Page 89 of Burn the Wild

I lean in. “Why do they call you The Poacher?”

Bosko grins. “Because I steal things.”

I’m deciding if that’s a good thing or a bad thing when Bosko slides a copy of my contract across the table to me.

“Here it is,” he proclaims. His Marine Corps pinky ring catches the light from a nearby window.

I stare down at the contract like it’s a mirage. When I glance up at Ford, his scowl has melted away and now he looks worried.

“You can stay,” I tell him.

“You sure?” he asks, thumbs hooked through his belt loops.

I nod. For some reason, I want him here.

Pulling out a chair, he sits beside me.

I flip through the pages. There’re are some clauses I remember, but the majority of the document is redacted. Long passages have been blacked out. When I get to the end, I frown.

This contract is hereby effective immediately and expiresgfgffffffffffffffffff.

I tap the signature line. “It looks like it’s missing a part.”

“It is.” Bosko shuffles the papers around. “A lot of parts. This contract was markedReese. Which makes me think this marked-up version is the one your manager’s been showing you.”

Ford, reading over my shoulder, says, “Hell, even our MLB contracts weren’t this fucking confusing.”

“It’s essentially a conservatorship,” Bosko explains. “You signed over a majority of your rights. Guardianship. Control over your career.”

Shame sweeps over me. “I know.”

“You were sixteen?” Bosko asks.

I nod and look back down at the contract. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have signed it—”

“Not your fault, Birdie.” Ford gives me a gentle look. “You were a kid.”

Bosko gestures my way. “And you were at Muirwood—”

“I was,” I say sharply, cutting him off. Every muscle in my body tightens. “I signed it when I was there. After—after everything that happened.”

“Wait.” Now Bosko looks interested. “You signed the contract at Muirwood?”

“Yes.”

I can feel Ford watching, curious, but he says nothing.

God, I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t asked him to stay.

I don’t want him to think I’m crazy like Gavin does. What if I show too much of myself to him, and he runs? I’ll lose him like I’ve lost everyone else in my life.

Even though he’s temporary, he’s still my friend, and I don’t have many of those.

As if he can read my hesitation, Bosko nods. “We’ll come back to that.”

I nod, sick to my stomach.

“Everyone who’s seemingly employed by you is paid by Gavin. Everyone answers to him. Lawyers, doctors, publicists, your record label. Not you, Reese. You have no power. You have no say.”

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