“To you or Marla?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. When would he see what a bitch his wife was?
But to tell him what I knew of her would be to admit my own betrayal. And that was the last thing we needed in the middle of a season. Craig was my friend. More than that he was my teammate. I had seen teams torn apart by women bullshit. Chester wouldn’t be one of them.
“To both of us. Come on. It’ll be nice.” I knew Craig wouldn’t let it drop.
“Maybe,” I said, not agreeing, but not saying no. I could always decline later.
I grabbed my kit and headed towards the door leading to the car park.
“Lucas, you got a minute?” the gaf called out.
I was in a good mood. Good enough to talk to Jack Millwood.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, closing the door of Jack’s office behind me.
The first thing I had noticed the first time I had come into his office after he had taken over were the framed pictures of all the Premier League managers on his wall.
When he was asked in an interview once why he had done that, Jack had responded, “I like to see their faces and remind myself of what I’m fighting for. To get to the top.”
It was slightly unnerving sitting in a chair beneath so many faces. It was hard enough when Jack was staring me down.
“So, I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sandy McMillan, the assistant coach over at Liverpool.” He pulled out a bag of licorice allsorts and popped a few in his mouth. He held out the bag to me and I shook my head.
“Okay. And?” I prompted.
“And it seems your agent has been making calls.” Jack watched me closely. I frowned.
“What do you mean Mo has been making calls?”
Jack sat back in his chair, crossing his hands over his belly. “Are you planning to go to Liverpool in January?”
What the hell?
I had told Mo I had no intention of transferring. Why was he still having these conversations?
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to admit to Jack, of all people, that I had no control over my agent. That he was having conversations without my knowledge.
Goddamn it.
“I thought you were happy at Chester,” Jack continued.
“I am happy here,” I answered.
“Transfer is part of the game. Players follow the money. I understand you’re a rising star in the league and rightfully so. But Lucas, I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve managed three teams to the championship. I’ve won four FA cups. I’ve been to Europe. I see players like you get some glory. Their agent sees the money and encourages them to go after it. It’s tempting, I understand that. But take it from me, you’ll get more out of staying here at Chester, hone your craft, perfect your game. Let me teach you how to be the best player you can be.”
It was the first time I could remember having a conversation with Jack Millwood that wasn’t condescending.
It reminded me of the old days of talking to Gaz.
“Don’t let your agent talk you into something. Do what’s best foryou. Not your agent. They’re a slippery bunch. They can derail a team. I hope that doesn’t happen here.”
“I won’t be making any decisions without really thinking about what’s best for me and the team. Don’t worry about that.”
Jack nodded, though he still seemed bothered. “You’ve done really well today. I hope it keeps up. A player that’s on top one day can be on the bottom the next.”
And there were the veiled threats I was used to from Jack. It felt better to be on familiar territory. Being in roles I was used to.
“Thanks, I appreciate the advice.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm.
