Page 19 of Personal Foul (The San Diego Storm #3)

He chuckled. “Maybe not in those terms. Not until we see what’s going on.”

I snorted, thinking about my deal with the Storm. “There’s no payment until I get my other visa. Otherwise, it will be January or February.”

George nodded. “Then I’d suggest replying that you’ll get back to him,” George said. “But make it clear if he comes here, it will be his expense, not yours.”

I picked up my phone and sent him a text.

Me: There’s nothing for you to do. My American lawyer has it.

The dots bounced on the screen.

Leland: You little shit. Don’t you dare try to cut me out.

Me: I would never. If I owe you, I’ll pay you.

Me: My lawyer advised me to inform you that if you come to the States, you’ll pay for it, not me.

Me: I’ll be in touch with any new details.

Turning off the screen, I placed my phone in my lap. I was sure he would blow it up with messages, but that was okay. I had people on my side now, other than Leland, and the possibility of starting over.

After breakfast, I said goodbye to the St. James’. George promised to be in touch, and Elizabeth made me promise to call if I needed anything.

At twenty-five years old, I had never experienced pure intentions without the expectation of something in return.

I was an interloper in their lives that could easily be forgotten.

I’d always been on the outside and didn’t expect that to change.

But for the time I was here, I would soak up their attention and purposely misconstrue it as affection.

That’s who I was and what I did to survive.

While Carson took his parents to the airport, I stayed behind to give him some time with them. He invited me to go, but I also needed some time to process all this shit with Leland and to find my contracts for George. When I’d located them all, I attached them to an email and pressed send.

An email from Coach Henderson’s assistant pinged in my inbox, providing me with the date of my interview with Immigration and the name and contact information for the attorney management had retained on my behalf.

It was set for December 28th, six weeks before my initial visa was to expire.

If all went well, I could be finished with Leland and start over in San Diego.

I replied and thanked her for her help, then added it to my calendar.

Right after my suspension from the league, I thought my life was over.

But now, it would seem things were falling into place.

These people were bending over backward to make this work for me, and stirred emotions in me that had lain dormant for a very long time.

When Carson returned an hour later, I was on the leg press, working on my thighs. Every day was leg day since rugby players were known to have the strongest legs around, and I wouldn’t let that go. I needed to keep them fit in case I returned to the pitch.

He leaned against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, and an electrolyte water in his hand.

“Hey,” I huffed out, slowing my pace.

“I brought you this. Thought you could use it.”

He twisted the cap off and handed me the bottle. “Thanks,” I said.

Tilting my head back, I drank half the bottle, then wiped my mouth with the hem of my T-shirt.

“They get off okay?”

“Yes. I always book them in first class, so they’ll go to the lounge to wait.”

Nodding, I stepped off the machine. “They’re amazing. I hope I haven’t overstepped. If it bothers you for your dad to help me, I can tell him I’ve changed my mind.”

Carson’s head tipped to the side. “Why would it bother me? I’m happy he offered, especially with your asshole agent.”

I took a deep breath and peeled at the label on the bottle. “Yeah, well. That’s a whole other matter.”

“I think you should fire him. If my agent said that to me, he’d be gone. That guy works for you, not the other way around.”

“I know.” I couldn’t look at him. “We have a… complicated arrangement.”

“What does that mean? You have the right to fire him if he’s not taking care of you.”

He was pissing me off a little with his question. Gritting my jaw, I glared at him.

“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long damn time. My fuck ups are mine to own. I don’t need you to step in and tell me how to run my life.”

He glowered as he stepped closer. “Well, someone should! I don’t get you. Why would you purposely allow him to take advantage of you? The guy is probably ripping you off.”

He was probably right, but if I admitted to fucking my agent, it would shatter the illusion that I was a good person. And I needed to hold on to that a bit longer.

“I don’t want to tell you.”

His brow pinched together as he processed my words. “Has he hurt you, Colin?”

I smile sardonically. “No,” I murmured. “I deserve to lose everything he’s taken from me.”

Carson placed his hand over my heart. “Something tells me that’s not true.”

I wish he were correct, but he wasn’t. “Would you still feel that way if I said he was my teammate when I joined the league?”

I took a step back from the dizzying effect of his cologne. “What if I told you I pursued him and got down on my knees to suck him off?”

Carson’s frown deepened, causing me to take another step back. “How good would you feel about me if I told you he’s been fucking me ever since? That he has a key to my home and has access to everything I have. How good do you feel about me now?”

The disgust and disillusionment on his face bothered me more than anything I’d allowed to happen with Leland. I’d permitted myself to care about what Carson thought about me, and that was my biggest mistake. People can’t hurt you if you don’t allow yourself to care.

Stiffening my spine, I poked him in the chest. “That’s what I thought.”

Turning, I left him standing in his workout room while I went to wallow in my extensive list of failures.