Page 2 of The Last Guy On Earth
“I know that,” I say through gritted teeth, “so let me repeat the question, because I got a kid’s heart to break after you’re done breaking mine. Tell me the fucking timeline.”
A shadow of something that looks like shame passes through my coach’s eyes. “You’re on a three o’clock flight to Denver.”
“Denver?” I hear this word like a record scratch. “WhyDenver?”
There’s a deep silence in the room while three people stare at me. “As Coach was just saying,” Bess says carefully, “Colorado needs seniority between the pipes…”
Holy hell. I missed a crucial detail about the three-way trade. They’re not sending me to Florida at all.
“Are you kidding me?” I yelp, speaking before I’ve even processed this latest disaster. “I cannot play for Colorado.”
More silence. Bess recovers first. “Let’s head out now, Jethro. You’ll process this news, and we’ll discuss your options.”
But even as she says it, the awful truth is sinking in. I don’t have any options. I’m playing in Colorado, or I’m not playing at all.
That’s when Bess stands up to shake hands.
Somehow, I force myself to my feet, allow my hand to be shaken, and my shoulders to be slapped. I hear a few more platitudes thrown my way, but fuck that. I don’t have to pretend this isn’t devastating. I don’t owe them a fucking smile.
I let Bess herd me outside the facility, where she opens the passenger door to a rental car in a visitor’s parking space and sort of shoves me inside. “I’ll look up this flight they have you on. We’ll make a plan. Do you want me to fly to Denver with you? Or should I stay back and help your dad?”
This question does the trick of snapping me out of my stupor. I turn to Bess and really look at her for a second. She’s sitting in the driver’s seat, body twisted toward me, concern in her blueeyes. I’m pretty sure I could assign her any task at all right now, and she’d do it. No questions.
I’m fucking grateful, but it still doesn’t help the situation. “You don’t have to fly out there with me,” I say, my voice gravel. I clear my throat. “That’s not the hard part.”
“Whatisthe hard part?” she asks carefully. “Why did you say you can’t play for Colorado?”
I look away, out the window. Bess and I are pretty close, and I don’t hold stuff back from her. Until now, that is. There’s no way I can explain this. It’s not even my goddamn right to talk about it, even if I wanted to.
Which I don’t.
“You know Clay Powers, right?” she asks. “Weren’t you in the minors together?”
Fuck. Her memory for details is often handy. But not today.
“Hmm,” she says when I don’t answer. “So you’re not a fan?”
I shake my head, because I don’t trust myself to speak.
“He must not feel the same, though,” she says carefully. “Or he wouldn’t have approved the trade.”
“Right,” I agree, just to move the conversation along. “Maybe he’s forgotten all about me.”
TWO
Clay
“Will you lower your voice?”Frank, my GM, scowls at me from behind his giant desk at our Boulder headquarters.
“No!” My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I can hardly think straight. “There’s no pretending that this is a friendly chat, Frank. You’ve pulled some crap before, but this is straight-up bullshit. I didn’twantthis player. He’s a dinosaur.”
“He isn’t,” Frank hisses.
“No? Then how come you wentbehind my back?”
“I didn’t have to!” he shouts. “Because. It’s. My. Call.” He thumps the desk with his meaty fist on each word.
“A call that’s going to look pretty fucking bad in a few months when this player proves uncoachable!” I shout. “There goes our chances at the playoffs.”
