I nodded at him and smiled.
“You mentioned to me he plays, too. Where?” Franz asked in a curious tone.
“He’s on loan to Madrid right now,” I explained.
“I had no idea.” The second German nodded with a slight frown. Before he’d retired, he’d played for Madrid’s top opponent, Barcelona. “Do your parents play?”
“Oh no. My dad has asthma and my mom,” the gigantic bicep surrounding my neck like a boa constrictor bulged, “isn’t exactly a fan.”
For one stinking moment, I had the fear that Kulti would say something about who my mom’s dad was. One brief, painful moment I imagined him spilling the beans because it was something impressive to say in front of people who would think it was interesting. I really thought he might.
He didn’t.
He steered the conversation away. “We’ll split up into two groups,” he ordered and I let him, because it had become evident to me that he was starting to enjoy these days playing with the kids. It almost made me feel a little bad that there was only one camp left after today.
The day went fine. Mike Kimmons was a little too serious for the kids, but some of them recognized him and it made up for him not playing around with them much. Kulti offered to be paired up with him for some reason, and I tackled the other group with Franz.
Once the three hours had passed and most of the kids had left, Franz pulled me aside while Kulti continued taking pictures with a few straggling participants and their parents.
The older German gave me a serious look. “I overheard something while I was in Los Angeles, and I need to tell you.”
Fuck. Preparing someone for news was never a good thing. My Big Girl Socks went on. “Okay.”
He cast a glance in Kulti’s direction before hurrying through what he felt the need to tell me. “There’s a rumor you will be traded to New York at the end of this season.”
My ears started ringing. My stomach churned.
New York? With Amber? If that wasn’t bad enough, the team already had a solid popular starting line-up. I would never get to play.
Most importantly, I didn’t want to go to fucking New York.
Franz touched my shoulder. “I recruit for NL,” he was referring to the Newcastle Lions, one of the top men’s teams in the United Kingdom, “Think about what I told you the last time. If you decide you’d like to try something different—“ he shot me a look, “something better, I can help. I don’t understand how you’ve gotten buried in the system here, but between Reiner and I, there isn’t much we can’t do with our connections.”
Fully aware that this wasn’t the time to lose it, I pulled my Big Girl Socks on higher than ever and forced myself to nod at the man who had told me news he didn’t have to share. Could he have been lying? I didn’t see why he would, so I wasn’t going to be narcissistic about it.
Whybounced around in my head over and over again.
Everyone knew I loved playing in Houston. The WPL wasn’t big enough for people to be forced to play where they absolutely didn’t want to. Most of the time, players were willing to go wherever they were sent. When I’d first gotten drafted, I’d been allowed to choose the top three teams I wanted to play for. Obviously, Houston had been at the top of my list with stars by it, followed by California, since it was close to my brother, and then the Phoenix Novas, who had since moved to St. Louis.
I was the top scorer for the Pipers. I worked hard and didn’t give them much hell besides what had been going on these last few months, and I helped out my teammates as much as possible. Somehow this was how they were repaying me?
Gardner’s warning, Cordero’s dislike and the things my teammates had been doing recently swirled in my head.
I felt betrayed. Cheated on. And I couldn’t decide whether to be sad or take a key to Cordero’s car.
Okay. That was a little extreme. Sort of.Patience.Patience.
There was only one person who could have been behind this possible move. That spiteful, little asshole.
“Thank you for telling me,” I somehow managed to tell Franz, even though my insides were ready for anarchy.
“Don’t waste your potential,ja?”
I nodded at him, feeling this huge surge of emotion climb up my chest, and it wasn’t good. It made the smile on my face feel short of the braveness I wanted to portray. “I’ll figure something out.”
“Call me, email me, whatever you need,” he said sincerely.
“Thank you, Franz. I really appreciate it.” I did, even if the news made me want to cry.