Page 26 of Sports and Sinners Box Set

PROLOGUE

MILES

“ Y ou’re sending me where ?”

My agent, Daniel, puts his hands out to me like he’s trying to soothe a wild horse. Posh dickhead. This guy doesn’t know the first thing about what it’s like to be a player. He doesn’t know the stress I’m under. It’s hard to have my kind of reputation, of being the best at everything — football and girls included.

Ugh! Guess I’m going to have to call it soccer from now on.

“It’s a temporary lease, to Miami. The Macaws are an up-and-coming team. You’ll like them.”

“And if I don’t?”

I slump back in my chair. It’s not like I’m going to get much choice about this, but I’m still going to kick up a fuss. That’s how you get a better bonus. Capitalism, baby! Paying people off is the businessman’s first thought, and I’m not going to say no to a boost to my bank account. Extra cash never hurt anyone. Never hurt me, anyway.

Four years ago, one of the tabloids ran a spread on me with the splash quote, “Miles Hamilton would do anything for money, food, or a woman.” That’s still true. I was just lucky they decided to run that as a positive spin, especially because four years ago, I was down on my luck. That was just before I joined the Canaries.

We’ve had a good run, but I guess their patience has finally run thin too.

Daniel sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. I’ve known this guy for years and I’m pretty sure those wrinkles are because of me. He loves me though. Secretly. “Please, Miles, be reasonable. It’s a wonder that they’re allowing you abroad in the first place. Heaven knows you’ve kicked up enough fuss on this side of the pond of late.”

“Mate, no one reads the papers.”

“That’s where you are so incredibly wrong, my friend. People do read the papers. Normal people love the papers. And you know who else loves the papers?” Daniel raises both eyebrows, waiting for me to answer.

He loves to humiliate me. I play along, knowing he won’t release me until I give him an answer. “The managers?”

With a grin and a tone like he’s throwing up cupcakes, he says, “Yes! And you know who hates it when you get your dick out for the cameras?” His voice pivots into something harsher as he finishes his sentence and the subtext is clear as day.

“The mangers,” I sigh.

“Good boy,” he says in a way that would be patronizing even for a dog. “So, Miami?”

I groan, sinking even deeper into my chair. The last thing I want is to go to America.

But I also want to keep my career. And Daniel is right; I have been too loud lately. It’s what got me sacked last time. If I want to keep playing, I’m going to have to stop acting like a teenager. Or at least tone it down a bit. Because being wild is fun.

“Fine, whatever. I’ll go to fucking Miami if that’s what you want.”

Daniel reaches across the table and lays his palms down flat on the surface, drawing attention to the fact that the desktop needs sanding or reglazing or something, because it’s covered in fractures and flakes peeling off. “It’s not about me, Miles. You have two choices. You go to the managers and you get on your literal hands and knees and you beg them to stay. Or, you be a good boy and you go off to Miami for a few months, you keep your trousers on and your face out of the papers, and then you can come back in a blaze of glory. And not get sacked.”

I run a hand through my hair, frowning. He makes it sound so reasonable when he says it like that, but I know it’s not a choice.

And I know that if I get let go from the Croydon Canaries, I’m never going to get close to playing in the Premier League again. And I can’t let that happen.

I sigh. “Give me the contract, then.”

Daniel wags a patronizing finger at me. “Not so fast, matey-boy. By signing this, you’re swearing to be well-behaved for the Macaws. You’ll be agreeing to check-ins with whoever they assign to you on a regular basis, and they’re going to be up your arse about keeping you in line.”

“Okay, whatever,” I sigh, my patience with this conversation wearing too thin to argue any more. It looks like no matter what I do, I’m going to have to be more careful about my behavior. I’m going to have to get better at not getting caught. “Hand it over.”

“This’ll be good for you, Miles. Trust me.” Daniel smiles as he twists the papers in front of him to face me with a flourish, carefully placing a pen down next to the signature line.

I stare at it for a long moment before I pick up the pen. “America, here I come,” I mutter as I sign the document and seal my fate.