Page 39 of Wild Catch
Kaplan just laughed. “Logan, you’re by far my funniest client.”
Funny? I’ll show him funny.
I force myself to put away my fist because this is a family restaurant.
“Very well, I can see that the murder intent on your face is real so I won’t dally any longer. We have three offers.”
As far as I’m aware, I had no expectations about this moment. Yet it feels like suddenly the floor is tilting, like I’m the shrimp being tossed on the pan by the chef a table over.
Shouldn’t I be yippie yah yaying? This is what I wanted. Three offers is decent. One of them will be the change I need—crave, even. So why do I want to barf all over this pristine grill?
“I’m listening,” I rasp out.
“One is from?—”
“Here are your drinks,” the waitress interrupts and places the beer before before Kaplan, before rounding over to lean fairly close to me to set down my glass. Even though there’s an entire damn table next to me where she could put it. I fail to even mutter a weak thanks this time.
“Cheers.” Kaplan lifts his glass. “To a successful business transaction.”
By rote, I grab my glass and clink it with his. I’m more patient now and wait until he gets a good first sip.
“As I was saying,” he continues without prompting. “One is in New York, one in California, and one in Colorado.”
I blink fast.
The first one I zero in is New York. There are only two options and neither sounds appealing in the least. First, it’s the Eagles—the team that drafted me and my brother, where he still plays. I left in not so great terms and have no desire to go back, so I doubt it’s them.
Then there’s the New York Jets, historically a rival to the Eagles but with less accolades. Doesn’t stop the fans from punching each other in the throat in the streets, which is the least I can expect to receive for joining such an overt adversary of my former team.
Meanwhile, California has five whole options. But it means I have a fifth of a chance of playing for my father’s former team, which I have in my list of things to never do. Worse, it’d put me in the same state where my parents still live. That’s a hell freaking no.
Last, Colorado. There’s only one choice there, and I’m not keen to form a battery with Ben Williams again.
“No,” I say without further ado.
Kaplan chokes on his beer.
“Good evening,” a chef says as he reaches our table right about the same time. “How are you doing tonight?” He gets his answer as Kaplan keeps choking and I just fold my arms, doing my damn best to contain my irritation. The chef pivots. “So, I hear that it’s just going to be you two tonight? Any special occasion? Anniversary?”
The anniversary of my agent’s death, maybe.
“Business meeting,” I respond, giving great thumps to Kaplan’s back until he’s able to breathe again.
“Right on.” The chef smiles, nonplussed by the thunder on my face.
I turn it back on my agent. “None of those options are going to work.”
“But you haven’t even heard the deals.” Kaplan opens his blue eyes and they’re as round as the earth. He lowers his voice. “The Eagles are actually offering you a record sum for a catcher.”
“The Eagles?” I whisper-scream, fully offended. “Not even the Jets? What the hell, man?”
“Why is this upsetting? You loved your old team.”
“I did—until I didn’t and I freaking left.”
Kaplan straightens his expression, looks around, and covers his mouth with his hands like we’re on the mound talking in front of cameras and sharp eyed managers. “Thirty million, Logan. For a catcher. That’s huge.”
I splutter but not because of the sum. “Why in the actual shit would they want me back?”
