Page 4 of The Silent Count
A beat passes, and he nods. “Have a good day, Ladybug.”
I sit still in my chair, unable to move as the sound of his footsteps becomes less prominent. It’s only once the hall is silent that I allow myself to slump back in my chair and let out a long sigh.
If anyone knows what it’s like to have a parent that only comes around when it’s convenient for them, it’s me.
TWO
FORTUNE
I’ve hadmy eye on Lea Sterling since the day I signed to play with the Matrix.
Thirty-seconds before making my four-year, eighty-million-dollar contract official, her father gave me his infamous speech about how I wasn’t allowed to date his daughter.
Five minutes after signing the deal, I learned the redhead I’d locked eyes with outside the training room was none other than Coach Sterling’s baby girl.
It’s been years, and I remember the first moment I saw Lea clear as day. I passed her in the hallway while she was talking to a sponsor, and she gave me a long once over that had me straighten my posture. When those whiskey-colored eyes flickered up to meet mine, she flashed me one of her wry smiles and my world came to a halt right there.
Sure, I’d heard Lea’s name in passing before coming down to Miami. Most of the context surrounding her name came as shutting down rumors for players, and getting them out of sticky situations with the press. The one thing everyone failed to mention in stories about her was how effortlessly stunning she was.
It’s been three years, seven months, and twenty days since I signed to play for the team, and I still curse her father every night for establishing his golden rule.
“Parker.” Coach juts his head to the side, urging me to drop back from Abel and let him continue on to the film room.
“Yes, Coach?”
I knew this conversation was coming since finalizing the paperwork with my name change. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that doing something like this would cause a stir in the press, forcing me to step foot in Lea Sterling’s office for the first time. I’ve gone nearly three years without a single wrong-doing attached to my name, which meant there was no reason for me to meet with her one-on-one. Some players frequent her office on a weekly basis, but I prefer to lie low. Go to practice. Sit through meetings. Play ball. Rinse and repeat.
When I started my career in New York, I became known by the press for giving brief responses to their questions. They’d leave without a headline, and I wouldn’t get called in for a post-game press conference the next week. There were regulations in place that didn’t allow players to boycott the media, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t make the media want to steer clear of me.
Until now, that is.
I’ve got five months left on my contract with the Matrix, and, sure, I could wait until the season is over to break the news about changing my name. But there is no one I trust more than Lea to ensure that removing Vincent Bradford from my name—from my life—goes off without a hitch.
“Need you to head down to Lea’s office this morning. Probably best if the two of you get ahead of this media storm that’s about to unfold. The last thing I want is for you to walk into Sunday’s post-game press conference unprepared.”
The both of us share a nod, already aware that I won’t be getting away from the media once Lea breaks this story. Reporters are going to be waiting with bated breath in the press room Sunday night, knowing their next story is already in their pockets.
“I don’t doubt that you can handle this on your own, but I need you to promise me you’ll keep your head on straight. At least for these next few games until we can secure our spot in the playoffs.”
“I won’t let you down.” The words sound disingenuous as they breeze past my lips and I feel the buzz coming from my pocket.
“Good. Good.” He nods to himself, almost like he needs to hear the words to reassure himself. “Alright, well, you better get on down to her office before she has me shooting fire out of my ass.”
I pinch my lips together, fighting the silent laugh washing over me. “I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘blow smoke up your ass.’”
“Tomato, tomato.” Coach brushes off my suggestion before giving me a clap on the shoulder as we part ways.
I’m halfway down the hall when Coach Sterling’s booming voice makes me pause in my tracks. “Son, wait,” he starts. The wrinkles around his eyes soften, and that somber look I’ve grown to know well over the years transforms across his face. “I know you’re a quiet one, but if you ever… if you ever want to talk—need to talk—my door is always open.”
“Appreciate it, Coach.”
I wouldn’t say I’m quiet as much as I am selective. Selective about my time. My energy. What I choose to speak about. It’s one reason Abel and I have remained friends since playing ball together in college. The two of us share a silent understanding of each other’s personalities, and continuously keep each other in check. Not letting money or fame change who we are at our core.
My phone feels like it’s burning a hole in my front pocket, but I wait until I’ve rounded the corner to pull it out and open the direct message thread.
Lucky Charm:About to head into a training session with a client, but I have to know how late your coworker was.
Lucky Charm:Over an hour?
