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“What? I get it. It would be less crap for them to deal with.”
That had him glancing over, his mouth set into a firm line. “This isn’t ‘crap’ and I’m not going to pretend like we don’t know each other. I’m not a child and neither are you.”
Jumping to agree to their terms so quickly made me feel like a guilty asshole. I hated saying he was right, but it was the truth. What did I have to hide? I looked at the hazel-green orbs staring at me and remembered that this was the person that had spent the night in a chair too small for him, and woken up every time the nurse checked on me. That made me feel like that much more of an ass-wipe.
For one brief moment I asked myself what the hell had I gotten myself into. This was the equivalent of being scared of heights and getting a job window-washing skyscrapers.
But as I took in his thirty-nine-year-old face that had been such a huge aspect of my life when I was younger and had somehow become an ever larger figure now that I was a lot older, I accepted the fact that there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him. I wasn’t positive whether to let that make me feel weak or to accept it for the gift it would have been if I let myself think of it that way.
I had a man I respected that respected me, and he didn’t care if the world knew we meant something to each other. Our friendship hadn’t been given to either one of us, we had worked at it. On top of that, I felt something for him even if he was an egotistical, arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass. He was my egotistical, arrogant, stubborn pain in the ass.
So, yeah, I wasn’t about to let someone—anyone—cheapen our friendship. That person sure as hell wasn’t going to be Cordero either.
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” The only thing I didn’t want and wouldn’t want, would be to get stared at. That was all. A thought entered my head. “Does your publicist hate us hanging out together?”
“My publicist hates most things,schnecke, don’t worry about him.”
That wasn’t super reassuring but all right. I smiled at him. I guess his publicist could sign up on the long list of ‘People Who Aren’t Fans of Sal.’ Someone had told me once that you couldn’t make everyone happy, and I’d kept that close to my chest for a very long time. Once you reluctantly accepted that people were always going to judge you no matter what, it got a little easier to deal with having people dislike you.
A little.
“Why are you frowning? Is your head bothering you?” Kulti asked in a worried tone.
Yeah, there wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him. Not that I would ever admit it out loud.
I repeated that to myself the instant the first person recognized Kulti at the airport. I kept repeating that to myself when a security officer was forced to lead us into a special room to wait until boarding began. When I became overwhelmed at the people craning their necks to get a good look at the German, I told myself that this was all part of it. My face got all red because he wouldn’t let me walk ahead and pretend like I didn’t know him.This was all part of being friends with the German.
But it definitely sucked and I wasn’t a fan.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Where doyou want me to drop you off?” Marc asked.
Two weeks had passed since my concussion, and I was itching to start playing again. I hadn’t been allowed to practice with the team, but I hadn’t slacked off. I’d kept up running on my own and doing some easy ball-dribbling with the German in his backyard. He made sure to stay at least five feet away from me at all times so that he didn’t accidentally hit me in the face.
“In the front, please.”
He nodded as he turned on the street where the Pipers building was located. Marc hadn’t been super-talkative the last week or so, and I knew it was my fault. After my parents and Eric, he’d been the next person I told about possibly going to play somewhere else. While he said he understood, he hadn’t taken it as well as everyone else had despite my explanation that I’d probably be sent to another team regardless. Marc didn’t even pretend to not be sad about it.
Then again, no one spent as much time with me as he did.
“Call if you change your mind and need a ride,” he said as he eased his big truck to a stop.
I got ready to open the door but waited, facing him. “I will, but it’s not a big deal for me to call a cab. I know you need to get to the next job.”
The man who used to give me wet willies when I was little simply nodded, and it tore my insides up. I didn’t know what to say to him. Nothing could possibly come out of my mouth that would make him feel any better. So I saved my words and instead, reached over to pat his knee. “I love you, dude. Thanks for the ride.”
He puffed out a breath and tapped the top of my hand. “Anytime, Salamander. Good luck.”
Short words were a guilt trip from him. Bah. I nodded and reminded myself for the twentieth time that I was doing the best thing for me by trying to find another team. Plus who said anyone would actually go through with everything and sign me? I’d spoken to three teams on the phone, and all the conversations had seemed pretty positive.
Except the whole ‘What made you decide to leave the WPL?’ question.
Any publicist would have wanted to murder me when I told the general managers the truth. Maybe lying would have been the smarter idea, but I couldn’t do it though. I told them. “I’ve given the WPL the last four years. I don’t want to play where I’m criticized for things that don’t matter on the field. All I want is to play. I want to win a cup.”
They’d either take me or they’d leave me, but at least I’d go somewhere on my own merits.
Surprisingly, none of them had questioned my friendship with Kulti.
