Page 150 of The Stud

“Does he need that, or do youthinkhe needs that?”

“I-”

“Has heeverasked you to be anything other thanyou?”

“No but-”

“Not buts, Arden.” The tone is firmer than anticipated. “Don’t punish someone for something they haven’t done because you pre-emptively think they will. That’s like benching a player for an entire season because you think hemightget a penalty in one game.”

My lips press firmly together in a pouty fashion.

“And double fuck whatever is the so-called status quo,mi pequeña rebelde. LMC was built and has thrived inspiteof that.” Bear less than cleverly inches his hand over to retrieve him a fry. “Plus, the leagueischanging. Yeah, a little slower than a puckhead who should’ve retired long before forty, but it’s still happening.” He slips the treat into my dog’s mouth without care or concern of my potential scolding. “Remember, once upon a time, there werenofemale owners. No femalecoaches. No black coaches. No blackheadcoaches. Very few Hispanic and Latinoplayers. Even less Filipinos and those of Asian descent. Yet now? Now, those stats are evolving.Progressing.And the sold-out stadiums around the country are bringing all types of people together, boosting watch numbers, exceeding predictions, and showing that the sportcanbe for everyone if we let it, which proves that change can be good.” An undeniable fatherly stare is presented. “All you have to do is let it.”

Chapter 26

Tanner

From my sitting position on the floor, I continue to bounce the tennis ball against the side of the island with my right to catch it with my left, attention focused on the hand eye activity rather than my parents on video chat or the faint sound of Shakira coming from the flat screen. “I meet with the GM and Coach in an hour.”

“To discuss a trade?” Father gingerly inquires.

“Likely.” Switching throwing hands smoothly occurs. “I did not exactly play well in the last two games.”

“No,” Father reluctantly sighs, “you did not play your best.”

“I played my worst.”

“Nahhhhh,” Dad argues, warranting my stare once the ball is back in my possession. “Your worst was your rookie game in The Show. You somehow went from Bure to Bambi.”

There’s no stopping the laughs that escape. “I was nervous!”

“And it showed.” He joins in on the chuckling. “I swore they were going to send your ass down to the minors.”

“Had I not scored that night they might’ve.”

My silky mitts have always been my selling factor.

Truthfully?

I hoped they would be mykeepingfactor as well.

“What does Arden think about you possibly being traded?” Father slyly questions, spurring me to return to playing catch with myself.

The lack of response prompts Dad to investigate further, “She doesn’t know, does she?”

“No.”

“Have you spoken with her?” Father follows up. “At all?”

“No.”

“Have you fucking tried?” Dad bluntly pokes.

“Repeatedly.”

“And?” they chime in tandem.

“And it is last in the league impossible to plead with someone for forgiveness when the aforementioned won’t even answer a bloody text let alone a call or thedoorwhen you dropped by to further discuss the predicaments that are beyond your control.”

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