Page 19 of Wait For It

“It seems bad,” my agent began, “But like I always say, any press is good press.”

I resisted the urge to tell him where to shove his press, and instead massaged the area between my eyebrows as if doing so might ward off the sudden headache.

“In what world would the end of my career be considered ‘good press,’ Theo?”

He tipped back in the plastic chair, balancing all of his weight on two legs before fixing me with one of his trademark grins. “Killian, you and I both know you’re not even close to the end of your career. So, you had a setback with the knee. There’s not a doubt in my mind you’ll be back next season, stronger than ever.”

“Are we just glossing over the fact that Sanchez happens to be your client, then?” I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. “Look, it is what it is, but the one thing we can’t ignore is where I go from here.”

His smile didn’t slip as he responded in an annoyingly even tone, “Look, we both know you weren’t happy with what the team was offering.”

In my infinite stupidity, I’d held off on signing a six-year contract with the Hurricanes—convinced another team would swoop in and offer more than three hundred sixty million.

Three hundred sixty million.

Clearly, I was a moron.

My mother had said as much when she saw me after my surgery. In fact, her exact words had been, “If brains were leather, you wouldn’t have enough to saddle a June bug.”

As far as southern niceties went, it ranked just slightly above a well-timedbless your heart.

I ground my molars together and released a breath through my nose. “All I’m asking, Theo, is what our plan is. The team wanted me here for rehab, which I took as a good sign, but after reading this? Fuck, I don’t know anymore.”

He might have faith it was all going to work out like a fairy tale, but I’d seen careers end over less. This industry changed on a dime, and if they saw me as damaged goods, I’d be hanging up the cleats permanently.

Theo brought the chair back down and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “I’m not going to lie, Killian. You’ve got a long hard road ahead of you. In my opinion, your best bet is to ignore the press and focus your energy on getting back on the field. The team has your back for now. The rest is just details.”

For now.

I glared first at him, and then, the magazine on the floor. Despite the ominous words, he was right. I couldn’t speed up my recovery process any more than I could make the sun rise.

“According to the doctor, I’m looking at six to twelve months of recovery time. Are they going to wait around until next spring or fill the roster?”

Theo’s phone vibrated from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He retrieved it and glanced down at the screen before returning his gaze to mine.

“You’ve shattered almost every Hurricane record. A blown-out knee isn’t the career-ending injury it used to be, and the team isn’t short-sighted enough to walk away now…” His phone buzzed again, and he paused to check the screen. “It just takes time to recover,” he mumbled distractedly.

“Am I keeping you from something, Theo? Maybe you and Sanchez have a nice picnic planned?” I hadn’t intended to raise my voice. I wasn’t a yeller by nature—well, outside of the dugout, anyway.

Theo glanced at his watch before standing up and buttoning his jacket. It was apparent I was treading on what little patience he still had reserved for me.

With a sigh, I pulled the ice pack from my knee and carefully shifted my weight toward the edge of the bed. “Now, just wait a second—”

He paused with an arched brow. “You finished with your little temper tantrum, Killian? Ready to discuss things like an adult again?”

I swallowed down the sharp retort and nodded before reaching for my crutches. “I just want to know I have a place on the field—any field at this point.”

“It’s about time for you to head down for therapy, but can I give you some advice?” Without waiting for a response, he continued. “You need to keep your head down and make healing your number one priority. No outbursts or arguing. Nothing that might cause a scene. And for the love of God, keep your dick in your pants.”

Unable to help myself, I chuckled. “That’s it? Done. What else?”

“You’re agreeing? Did you hear a damn word I just said? No making trouble… no women. We all remember how the Cabrera thing went down. Your career is riding on this, Killian. If you want that contract, you’ll cross youri’sand dot yourt’s.”

“I believe it’s cross yourt’sand dot youri’s, but noted. I’ll be on my best behavior, Dad. Besides, I’m pretty sure there isn’t a woman in the joint under the age of sixty. I mean, the silver-haired look is in and all—”

“Christ, Killian,” he muttered as he turned toward the door. “You manage to keep your dick and your temper locked away, I expect the team will make another offer within the month.”

I was so hung up on the latter half of his sentence that I let the man whore insinuation slide. He could think whatever he wanted, as long as he got me a contract. Plus, after the way Bailey had reacted, I wasn’t keen on the idea of anyone else knowing my business.

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