Page 32

Chapter 32

Misplaced

Brandon

When I arrive at training, both Ivor and Gretchen are waiting for me. They’re deep in conversation and break off as I arrive.

“This doesn’t look good”, I say, by way of greeting.

“Brandon, why don’t you take a seat?” Ivor gestures to the bench, “We need to talk”.

“And now it doesn’t sound good”. I park it. “What’s going on?”

“You know scouts will be here in a couple of weeks. From some pretty big clubs”. My heart skips a beat. “Which could be big news for you”.

I nod, waiting for the ‘but’. “We’ve run through your test results. Your performance is good, by any measurable standard. This”, Ivor gestures to a grid, “Is where you were before the accident. Here’s where you are now. And this line, is what you’re aiming for”.

The world feels like it’s shifting beneath me. “I don’t understand”.

“You’re playing well enough for a college team. But the chances of you improving to the level where soccer becomes a career look slim. Very slim”.

“But that’s why I’m here. To get better”.

“That’s the thing. You are better. None of your results indicate any reason why your game isn’t where it should be. No physical reasons, anyway”, Gretchen trails off.

“Mental?” I glare between the two of them. “That doesn’t make any sense. Soccer is all I’ve ever wanted. If I lose it, I’ve lost everything. How do I get it back?”

Ivor and Gretchen exchange a glance.

“We don’t know”.

* * * *

I finish training, but still can’t concentrate so I walk into town to clear my head. Which apparently, I should have been doing all along. Mental . The problem in my game isn’t mental. I want to turn pro more than anything. How could it be mental?

My phone rings, and my stomach contracts involuntarily when I see the name.

Winston Deville is my father’s Chief of Staff. I once heard him described by a political commentator as an architect of power . I also heard him described by my mother as a power-drunk munchkin. I’ve always thought he lands between the two. “You haven’t been responding to my office’s emails”.

“Don’t you mean my father’s office?” Nothing riles Winston up more than reminding him that I’m family, and he’s on the payroll. “Maybe something’s wrong with his phone. He hasn’t been replying to my texts”.

“I’ll have technical support look into it”. I can practically hear him grinding his teeth. “But since I’ve managed to get hold of you, why don’t we just talk now?”

Winston’s been on the scene ever since I was a little kid. He had more time for me then. I was far more useful as the angelic elementary school kid posing for pictures on the family lawn than I am as a soccer-playing frat boy.

“Have any journalists approached you?” Winston continues. “In the last couple of weeks. Either on campus, or at summer camp”.

“It’s not a summer camp. It’s an elite training facility”.

“For what?”

“Soccer players!”

“Brandon, this is serious”.

“Crawley. That’s it”.

“And the blind item I sent you?” I stay quiet. “I can’t help you, or your father, if I don’t know the truth. Bar fight?”

“If there was anything concrete, it’d be out by now”. I close my eyes. “And as for other journalists, I just had a few requests for comment after my accident, which I ignored”.

“Nothing else?”

“Nope. I’m fine, by the way”. I ignore the ache in my side. “Is my dad…okay? Has he asked about me?”

“He’s well. Extraordinarily busy, Brandon”.

“I was thinking about coming home for my birthday” This shouldn’t be so difficult. It didn’t used to be. “Do you think he’ll be around?”

“I’m sure he will. And your birthday will be acknowledged on the family website. We’ll send the photographs for your approval”.

“And my mother, I mean, Mrs Carter?” I correct myself quickly. “Will she be there?”

“She’s in Milan meeting with designers”. Over the years, the cracks between my parents had evolved into chasms, two entirely separate lives, and I was lost in the space between. “Then Prague for two weeks. She’ll be back to meet her obligations to the campaign”.

The unspoken instruction hung between us. As will you.

“Winston, wait”, I bite my lip. “My dad. He knows… he knows that what happened wasn’t my fault, right?”

There’s a long pause. Finally, Winston says, “Some things are not a matter of fault, Brandon. But it doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences”.

“I’m still his kid, Winston, he has to understand—”

The line goes dead.

I’m about to toss my phone when it starts vibrating uncontrollably. Pictures start dropping in at lighting speed. I click the first one. Freddie and Sabrina, in-front of the Eiffel Tower. It’s the caption that jumps out:

She Said Yes!

Whoa. Pump the brakes.

Freddie’s engaged?!

He didn’t tell me he was going to propose . That’s my first thought, but I banish it away. So what? He doesn’t have to. Damn. They both look so happy.

I’m about to type my congratulations, when something across the street catches my eye. An attractive couple sit in Mernova’s café window, engaged in an intimate conversation. It takes me a minute to place the girl, but it’s not her that’s caught my attention.

It’s the guy she’s sitting with.

Parker.