“Keegan.”He pauses, and I've worked with Neil long enough to know that pause.It's the one that means he's choosing his words."I just got off a call with Marchetti."
The general manager of the Crushers.The man who holds my fate, and my contract, in his hands.My jaw tightens.
"He wanted me to know—and he emphasized this was a heads up, not a decision—that they've been in serious conversations about Fletcher."
I know the name.Everyone in the league knows the name.Twenty years old, six foot two, faster acceleration than me, even if I had two good knees and a magical extra third knee.He plays my position.If he joins the team, I’m out.Traded.And what team wants an injured thirty-something?
“Okay.”
“They’re watching how the draft shakes out.But I wanted you to hear it from me first.They’re looking at him hard, Keegan.”
The cab of the truck is really quiet.I work my jaw back and forth as I let the news sink in.I know what this means.The knot in my gut doesn’t lie.
“All right.Appreciate the heads up.”
“Keep putting in the work.I’m fighting for you, you know that.You’re not a free agent yet.We’ve got till August first.”
He says a few more things, but I can barely hear him.All I can hear are my worst fears roaring to life.The phone call ends.I want to melt into the dirt and put my fist into something hard simultaneously.But all I can do is grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
“Griff,” Casey finally says.
“Yeah?”
“That didn’t seem…like good news.”
A humorless laugh slips out of me.“It was almost the worst news I could have gotten today.”
“But he said they were onlylookingat him,” she says, and I can tell she’s trying to be positive for me.She doesn’t know how futile it is.
“This is the job,” I say, turning into my driveway.I draw a deep breath before I add, “It just works like that.There’s always someone younger and faster.It’s only a matter of time.”
Her brows furrow.“But you’re healed.”
“I’m not.”I sniff, suddenly ready for anything that doesn’t involve continuing this conversation inside this tiny space.“You want a beer?”
“Yes.A beer sounds great.”Casey and I go inside, but only one of us is walking on leaden feet.The roar inside my head grows louder inside the house.Weight presses down on me, reminding me of the unsavory truth I’ve been circling like water in a drain.This might be the end.This might be it.And what have I been doing to fight for it?
“You sit down.Don’t get lost in your head,” Casey commands as she rummages through the fridge.“Or else.”
But it’s too late.I’m not just lost in my head, I’m drowning in it.I pinch the bridge of my nose, waves of critical thoughts swamping me.
The loudest one is that I fucked up by letting my focus waver evenslightly.
I got cocky last season, thinking I was a shoo-in for contract renewal, and then I got injured.
I got cocky in rehab over the winter, pushing myself too hard, and then I got set back.
And then I got cocky this summer, thinking I could rehabanddabble in some fun with Casey.
I should know better than to think I can have it all.Life always takes something away.A wave of iciness coats me inside, freezing me up.I barely notice when Casey offers me the beer.
“Take a breath,” she says firmly.
“I’m breathing.”I pause, taking a sip of my beer.“Barely.”
“I know.I can tell.And you got really tense.”She takes a sip of her beer before setting it on the end table.Then she climbs onto the couch, wedging herself behind me.“Sit on the floor.”
“Uh, why?”
