Page 166 of The Home Grown
“Right. Maybe I can ask the guys?” I pull out my phone and navigate to our group chat.
“Nah, you don’t want to do that,” Johnny says. “They’ll jump on it. Assume the worse. You won’t hear the end of it.”
“Good point.” I slip my phone away, only to pull it back out again a second later.
I could call my mam, she’d know someone. But she’d go full nosey mode, especially since she hauled all that paperwork down from the attic—which I’m still meant to rummage through. Telling her it was pointless wouldn’t go down well.
But there must be someone I know … someone… I run through the names of the guys I know, from our team first, then Team GB.
The light bulb switches on.
“Got it,” I say. “Greer’s old man is a solicitor. I can ask him if he can recommend someone at his firm—someone discreet.”
I pull up his number and hit dial, and luckily, he answers after a few rings.
“Bettsy, mate. I was just going to text you,” he says. “Wondered if you’d heard about Langer.”
“Langer?” I sit up straight, casting a look towards Johnny, who’s watching my conversation. “What about him?”
“He’s done for the remainder of the season. And signed himself off the Team GB roster. Personal reasons,” he says.
A pang of something hits my chest as I process Greers’ words. Relief? Maybe … because he’s one less problem to worry about, but this isn’t about me. The Langer I know wouldn’t back down for shit.
“No injury?” I ask.
“Nah. Not that we know of, anyway.”
Fuck.
I dip my head in my hands, swallowing down the emotion that’s pushing hard to the surface. Langer out … it’s got to be because of Greg finding out, right? Maybe Greg showed up at his place and it all kicked off. Maybe … fuck me… maybe Langer is on his way here now to break my legs for ruining his sordid affair.
“When did this happen?” I say, lifting my head up.
I meet Johnny’s eyes and offer him my most fearful look.
“Yesterday. We found out this morning. But I guess I was keen to know if you knew anything about it because it directly affects you and what happens with the lines and that.”
“Nah,” I say, wondering if I should tell Greer about Langer. My head is telling me to blurt it all out in a Bettsy-type fashion, but my heart is telling me not to talk shit. My throat is dry, but I force myself to speak. “Nah, not heard anything, mate.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see how it pans out … but anyway, mate, all good with you?”
I switch ears.
“Yeah, I just wondered if your old man is still a solicitor?”
“Yeah, he is. Why’d you ask? You’re not getting a divorce already, are you?”
I swallow down a laugh. “Good one … nah, one of the boys has a problem, and he wanted to run it by someone. Family law stuff. Just wondered if there was anyone at your dad’s firm you could recommend? You know, someone with discretion.”
“Uh, yeah, of course. I’ll text you over a number.”
“Cheers.”
“No problem. I’d wish you good luck for the weekend, but no offence, I want to see you lose.”
“Same. Later.”
I hang up and glare at Johnny.
