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And survive each other for the next two years.
With time dwindling quickly for both of us, I have to make a decision.
And I already know what it has to be.
Ryker
I smile down at my phone as I hibernate it and stick it in my front pocket after agreeing to Juliet’s condition.
Juliet’s coming tomorrow.
I don’t care about the thirty-five thousand dollars; it’s a drop in the bucket for me, and if she had just asked for the money for her brother’s care instead of the contract, I would have agreed to that just as quickly.
I make more than enough to afford it and staying with this team to finish the season is worth every penny.
“Haynes! Stop sending dick pics and spot me,” Seven, one of our goalies and most veteran players on the team, says by the bench press.
I chuckle at my teammates' crass comment.
“Jesus Wrenley. You’re clingier than plastic wrap in a hurricane. Keep your jock strap on, I’m coming,” I tell him.
I walk around the back of the weights while he lays flat on the cushioned black bench and positions his hands on the barbell.
“Did you get your visa approval back yet? You sent it off before we left for bye-week, right?”
He does a set of reps, and then I outstretch my hands to help
Of course. My luck… the player who talks the least on the team is the only one asking the hard-hitting questions.
“Uh… actually, Potters's assistant forgot to mail the check in with it,” I tell him.
He knows James Potter well enough since he also used to be Seven’s agent. But Seven made the move to a bigger agent years ago. I don’t know the details of why he moved agencies bu, but there’s so much bad blood there. Wrenley doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t ask.
“She fucked up the application?” he asks.
He reaches for the barbell again and wraps his hands around the cold metal.
“That’s the gist of it, yeah.”
He shakes his head.
“I told you to move agencies before some shit like this happened.”
Then pulls the barbell off the rack again, doing another set of reps.
He warned me… once when I moved to the Hawkeyes team years ago.
He finishes his reps and then I repeat helping him place the barbell back in place.
Then he spins his legs back over to one side of the bench and leans up to sit, and looks at me sideways.
“What are you going to do then? You’re our captain and we’re weeks away from playing in the finals for the championship.”
“I’m working it out,” I say, hoping that’s enough for him to let it go.
“Did you send in a replacement application with the check?”
“No. They wouldn’t be able to process it in time.”
