Page 95 of Sweeper
Zander
“Santino?” I croak into the phone line, my fingers clutching tightly to the team lawyer’s business card that’s been sitting in my kitchen drawer since he stopped by my apartment after I arrived in London.
“Yes?” he answers, his voice ragged like he’s just woken up.
“This is Zander Williams. I’m sorry to call you so soon after your wedding, but the club office said you were taking calls from players.” I exhale heavily, forcing myself to loosen the grip on my phone before I break it.
It’s been two days of unanswered calls from Daphney. Two days of her not showing up at her apartment and not working at Old George. And two days of me sitting in a misery of my own making. I’ve called in sick for training yesterday and today, and there’s no way I’ll be able to face the team tomorrow if I don’t pull the trigger on this plan I came up with.
“It’s totally fine you called, Zander. I’m not out of the country or anything. What can I do for you?” Santino asks, his voice crisp and professional.
I suck in a deep breath and say what I called to say. “I need to be transferred to a new team when the window opens up this summer,” I state, my voice sounding robotic after how many times I practiced saying it out loud. “Preferably a club in London. Just not Bethnal Green or Arsenal. I don’t have an agent. I just need a contract. I’ll even go down to Championship League or the league below that. I don’t care. I just want to stay in London and keep playing soccer.”
I sigh heavily at the sound of my plan out loud. It probably sounds nuts to Santino, but if I can get away from the Harris family and forget all about that DNA shit and whether or not our hands look the fucking same, then maybe I can find a way to repair my relationship with Daphney.
I’m met with a long-drawn-out silence when finally, Santino replies, “So, your mum told you then.”
My head jerks back. What the fuck does my mom have to do with any of this? Why would he know anything about my mom?
Licking my lips, I decide to play along. “Yeah, she told me.”
He inhales sharply. “Look, Zander. I think we can deal with this quietly, okay? We can come up with a plan that makes everyone happy. And we can craft a story that the press will believe. We don’t even have to tell Vaughn about this if you don’t want to. That’s up to you.”
Chills erupt up my spine. “How do you know about Vaughn?”
“From when your mum called me,” Santino says it like it should be obvious.
“When did she call you exactly?” I ask, my voice hollow.
“Well, probably about seven or eight months ago now.” He scoffs, and I hear him rustling some papers. “I have a crisis management company that might be able to help us with this.”
“What all did my mom say on this call?” I grind out through clenched teeth.
Santino exhales heavily. “Didn’t she tell you all this?”
“No, Santino. My mom hasn’t told me shit,” I snap, my tone cutting. “I’m hoping you can enlighten me.”
Santino stammers for a moment. “Then h-h-how do you know?”
I hesitate with how to respond to that because the truth is, I know nothing because I still can’t bring myself to open up that damn DNA envelope. And Knight was right. The fucking thing is haunting me. It’s why I want to get as far away from Bethnal Green as I can.
My jaw is taut when I reply with the truth because frankly, I’ve run out of lies to tell. “I found a letter my mom wrote to Vaughn Harris when she was pregnant with me telling him that I’m his son. I’ve known since the day I was recruited to Bethnal Green.”
“Jesus Christ,” Santino expels a breath.
“My question to you is, if you’ve spoken to my mom, how is it possible you haven’t said anything to anyone yet?”
“Your mum made me sign a nondisclosure agreement,” he replies tersely. “And I’m a lawyer, so I take those things seriously.”
“What did she want when she called you seven months ago? And please don’t lie to me. I’m done with the fucking lies.”
Santino hesitates on the other end of the line.
“Just tell me,” I state firmly.
His voice is grave when he responds, “She wanted me to find a way to kill your contract with the club because she was scared you’d figure out you were the son of Vaughn Harris.”
My stomach roils at his response, and I have to bend over and brace myself on my knees. It’s even worse than I imagined. I don’t know what I imagined, honestly. My brain is a pile of mush these days, and my emotions are fried. But my mom trying to ruin my career over all of this hadn’t even entered my mind.
