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Five

Ryder

“ W hat the actual fuck?” I growl, pulling off the paper taped to my door. I scan it, unlock the door, and let myself in, my hands shaking in fury. An eviction notice? Really? For discriminatory harassment, at that. When was I discriminatory to my landlord? I don’t think I’ve ever even met my landlord to harass them.

I don’t have time for this. The season is picking up, and I need a solid, secure living situation. I can’t be looking for something now. This spot took weeks over the summer to find and a crew to move into. I don't have weeks. I have forty-eight hours.

I throw my gym bag on the couch and grab my phone, dialing the number on the paper.

“Hello?”

“Is this Venman Properties?” I ask, trying like hell to keep the anger from my tone so I can get to the bottom of this.

“Yes, this is Jonathan Venman speaking,” he answers cautiously. “Who might this be?”

“This is Ryder Kingston. I came home to an eviction notice on my door at fifty-seven-oh-three Peachtree Street, and I wanted to understand what sort of discrimination and harassment you felt you’ve experienced for me to be evicted from this residence.”

“Ah, Mr. Kingston. We evicted you because we became aware of your homophobic statements made yesterday that put you in breach of your lease agreement. I served your eviction notice this morning. Section four, clause three of your agreement states that all tenants will abide by a code of conduct that includes tolerance of all sexualities and ways of life so as not to belittle or harass others in public or in private while a tenant. You clearly do not live by that code of conduct, and I am rescinding your tenancy.”

“You can’t be serious. You saw something that was taken out of context and put online without my consent. Where’s the outrage at my privacy that was breached?” I ask, my voice rising with my indignation. “I’m not homophobic,” I insist.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Kingston, your statements were telling and said more about your internalized biases than you may acknowledge. Regardless, that video was enough to revoke your tenancy. This is a high-class establishment, and that sort of behavior is not tolerated by any of our tenants. You have forty-eight hours to leave the premises before further legal action is taken against you. Oh, and go Condors.”

He ends the call without so much as a goodbye, and I’m left holding the phone without the resolution I was hoping for. I'm realizing my reckless words from the other day while shooting the shit with the boys are having far-reaching consequences. That, and Knox Contraire is fucking up my life without even being a part of it this time.

“Motherfucker!” I shout. This is so fucked. What the hell am I supposed to do? I hit another number and wait as the phone rings.

“Hey Kingsy, I’m glad you called,” Mark says when he answers.

“Mark, I’m being evicted. I came home from weight training to a notice on my door. What the hell am I supposed to do? I don't have time to look for another place right now.”

“We both know you have bigger problems than just where to live, but this definitely complicates things.” He pauses to take a deep breath, and I hear the rasp of his fingers rubbing over the stubble on his face. “I just got into Atlanta and need you to meet me in an hour at the local office. I’ll text you the address. We need to fix the situation you’ve got yourself into, and I don’t care what else is going on, so you better be there.”

Relief floods me. Mark’s a problem solver. If he’s here in town, he’s going to make this right. I can breathe for the first time since that Lilah woman put me through the wringer about the video and alerted me to my first mistake, which suddenly thrust me into a spotlight I never asked for. I’d called Mark as I was leaving the arena to tell him about the situation, and apparently, it was big enough for him to fly into town to fix.

“Thanks, Mark. I’ll be there. This is so fucked. My life feels like it’s burning down around me. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know, man. We’ll talk about it later,” he says coolly.

We hang up, and he texts me the address for his firm's local office. I shower and get dressed before leaving the house, hoping there aren’t any extra surprises when I get back, like a water leak, a roach infestation, or something else unimaginable that will be the cherry on top of everything that's been thrown at me so far.

The office is in a high-rise in downtown Atlanta. A receptionist leads me to a conference room when I check in, and not only is Mark there, but so is Knox fucking Contraire. Great .

I step inside the room, and the receptionist closes the door behind me, trapping me in here with the subject of my viral video and the agent who represents us both. “What the hell is going on?” I ask.

“Have a seat, Kingsy. We need to talk.” Mark points to a seat opposite him and a few down from Knox.

I trudge to the chair, carefully avoiding Knox’s gaze and focusing on Mark again when I’m settled. “What’s he doing here?” I ask, tipping my head in Knox’s direction, no longer able to remain silent.

