“Your book has pathos, conflict, mystery, romance, and knowing you, it will be filled with fast-paced action and humor. A best seller in the making.”
“At the moment, it’s nothing more than an idea in my head.”
“I have faith in you and your talent. I’m so happy that you’re going to write again.”
“I’m happy too. Happy that you said yes. Until tonight, Dee.” His voice carries a note of seductiveness that has me biting my lip.
“Until tonight, Mick.”
WRITING AGAIN IS LIKE RELEARNING to ride a bike. The start is a little wobbly, but eventually the memory muscles kick in and before I know it, the day has passed and I have three solid chapters ofDark Angeldrafted. I have Dee to thank for that. With her by my side, I can accomplish anything.
At four thirty, I don my cap and shades and walk into a jewelry boutique off Oak Street. I’m greeted by a blonde saleswoman, who offers to be of assistance. I decline. I’ll know it when I see it. I dismiss the rings as too soon and the watches as too practical. I glance at a number of gemstone bracelets and earrings, but none of them are right. I browse for another ten minutes before a necklace catches my eye.
Recognizing the signs of a potential high-ticket sale, she approaches the Piaget case. “See something you like?”
“Yes. This one.” I indicate my selection through the glass.
“You have exceptional taste. That’s a Possession pendant.”
“Possession.” I like it even more.
She explains the symbolism of the circles and opens the locked case, placing the necklace on the counter against a black velvet mat for my inspection. “The chain is 18K white gold and the pendant has forty-one cut diamonds.”
Despite its opulence, it isn’t showy. Dee wouldn’t be comfortable wearing anything overstated. I listen to the run down on the quality and hand craftsmanship, although I’m already sold on the piece. The saleswoman gift wraps the necklace, and I head home to get ready for my date with Dee—technically, our first.
AT 7:10, I’M EN ROUTE to Brockville when the ring of my phone echoes through the car’s interior. I glance at the console and debate answering, not wanting to bring anything fromthatlife into my evening with Dee. But to ignore my agent would only be to delay the inevitable.
“What’s up Mackie?” I answer, weaving into the next lane.
“I’ll tell you what’s up, Mick, the fucking bluest sky. And I’m not just talking about the weather here in Miami.”
“Think you can get to the point?” I ask. “I’m on my way somewhere.”
“Where’s that?”
Dee is none of his business, but I want this conversation over. “A friend’s celebrating her birthday at the Lemon Lounge. No one you know,” I add quickly. “So what’s the news that’s got you so hyped?”
“Hyped doesn’t even come close to covering it. ESPN wants to talk with you about having your own show. Your own show, Mick. Can you believe that shit?” He laughs and draws in hacking breaths, which means Mackie’s smoking again. He quits every other week. “They’re thinking that with your pretty face and charisma, talk show format. Pack your bags, buddy. Executives want us in Connecticut next week.”
Beckett MacAllister is one of the best sports agents around. He’s tenacious and scrappy.Nois not in his vocabulary. I hired him ten years ago for those reasons, and we’ve both had a good, lucrative ride. But that trip has come to an end.
“I haven’t changed my mind. I’m not interested in television, coaching pro ball, or anything high profile.”
He coughs again, his lungs rattling like rusty pipes. “I’ve given you months to lie low, but popping O’Malley put you back in the public eye. You’ve got to strike while that iron’s hot.”
Something about what he says doesn’t sit right, but I shrug it off. “I’m done with the spotlight, Mackie.”
“I know you,” he rebuts, his aggressive energy charging through the speaker. “Another month of hibernation and you’ll be climbing the walls.”
Mackie doesn’t know dick about me. He knows my image. “I’m not hibernating. I’m tired of the fame and all the shit that goes with it.”
“What are you thinking?” he scoffs. “You’re Micah Peters. A celebrity. A sports icon. A normal, run-of-the-mill life would bore you to death. You wanted a breather. Fine. You got one. Now it’s over. Go get laid by one of your hot young models and come to your senses. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Before I can tell him just how far up his ass he can stick his suggestion, the phone disconnects. I make a mental note to send an official letter terminating our agreement. It’ll cost me to end the contract early, but I don’t care.
A normal, run-of-the mill life would bore you to death.
I think about the life I want—running Papa’s Kids, writing, being near my family, and most of all, building a future with Dee. Mackie doesn’t have a clue.
