking at me like I’m a dead man marching to the electric chair.
I put on my shades and continue walking. I’m not gonna let these little townies try to make me feel like I don’t belong, like I’m some sort of Big Bad Wolf coming to blow their stadium down.Pathetic.
As I turn down the hallway, I spot Coach McGoy on his cell. As soon as he sees me, he slams it closed. Apparently, flip phones are still a thing over on this side of the country.
“Goddammit, Brady.” He rushes over to me, his hands on his hips, his mustache sharp and gray. “You’re 30 minutes late.”
“Yeah, I know.” I look at his face and realize that he’s expecting some excuse or apology. “Um, traffic.”
Coach lets out a low sigh, clearly not satisfied with the answer. “And Willis just called me and said you ordered him to park your flashy car?”
I look at him for a moment, unsure of what the problem is. “Yeah.”
“He’s the manager!”
“And?”
He shakes his head. “It’s your first day, Brady. Do you really want to start fucking things up already? Because if so, we’re already off to a bad start.”
I shrug. I don’t know what more this old man wants from me. I showed up. I’m not hungover. Things seem to be starting off just fine to me.
