Page 118 of The New Guy
I roll my eyes.
“Now, don’t panic.”
“Great opener, Dad. Why am I panicking?”
“A buddy of mine heard your name mentioned. There’s some big three-way trade in the works.”
My blood goes cold. Literally cold. My hands feel suddenly clammy. “That doesn’t make any sense. Brooklyn won’t trade me. Not after that season I just had.”
“That’s what I think, too. But this is a good thing—we want the sharks circling. The more interest there is in your name, the better.”
“Makes sense,” I say mildly. But my heart is thumping madly.
“You need to delay, though,” he says.
“Delay what?” I demand, even if I have an idea.
“Your big, uh, announcement. You know what happened last time.”
He can’t even say it. “Until when? I was thinking August fifteenth, Dad. The team goes to the Hamptons for a golf thing and some scrimmages.”
He sucks on his teeth. “That might be a little fast. We want that roster solid. How about October?”
My heart slumps. My literal nightmare is getting traded right after I come out.Again.
And my dad has a point about the timing—lots of trades go through during training camp, as the rosters are gelling.
“I’ll think about it,” I say grudgingly.
“Good man. Hey—aren’t you late for your call with the nutritionist?”
I want to scream.
* * *
Two hours later I’m lying on a mat in the stretching room at the gym, trying to sort out my hip flexors, and also my life.
Only one of those things is working.
“Hey!” Gavin says, dropping his gym bag on the mat when he finds me there. “Let’s do this. Is it legs day?”
“Yeah,” I say roughly. “How was the doctor’s?”
“Piece of cake. Nice office. No shots.”
“Sweet.”
Then, stretching his quads, he launches into a story about the first time he had to take Jordyn in for shots.
But I’m only half listening. All I can hear is my father telling me not to do anything that wouldlower my value.
“…And she screamed right up until the moment the lollipop went into her mouth!”
It takes me a second to realize that Gavin has fallen silent. I turn to him regretfully. “Sorry.”
His brow furrows. “Something the matter?”
“No,” I say immediately. “Just spaced out for a minute.”
