Page 134 of Second-Rate Superstar
Tears streaked down her face, and her voice was thick in her reply. “It’s loosely inspired.”
“Loosely inspired,” I said the words with a scoff, my fingers forming air quotes. “Since words seem to be your weapons of choice, I have a few for you.” Using my finger, I ticked them off. “How about . . . Deceitful.Scheming. Let’s not forgetillegal.I don’t give a shit what disclaimer you put at the front about all likenesses to real people, dead or alive, being coincidental. We both know that’s bullshit, don’t we,sweetheart?” That word rolled off my tongue with such disdain that it sounded foreign to my ears.
“I—” Her voice broke. “I wanted to share our love story. It was so beautiful. I didn’t think—”
I cut her off. “That’s your excuse? Doesn’t really track, considering it wasn’t mentioned once that I took your virginity. Or the sob story about your daddy issues. No, you made sure to use my pain, omitting your own. So, don’t give me lip service about wanting to immortalize our love. You never loved me.”
She reached for me, but I stepped away enough that her hand only caught air.
I was reaching my limit quickly with her playing the victim.
“If my teammate could figure it out, you think other people won’t? Your face is on your goddamn website, for fuck’s sake!” I roared, and the volume of her sobs increased. “How long before people put two and two together that mygirlfriendwrote a fictional story that sounds a hell of a lot like my life?!” My voice darkened. “You fucked up big time with those personal tidbits. Won’t be long before our little ‘sin bin’ performance is discovered and plastered all over the internet. Or maybe that was your plan all along. A little bonus content, if you will, for your bestseller. A hook to land a movie deal.”
“No.” Dakota shook her head violently.
I went numb. Her theatrics no longer had the power to affect me. She was just another conniving bitch who’d fucked me over.
“You know, I should’ve seen it coming. But I was too focused on earning your trust that I wasn’t watching my back for you to break mine.”
That’s when she collapsed into a heap on the floor, visibly shaking with the force of her sobs.
I was done. I couldn’t stand to look at her a moment longer.
Turning on my heel, I stalked toward my car as her cries echoed behind me.
I’d always thought draft day had been the worst day of my life, but I was wrong. Today would forever be burned in my memory as the day I lost everything.
Storming into the practice rink, I was a man on a mission. Even when the players were given the day off, the management staff was hard at work, and they held permanent offices at this rink where the team had their day-to-day activities versus the arena.
Not bothering to knock, I waltzed into our general manager’s office. Ted Brinks looked up in surprise.
I wasn’t his biggest fan. Not for the way he’d catered to Jaxon’s request that they save me from the humiliation of going undrafted but because his sense of nostalgia was handicapping the Comets.
The championship only made it worse.
Brinks was in the bad habit of trying to keep the aging core together, even when it was time to let guys go and bring in fresh talent. His management style would hurt the team in a decade, with few prospects to keep them competitive.
Their odds of landing a second generational talent after the team hit rock bottom were slim to none. The Comets’ best years would be behind them before they knew it if he couldn’t pull his head out of his ass.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Slate?!” he screamed at my sudden intrusion. He was in his late sixties and normally ruddy-faced due to aging, but the color deepened to one closer resembling purple.
“I want out.”
Brinks paused for a minute, trying to figure out what I was saying. “What do you mean you want out?”
“Trade me. Today.” I was done with games, which was ironic, considering I played one for a living.
“You’re out of your goddamn mind!” he shot back.
Stepping up to his desk, I splayed both hands across it, leaning in so he knew I was serious. “You have two options. You either trade me, or I stop showing up. I don’t care that I’ll be in breach of contract, so don’t test me. At least with a trade, you’ll get something for your trouble. Either way, I’ve played my last game for the Comets.”
Narrowing his eyes, Brinks said, “Can’t guarantee you’ll go to a championship contender. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I don’t care where you send me. Call my agent and get it done.” I turned to leave but threw over my shoulder, “Shouldn’t be too hard to get rid of a seventh-round Jaxon Slate knockoff.”
My last stop on my way out of the building was to grab my gear in the team locker room. I wasn’t coming back to answer questions from my former teammates when the trade went through.
As the practice rink faded in the rear-view mirror, knowing I would never set foot inside it again, I was able to take a deep breath.