“Well, Ryder,” he begins, and the use of my full name instead of my nickname tells me this isn’t going to be good. “When you decided to run your mouth about another athlete—a former friend and another client of mine at that—it became imperative that I bring you both in and remind you that not only are you public figures who have eyes on you at all times, but you are held to a higher standard by definition.”

“Come on, Mark,” I say, laughing. “I was out with the boys, we were fucking around and I said some shit that was caught on someone’s phone and posted out of context. It’s not that serious. People need to let it go already.” I’m ready to defend my actions any way I can. He shouldn't be giving me a talking to about it.

“Oh, so you have a legitimate reason to be speaking about another person’s private life or sexuality that was taken out of context? I want to hear what that may have been. Please enlighten us on your conversation with the boys about an athlete from an entirely different sport, and why you were passionately calling him a queer stalker and saying he was obsessed with you. I’d love to hear the rest of it if that was a portion taken out of context.” Mark leans back, crossing his ankle over his knee and steepling his fingers together in his lap, cocking his perfectly coiffed, silver-streaked head.

“Come on, that’s not what I meant,” I say, heat rising in my cheeks. Mark is laying into me in front of my former best friend and the target of so much of my hate, even now, when we’re both adults and far past that contentious place in our lives.

Mark drops his foot back to the ground and throws his hands up. “Exactly. You’re running your mouth in public and allowing people to misinterpret you, or catching parts of your conversations that are unsavory, and show you in a terrible light at best.” Mark leans forward and levels me with an intense blue-eyed glare. “You know better, Ryder.” He holds up a finger. “One, we don't talk about other people the way you were. You’re called to a higher standard as a professional athlete and person of interest.” He adds a second finger. “Two, this is another professional athlete you’re speaking about, so it’s even worse that you made any comment, especially the kind you did.” He stands, pacing along the table, clearly worked up as I sit and take the dressing down he’s intent on giving me.

“It was a private conversation. It never should have made it online,” I mumble, looking at my hands.

“That’s irrelevant.” He shakes his head. “Look, I expect you to know this already since you’re an adult who’s been in the spotlight for ten years, but it seems the lesson missed its mark at some point.” He bends and plants his hands on the table, looking me in the eye and holding the contact as he delivers his rebuke. “We can’t assume anyone’s preferences in this day and age. We don’t disparage them, even if we do know. That’s low, and people are rightfully eviscerating you online because they’re irate at your bigotry. ”

“It’s about time you get back what you dish out,” Knox says, just loud enough for us to hear.

My head snaps in his direction. “Oh, that’s rich,” I growl, but Mark stops me before I can tear into the asshole.

“Enough, both of you.” He turns his attention away from me, and I breathe in the momentary reprieve from his fury. “Knox, you’re here because you decided, for the first time in your career, to add to my splitting headache by making your own ill-advised statement that I now have to navigate on top of everything else. As if my life wasn’t hard enough with this joker.” Mark thumbs my way before he grips his temples, rubbing like we’re the biggest pains in his ass. I’m sure this sucks for him, but my situation is objectively worse.

What the hell did Knox say, anyway? It had to be about me or in retaliation for what I said. Fantastic. Just what I need on top of a viral video making me look like a douche and an eviction notice. Now I’m in some kind of online inter-sport feud, too.

“You better keep my name out of your mouth.” The condescension drips from my tone as I finally let my eyes land on Knox. He looks so different from what I remember, yet he’s as familiar as my reflection. He’s…grown up and looks so perfect it’s unfair. No man should be that handsome and leave the rest of us with the scraps he left in his race to perfection. His face is sculpted, the skin smooth like satin and rich like milk chocolate over high cheekbones and a square jaw with the slightest shadow, his brow set off by the perfect fade of his dark, bu zzed hair. His espresso eyes are hard when they meet mine, causing me to look away when I realize I’ve been staring like a creeper.

“After all those years of you being so reckless with my name, you think I should respect yours now? That’s a level of hypocrisy I didn’t know existed, but it shouldn't surprise me, coming from you,” Knox bites out, leaning toward me, his shoulders bunching under his shirt as he grips the armrests of his chair as if barely containing himself.

