I don't think Coach Janssen wanted me by myself all the time. Though he said he believed me, and in me, I think there was part of him that wondered what really happened. He never asked, and I never volunteered the information.
That night has absolutely nothing to do with my ability to play defender and absolutely everyone knows it. I was a scapegoat, and I refuse to give any more attention to the situation.
The shadow hung over me when I came to the Terrors, but Coach Janssen never mentioned it. He treated me like every other player. I conducted myself with honor, both on and off the field, and he never had any complaints. I started every game as if proof of his faith in me.
And then the bloody coronavirus shut down the world. Sports have long acted as the great equalizer for the world and without them, everyone seemed off-kilter. I was no exception. But I used the time to train harder than ever, turning my apartment into a gym, since the one in my complex was shuttered, like the rest of the world. I ran every day and emerged from the pandemic in better shape than I'd ever been.
Which made it hard to understand why I no longer started. Sure, I played every game, but I was no longer a starting defender. It's not uncommon for me not to see playing time until the second half. The writing's on the wall, but I still have a year left on my contract with the Terrors. Two if they extend it out to make up for 2020.
I don't think I can do this for another two years.
It's time to call my agent. "Tony, mate, I need you to work on a trade for me. I can't stay with the Terrors another season."
"I hear you, Xavier, but you're stuck. You're not eligible for a trade until March twentieth."
That's a week after next season starts, which means I'll have to do all my pre-season training with the Terrors.
"I know. I wish I could go sooner. They're going to bench me again and for no reason. I've played better this season than I ever have." I don't mention the nagging hamstring. No one wants a player with a liability.
"That's weird, and I can't get an answer as to why. Camacho isn't talking, at least not about that."
"It can't be thething. I started for two years before COVID, so if he were going to hold it against me, I never would have been his starter. You've got to get to the bottom of it, so we can fix it. Either that or you've got to find a way to get me traded."
I don't love having an agent who acts as my manager, but football is a business, and I don't have the time or the finesse to make the necessary arrangements. Basically, I'm good at being a footballer and not much else.
Except for handling birds.
If I wasn't playing football, there's no doubt I'd be in the family business of wild bird rescue and rehabilitation, hence my nickname. I'm sure Mum would love it if I called right now and said I was hanging up my cleats and flying home. I'm not so sure my older brother, Philip, would feel the same, but I doubt he'd turn away the help.
Things have been very rough since the pandemic, and if it weren't for my salary, Mum and Dad would have had to close up shop. They survive, normally, on tours, birthday parties, and photography sessions. Obviously, all of those have taken a massive hit in the last eighteen months since the pandemic began.
No one cares much about a starving barn owl or a hawk with a broken wing when you can't put food on your own table.
While I'm by no means the highest-paid player in the league, my salary is more than enough to keep me comfortable while helping out the family. It's one of the main reasons why I keep my agent. Tony negotiates a much higher rate than I'm capable of, as well as endorsement deals. I had the one back home before the … incident. I've had one or two small ones here in the States. He's hoping to book more this winter while I have some free time.
I'm going to find a rescue organization here in Baltimore to volunteer at during the off-season. I mean, I'll still be doing training sessions. The schedule is simply more flexible. Most people think the off-season is a time for rest and relaxation. I look at it as a time to get into full fitness to go into the pre-season strong.
Except for today. A cursory search of flights has me getting the best price to Boston this evening.
Fine. It'll get me to town in plenty of time for the game tomorrow night. I won't mind kicking around a different city for a bit either. Doesn't hurt to do some recon, especially if I'm going to put Tony up to making a deal with the Buzzards.
Chapter 9: Ophelia
I stare at the message. My fingers hover, poised over my keyboard, but totally incapable of actually typing anything.
I click on his profile. Xavier Henry.
Okay, he's hot. How did I not notice this when I asked him to record my entrance? Actually, I'm glad I didn't because if I'd realized how attractive he was, I'd probably have turned into a bumbling idiot.
But also, he's the guy with the owl in his profile picture. What is he thinking? I've got to set him straight and have him change that.
I will as soon as I take some ibuprofen. My head pounds. There's a slight—okay absolute, no pun intended—chance I overdid it on the vodka yesterday. I'll say that I deserved to get raging drunk.
Even so, I still wasn't sleeping on the bathroom floor like that loser who shall remain nameless.
Instead of responding to Xavier Henry, I text Marley.
Me: I don't know what I'm doing with my life.
