Page 119 of The New Guy
“How’d your call go?”
“With my dad?”
He tilts his head, a quizzical expression on his face. “You spoke to your dad? Is that why you’re in a mood?”
“I’m not in amood,” I grumble.
Oops. That’s what it sounds like when a guy is truly in a mood.
His eyes narrow. “What did that asshole say now?”
“He, uh, asked me to announce in October. After the flurry of preseason trades.”
“What?” His jaw drops. “You said August fifteenth.”
“I know I did. But…” I clear my throat, trying to choose my words carefully.
But he doesn’t wait for me to finish. “You chose August fifteenth. That date gave me plenty of time to work out the thorny job questions with Henry, before the season officially starts.”
“Gavin, I’m going to do it. Iswear. I just need to think a little harder about the date.”
His hurt look says that he doesn’t believe me. “What if October comes, and your father says—It’s not a great time. How about January?What then?”
The question lands like a punch to the chest. Because that is absolutely something my father might do. “I’m going to do it,” I whisper, climbing to my feet. God, I need some air. “Just—I need to think about what he said. Maybe I’ll go for a run.”
“You do that,” he says sharply.
Then I hear footsteps out in the hallway, and I practically dislocate my shoulder turning to see if anyone is out there listening.
Gavin watches this reaction with a cold look in his eye. Like he can see right through my cheap, twisted words.
Like I’ve just proven once again that I am a goddamn coward.
My teammate—Crikey—sticks his head into the room. “Hey guys. Just wondered who was around on a hot July day.”
“Hey,” I say stiffly. Then I walk right past him and leave the gym, barely stopping in the dressing room to grab my phone and keys.
FORTY-ONE
Hudson
Ten pacesoutside the practice facility, I already feel like an asshole. But I don’t turn around. Instead, I start running. It’s hot as blazes, and I don’t have any kind of plan. I just take off down the street.
Five minutes later I’m in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The big buildings give way to smaller houses. They’re old in an interesting way. If I were in a better mood, I’d look closer.
But I keep running, baking in the sunshine, until someone gives a loud catcall. And then I hear my name.
I stop suddenly, turning to look around. And I spot our team captain—O’Doul—sitting on the stoop of one of the houses. “Yo! Crazy man! You lost?”
Yes,I am. “Just, uh, running,” I say brilliantly.
“I can see that.” He gets up off the porch. “Want to have a burger with me?”
“Well…” I don’t, really. But my brain is static and I can’t think of a reasonable excuse on the fly.
“You do, trust me,” He says. “Come on.” He leads me literally across the street, and into a sleepy little French bistro. Most of the other customers are elderly women sipping coffee and eating pastries.
“This doesn’t look like a burger joint,” I point out.
