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“Uh, yes…hello.” I roll my eyes at myself and take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Sorry, this is Brock Adams. I am a baseball pitcher at Groveton College. Coach Pollard gave me your name and number and suggested that we speak.” My confidence grows the more I speak, and my nervousness ebbs slightly.
“Yes… Brock, I have been expecting your call. How is Lefty doing?” Ripley’s relaxed tone is putting me at ease.
“He’s well, I guess. Being my coach, we don’t have a personal relationship, if you know what I mean.”
Ripley chuckles at my reply. Changing position on the bed so that my back is against the wall with my legs across the width, Kassidy springs to mind. She was here the last time I sat this way. Pushing those thoughts aside, I focus back on my current conversation.
“Alright, so, to the matter at hand. Is it safe to assume that Lefty updated you on what is happening?” Ripley asks, all traces of humor gone from his tone, totally business in its place.
“He, ah, said that my father is causing issues with some of the offers that have come in,” I respond, heaving a deep sigh. “I need to be honest. My conversation with Coach threw me for a loop. Full disclosure, I haven’t spoken to my father in a couple ofweeks, so I had no knowledge that any offers were coming in, let alone the fact that he is screwing me over,” antipathy is apparent in my tone.
“Yeah,” Ripley scoffs before his business tone slips back into place. “Alright, enough about what has been done by your father. It’s time we move forward to what we can and need to do.”
A slight smile curls my lips up for the first time in hours, a bit of weight lifted off my shoulders.
“I am going to email you some paperwork. You need to review it with a lawyer, if possible, and then sign it. The sooner you get it back to me, the better. I have already taken the liberty of contacting some of the teams. Some have previously made offers that your father rejected. Others have yet to come see you play,” Ripley pauses again. “Until you get that signed contract back to me, there is nothing that I can officially do regarding negotiations…” his words trail off, letting that last bit hang in the air.
“Yeah, I have a lawyer who can take a look at it.” Gareth Worthington pops into my head. Hopefully, I haven’t pissed him off this week, so he will help me.
The door to my room opens, and my focus turns to Zanko. He shoots me a quizzical look, and I hold my index finger up, indicating he waits a moment.
Ripley takes my email address and lets me know that the contract has been sent. I need to head over to the library to print it, so I move to the edge of my bed so I can stand. Zanko blocks the door, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrow raised in question.
Providing Ripley with some additional information, including the remainder of our game schedule, I end the call. Stepping toward the door, Zanko holds his hand up in a stop motion while shaking his head back and forth.
“What’s going on?” Zanko asks.
Giving him an abbreviated explanation, he moves away from the door, letting me pass. Walking through the house, once again, I ignore my name being called. Am I being an asshole right now? Absofuckinglutely! Do I give a shit? Absofuckinglutely not!
Zanko’s pace matches mine as we jog to the library. Zanko sweet-talks a little brunette into letting me use the computer for a few minutes, interrupting her time. It takes me ten minutes to log in to my email and print three copies, just in case. My theory is that Gareth gets one copy, one is mine, and then one is extra.
The girl blushes to the roots of her hair when Zanko presses a kiss to the side of her head. He also invites her to our next frat party. The girl sways in her chair, and he holds onto her so she doesn’t fall on the floor.
Papers in hand, we rush back to Greek Row. Zanko pauses at the steps to our house, his brows drawn down over his eyes.
“Do you want me to go with you? Gareth can be a bit of an asshole, from what I have seen,” Zanko offers.
“Nah, thanks, I got this.” Waving him off, I turn toward the Olympus Towers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Since Brock canceled our tutor session without reason or notice, I decided to take advantage of the extra time to myself and get ahead on my assignments.
Approaching my building, my feet falter. Brock is pacing back and forth in front of the building’s door. His head snaps up, indicating that he heard my approach.
“Kass,” he says with a sigh. His shoulders sag in the process.
“What’s going on Brock? I was worried when you canceled earlier with no explanation. Now you show up here…” I wait for him to help fill in the blanks.
“Do you happen to know if Gareth is home?”
My head jerks back at his question.
“Gareth?”
“Yeah,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dart around us. “I can explain everything, but Ireallyneed to talk to Gareth. He is in law right?”
With eyes bugging out of my head, I nod. Grabbing his hand and tugging him behind me to the door, we make our way upstairs.
