Page 9 of Sweeper
Santino huffs out a laugh and then reaches into his satchel to pull out some paperwork. “I’ll just get right to it.” He lays out the paperwork on the dining room table and clicks a pen. “This is a standard lease agreement. It just says the club will cover the lease, but any damages or remodeling requests will be on your own dime.”
I nod and walk over to where he’s standing to pick up the pieces of paper and read through them. Santino watches me, so I ask, “It’s okay if I read this, right?”
“Yes, of course.” Santino snaps out of his stupor as he backs off to give me some space. “Take as long as you need.”
I focus on the text, and after reading it thoroughly, I determine it all seems pretty standard. I sign the flagged areas, and when I turn, I find Santino staring pointedly at the pen in my hand. “Here.” I hand it back to him because it’s like he was expecting me to steal it or something.
“Thanks.” He slides it and the papers back into his bag. He glances around the space and says, “Happy with your accommodations?”
My brows lift. “Yeah, they’re great.”
“Brilliant.” He stares at me for a silent beat. “Any…issues you want to discuss?”
“With you?”
Santino shrugs. “I am the team counsel. You can feel free to come to me with anything that might be concerning you.”
“Okaaay,” I reply hesitantly, feeling like he’s talking to me more like a shrink than a lawyer.
“I’ve gotten many players out of some really awkward situations,” Santino offers, sliding his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Nothing shocks me.”
“Well, considering I haven’t even been in the country twenty-four hours, I think it’s safe to say I haven’t had any time to get into trouble.” I shoot him a knowing wink, but he doesn’t seem to find the humor in my reply.
Santino’s lips thin. “Problems can follow you from anywhere.”
Annoyance prickles in my veins. “Is there a problem I’m unaware of? ’Cause the only problem I see right now is a lawyer I just met asking me really bizarre questions.”
Santino winces. “Sorry, mate. There’s no problem. I just wanted you to know I’m here if you need anything. Completely confidential.” He hands me his card.
“Message received.” I huff out a laugh and set the card on the table. “Mind if I finish getting ready for work now?”
“Not at all.” Santino reaches out to shake my hand again, gripping me firmly. “It was nice to finally meet you, Zander. I know what Vaughn Harris’s plans are for you at the club, and I’m hopeful this all works out for everyone.”
His odd choice of wording causes my brow to furrow, but I quickly school my features to hide my reaction. The truth is, just the mention of Vaughn Harris’s name causes anxiety to bloom inside me. I’ve been trying to forget about the fact that I’ll be meeting the man soon. A man who could be my father? No…he’s not my father. I had a father. Jerry Williams. He was the fucking best.
Football over bullshit.
I pin Santino with a knowing look. “I fully intend on rising to the challenge.”
“Welcome to Bethnal Green, gentlemen,” Coach Zion says, walking in front of two other Americans who were recruited at the same time as me. “You’re about to find out what real football is like.” Coach stops and bends over so he’s eye level with us. “I hope you’re up for the challenge.”
I glance to my right at Link Conlin, a striker from Arizona, and on my left is Knight Timmons, a midfielder from Florida. We all have the same expression of complete and totalOh fuck, this is really happenin’ as we sit in our custom green and white Bethnal Green F.C. uniforms with our names on the back.
“First order of business,” Coach says, gesturing for us to follow him. He stops at a door at the end of the hallway down a ways from the locker room we were just changing in. “Don’t embarrass me.”
He opens it to reveal a room packed with reporters, and my stomach roils as all eyes turn toward us. I’ve done press conferences before, but I guess I thought they’d prep us a bit. Jude told me that the British press is brutal, and as American soccer players in England…surely, there’s some inside info that might be helpful right about now?
We walk into the lion’s den in single file and sit behind the table with several microphones and recorders spread out as everyone in the room goes quiet. Coach gives us a quick introduction and then opens the floor for questions.
“Zander Williams!” a reporter in the back says. “You’re the youngest recruit from America. Do you actually think you have what it takes to play in the Premier League?”
Link’s and Knight’s eyes both go wide as they stare at me with equal parts pity and relief that they didn’t get asked the first question. It’s a no-bullshit question, cutting straight to the point. I take a drink of the water bottle sitting in front of me, trying to bide my time because what the fuck do they expect me to say? Finally, I lean forward and reply honestly, “I guess we’ll find out.”
The room laughs even though I wasn’t really making a joke.
“Why do you think they picked you?” a female reporter in the front adds.
I shrug. “I’ve been asking myself that for the past six months.”
