Page 24 of Faking All the Way
Edward blinks in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. That never happens. Murphy usually takes weeks to warm up to anyone new, if he ever does at all.”
I look down at the cat, who’s now sitting on my feet and staring up at me expectantly. “Guess he’s got different standards than most cats.”
When I reach down to scratch behind his ears, Murphy melts into the touch. He flops over onto his back, exposing his belly and purring so loudly it’s almost comical. When I finally stop petting him and go back to cleaning, he follows me around the house like he’s appointed himself my personal supervisor, weaving between my legs and occasionally stopping to head-butt my shins.
It’s nice, actually. A living buffer between me and Edward and all the things we’re not saying to each other.
After I finish straightening up the main areas, I take stock of what needs to be done in terms of practical help. The refrigerator is nearly empty, just some expired milk and leftover takeout that’s seen better days. His medicine cabinet is well-stocked, but he’s clearly been living on whatever delivery services can bring him.
“I’m going to make a grocery run,” I tell him. “What do you actually eat these days?”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Edward.” I use his first name deliberately, not ready for anything that implies more familiarity. “What do you need from the store?”
He gives me a short list of basics. Bread, eggs, some frozen meals that are easy to heat up. I add things he doesn’t mention but obviously needs, like fresh vegetables and actual protein that isn’t processed.
I grab some things for myself too while I’m at the grocery store, since I’ll need food at the cabin. Chicken, veggies, sandwich supplies, coffee—the basics for someone who doesn’t plan to do much cooking.
When I get back to Edward’s place, Murphy greets me at the door like I’ve been gone for weeks instead of just over an hour. He winds around my legs, purring and meowing in what sounds like an extended commentary on my absence.
“Miss me, big guy?” I ask, scratching his head before I carry the grocery bags to the kitchen.
I’m unpacking everything into Edward’s refrigerator and cabinets when my phone rings. My agent Brody’s name flashes on the screen, and my pulse immediately jumps despite my attempts to manage expectations. This could be it. This could be the call that changes everything.
“Please tell me you have good news,” I say, answering on the second ring.
“I wish I did, Asher.” Brody’s voice is apologetic but direct, which I appreciate. No point in drawing out bad news. “Seattle decided to pass. They’re going with someone younger, someone they think has more upside potential.”
The words hit like a blow to the chest. That makes two teams now that have decided I’m not worth the risk or the investment.Two teams that looked at my stats, my injury history, my age, and decided to go in a different direction.
“What about the other possibilities we talked about?” I ask, setting down a carton of eggs so I can focus on the call.
“I’ve got calls out to Denver and Toronto. There might be something developing with Minnesota, but honestly, it’s a long shot at best. Teams are being more cautious this year, especially with players coming off injuries.”
We talk for a few more minutes about strategy and backup plans, but the whole conversation feels like I’m helping to plan my own professional funeral. Every word confirms what I’ve been afraid to admit to myself. Maybe I really am done. Maybe twenty-nine is the end of the line for me.
When I finally hang up, Edward’s watching me from his chair in the living room. He obviously heard enough of the conversation to know it wasn’t good news.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Just work stuff,” I say, not wanting to get into the details with him. The last thing I need is pity from someone who walked out of my life years ago. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
But even as I say it, I can feel the frustration and anxiety building in my chest like pressure in a steam cooker. Two rejections down, and how many realistic options left? Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I really am washed up, a has-been at twenty-nine who’s fooling himself into thinking he’s still got something left to offer.
I finish putting away the groceries and make my excuses to leave. Edward thanks me for the help and the food and asks if I’ll come back again soon to check on him. I give him some noncommittal answer about staying in touch, both of us knowing we’re avoiding the bigger conversation that needs to happen eventually.
Murphy follows me to the door, looking pitifully disappointed that I’m leaving. I give him one last ear scratch, and he purrs as if I’ve just made his entire week.
It’s a good thing Maplewood isn’t an easy town to get lost in, because I barely pay attention to the route on my drive back to the cabin, my thoughts churning with frustration and self-doubt. By the time I pull into the driveway, I’m wound tight with anxiety about my career, my future, everything I thought I knew about myself.
After parking in the driveway, I grab the groceries I bought for myself and head to the main cabin, needing the distraction of practical tasks and maybe some human company that doesn’t come with twenty years of baggage.
Kat answers when I knock, looking comfortable and relaxed in dark jeans and a soft-looking, cream-colored sweater. Her hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail, and she’s got a smudge of what looks like charcoal on her cheek, probably from whatever art project she’s been working on.
“Hey,” I say, holding up the grocery bags. “Brought some stuff to contribute to the kitchen. Hope that’s okay.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.” She steps aside to let me in, and I catch that almond and cinnamon scent again. The one from my dream. “Come on in.”
