Page 62 of Hard to Hold

It would be like selling every part of me to something I didn’t believe in wholeheartedly.

“Numbers are being tossed around, comments are being made. I simply want you to know it’s happening so you have time to figure out if this is what you want or not.”

No.

“Was this the plan all along, Finn? Did you have this all worked out with Cannon ahead of time, waiting for my next screwup to talk me into it?”

“You’re a highly demanded football player. Whether there was this little snafu or not, you were being talked about. But you being you, isn’t that enough of a reason for the MLS to want you?”

No. My head spins. I feel like I’ve been maneuvered into this. Hell, was this all a setup? Rory and Esme? The photographer? Everything? Was this a way to twist my arm? I don’t trust Cannon for a bloody second, but I at least trusted Finn.

Could he? Is this?

What the fuck?

“You’re jumping to conclusions.” Finn holds his hands up. “I can already see it in your posture. Chill out, man. None of this was planned. Shit happened, and now it might present another opportunity for you to further your professional career.”

“Furthering my professional career would be winning the World Cup for England. Getting the Golden Boot. Having a few Premier League championships under my belt. Not coming here where football has been trying to get off the ground for over a decade and is still failing.”

“It would be a way to make a name for yourself in a whole different place.”

“I like my name attached to Liverpool F.C. just fine, thanks mate.” I pause for a beat before looking back to him. “It’s the only place I’ve ever been, and I’m perfectly happy for it to be the only place I play for a while. I’m not washed-up yet.”

“Rush.” My name is a frustrated sigh. “No one said you were.”

And yet if I played here, that’s exactly what would be implied.

“Don’t discard the possibility. It’s a great opportunity.”

“Of course, it is. I mean, is this in my best interest or yours? Because I’m thinking any opportunity where you get ten percent of one hundred million is definitely in your best interest.”

“Now you’re just being a dick.”

I shrug nonchalantly because he’s right. I am being one, and I fucking deserve the right to be when this is my life we’re talking about here.

“Any news from the club?” I ask. It’s the only thing I care about, because the longer I’m here—save for the pleasure of seeing Lennox and her long damn legs every morning—the more I miss home. The gray skies and cobblestone streets. The green of Anfield’s pitch, and the sound of the guys harassing each other in the changing room. The feel of my bed and the taste of my bloody tea instead of the weak shit they have in the States. Proper beer in pubs where you go to hang with mates, rather than swanky bars like in LA where you go to be seen. “The transfer window will be closing next month and I need to not be transferred.”

“Management is still figuring things out.”

“And you know this because you’ve talked to them directly or because you’ve been hung up on by Millie at the front desk after she informed you, ‘we’ll call you when we know something’?”

“Why are you in such a shitty mood? Huh? I got you away from the media frenzy and the club drama there and now we’re here.” He motions his hands to the sunny sky above and the beach in sight to our left. “Are you really complaining about being in Los Angeles?”

“No, I’m complaining about my agent trying to sell me a pint of piss and trying to make me believe otherwise.”

“For your information, I’ve been talking to Patrick. Several times in fact. You happy?”

“And?”

“And they’re trying to figure out how the fuck their team captain is going to play with the man who was supposed to be the new team vice captain”—he points at me—“you, without punching each other out in the middle of a game.”

“I told you it wasn’t me, Finn.”

“And I told you it damn well looks like you in the photo, so in case you can give me something else to present to the team to say otherwise, you’re the one who’s looking bad in this situation.”

“Shit.”

“You fucked up—big time—and a manager doesn’t want a problem-child messing with their team chemistry.”