Page 4 of Love Never Happens with your Brother’s Best Friend

“But what about the game against the Dolphins that’s coming up? It’s a big one. I can’t miss it.”

“Brodie. Listen carefully,” says Coach Sanchez slowly shaking his head. “You cannot play until further notice.”

“You are joking, right?”

“Sorry, son. I wish we were.”

I’m stunned. “This is a major game. I don’t want to be on the bench.”

“Sorry Brodie,” one of the suits says. “You won’t be permitted at the stadium at all.”

“That’s insane!” I throw up my hands, but the gravity of the situation is finally sinking in. “Coach Sanchez, please. I have to play.”

“Sorry Brodie. My hands are tied until this is resolved. We are on your side. Really.”

I huff and pace to the door.

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. I think.” Thinly concealed sarcasm oozes out. “So, are we good? Can I go now?”

“Yep. I think it’s best,” says Bowden.

“In fact, probably the best course of action, until the inquiry is over, is for you to just disappear,” says one of the suits. “Go somewhere quiet. Just for a while.” Her steady attention shifts from me to the other members of the meeting. “At least until this whole debacle blows over…” She sucks air in through her teeth. “… and dies down.”

“Mr Bowden. Coach Sanchez.” I look from one to the other, ignoring the lawyer. “You don’t mean that.”

“It’s for the best, Brodie. You’re not off the team. But… Go, take a vacation,” says my coach trying to sound cheerful. “Somewhere quiet. Go to Europe. Why not? Somewhere out of trouble and away from the paparazzi.”

My coach’s words ring in my ears as I leave Bowden’s office and head to the locker room to get my stuff. Somewhere quiet, huh? I know just the place. Images of Oak River flash up behind my eyes. The small town where I grew up. It’s Back-of-beyond, Sleepyville, Nowhereland, and I haven’t been back in years.

I remember when a football talent scout came to our school. Said I should try out for a junior team at a flash, expensive high school in Boston. Said I was a natural athlete. Said I had potential and that, if I was serious about going on to a career playing football, that school was the place to start. He came over to our house and spoke with my parents. Said there were no guarantees but if I kept my head down and trained hard, I could potentially earn a position on a professional team.

My dad was still dubious about signing the application form until he heard about the full scholarship for this fancy big-city school. Then dollar signs rung up in his eyes, cha-ching, and suddenly playing football wasn’t the waste-of-time, stupid game he always thought it was. And maybe his son wouldn’t be an uneducated embarrassment without a future.

So, when I was fifteen, I moved away from Oak River with my family.

I excelled at school football. I was hungry to prove myself. And I knew that, unlike the other kids, this was it. I didn’t have other career options. But I loved it. Playing football was my world. I went to every training session. I was first to arrive and last to leave. I did more than was asked. I pushed myself harder than anyone else. I received another scholarship to play for the university and became one of the top scorers in the college league. Football was my life. And then the offers came flooding in and I was snapped up by the Bullets with an eye-popping deal I could not have imagined only a few years before when I was kicking a ball around with my best mate.

Living the dream, I hit the top of all the football accolades. I needed an agent to handle all the top brand product placement and endorsement offers which came in thick and fast. These brands wanted to pay me a lot of money to wear their shirt/ shoes/watches; drive their car; use their phone; eat their pizza; drink their coffee. And I was happy to pay it forward by showing up at charity events and worthy causes. I got invitations to parties and high-end places. And I had offers from a lot of women. Movie stars, amazing, stunning, and beautiful women gave me their numbers and said, “Call me.” Sure, I would flirt. It’s fun. But, I don’t know. I didn’t want to take things further. I felt I never had time for a committed relationship. Or, maybe, it just didn’t feel right. So, I didn’t call. Everyone wanted a slice of Brodie Kent. It seemed as if I could do no wrong. Until now.

In the empty locker room, I shove my gear into my bag and zip it up. My phone beeps with notifications and my heart sinks when I see pictures of me all over the newsfeed. Instead of the focus being on my on-field skills, my new tag is Boston Bad Boy Heartbreaker. Hilarious. Except there’s nothing funny about it.

I scroll down my contacts and dial Dylan’s number. As I listen to the ringtones a wave of nostalgia hits. It would be so great to hang out with a real friend who knows me for who I am. Away from this media circus.

I feel as if my life is over. To not play football is torture. All I can do is hope the inquiry is resolved and fast. But it’s out of my hands. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I couldn’t play. I only have one love in my life, and that is football.

Alright. Maybe two.

When I was at school in Oak River, I had the biggest crush on Rita, my best friend’s little sister. She was so funny and smart. She had a wild spirit that hooked me to my core. I did my best to impress her and make her laugh. I loved making Rita laugh. Dylan was my best friend, but I would find any excuse to go over to their house. I was always around there to hang out with Dylan. And for the possibility of seeing Rita.

As we got older, Dylan didn’t want his kid sister hanging around. But I didn’t mind. I liked the way she said things. Her cute freckles and untamed hair. She made me light up inside. I just wanted to be near her.

Then, one day in summer, I found the courage to tell her how I felt. But it was a huge mistake. Rita made me see that it was never going to work out between us. Not in words. But I understood completely when she pushed me away. The signs were loud and clear. Final. So, I accepted the scholarship and left Oak River to pursue my football dreams without looking back.

Dylan finally picks up.

“Hey, Dylan.”

“Brodie?”

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