“You keeping score, Contraire? That’s not a surprise, since you’ve always been obsessed with me. You would still hold on to that.” It comes out so easily, the words right there on my tongue, and let loose like arrows flying toward my target before I even realize I’ve drawn the bowstring. I’ve learned a few lessons about controlling my impulses in the decade or more since I’ve seen him, but somehow, they don’t seem to pertain to Knox. Despite the time and distance, I still can't seem to bite my tongue around him.

“Cut the shit, both of you,” Mark snaps, stopping his pacing across from us. “If you want to act like middle school girls with your bickering, I’ll treat you like middle school girls. Ryder, you need to learn to control your temper and your mouth. Knox, until recently, has had a perfect record of saying exactly what he should in interviews, so he’s going to teach you how to carry yourself even when you’ve lost, had a bad day, or are angry.”

“Mark, seriously, why do I have to—” Knox begins, but Mark stops him with an outstretched hand.

“This is your punishment for clapping back in that piece that ran today in the Atlanta Free Press.” He looks between us to make sure neither of us is going to interrupt him again. “And you’re going to be roommates for the rest of the season, so you can live together and learn to get along.”

“Absolutely not, this is bullshit—” Knox growls.

“Not on your fucking life—” I grit out at the same time before Mark whistles sharply and stops our grumbling.

“This isn’t a request. You both need representation. I’ve been your agent for years, and I’m the best in the business. You could find someone else, but we have a contract, and you’d each owe me millions if you decided to leave now.” He turns his intensity on Knox and points a finger his way. “On top of that, Knox, this is a negotiation year. I know you want to stay with the Condors for at least a few more seasons, and I can get you the contract you deserve to retire with. You’re going to take Ryder in and teach him how to behave as part of this service, and by the end of the season, we’ll have the contract you want.”

“Why the fuck would I do any of this? I can find my own place to live, even if it’s inconvenient,” I grumble.

“You’re going to do it because the Hydras are already nervous as hell about you. I got a call from the GM and the PR team yesterday about the video. I assured them we could keep this under control and it wouldn’t happen again, which means I have to keep an eye on you. I called them back when I found out you were evicted and told them you will stay with Knox, who will be the good influence you so desperately need.”

“I don't need a fucking babysitter,” I insist, throwing up my hands. Mark waves off my outburst like it doesn’t matter. He’s made up his mind. Fuck my life ten ways to Sunday.

“But you do need a place to live and have to learn how to control that temper. Being the highest-paid goalie in the league puts a giant target on your back with this new team. I told you if you put one foot out of line, they’ll trade you faster than you take a coffee shit before a game, and they’d have a ton of salary capacity to work with to get several great goalies to replace you. Don’t fucking tempt them, Ryder. I’ll smooth things over with the team to make sure that doesn’t happen, because you know you’d go somewhere like Bumfuck Nowhere, Canada, and no one wants that.” He visibly shudders, and I grab my chair, thinking about ending up in the Great White North.

“Respectfully, I don’t see the purpose of this. We have a history that doesn’t bode well with living together, and it’s not like we’ll have all that much time to actually work on anything, anyway,” Knox says, and I hate to say I agree with the guy.

“The purpose of this is to teach Ryder to control his emotions. To show him how to give an interview that's respectful when he’s battling anger and frustration from a loss, or keep him from lashing out and saying something damning about someone different when under pressure. The PR team is really worried about Ryder and insists that he rein it in before any more media opportunities,” Mark says to Knox. “You do well under pressure. You don't party or get into trouble, and you pick excellent hobbies and ways to give your time back to the community. It’s exactly the influence Ryder needs for this inaugural season with the Hydras, even if you don't think there’s much time to do it. Living together will ensure that the time you do have will be spent working on this.”

“He’s always been the golden boy,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Now, who’s obsessed?” Knox snaps, and I twist my head, sending a sneer at him, ready to fire off another remark. I catch it, just barely, when I see Mark’s disappointed and frustrated face.

“I’ll have a team of movers at your place in a few hours, Ryder. They’ll box up everything. They’ll take your furniture to storage, and your personal items can go with you to Knox’s condo tonight. You’re going to be respectful of his space and rules, so don’t even think of being an asshole as a way of lashing out. I’ll let the Hydras trade you if it comes to that. This is my decision, not Knox’s. Now, learn to play nice, or else.”

And just like that, my life got worse.