Chapter Seven
I arrived back at my apartment, and immediately grabbed the handful of takeout menus sitting in the kitchen drawer. I was still feeling the hangover, and all sitting that freezing cold stadium had made me want was a nice, hot pizza and my bed. As soon as I was through the door, I wriggled out of my shirt and bra and pulled on an enormous t-shirt. There, that was better.
I grabbed my phone and ordered my usual- a large Hawaiian with a Sprite. I had to hold myself back from ordering it with half-pepperoni, like Joel always had it- I felt a short stab of pain when I hung up, and wondered how long this would last.
That said, my encounter last night had made things a lot more…palatable, I could swear to that much. Yeah, it had been a bad idea and I kind of wish that I had at least thought it through beforehand- but hey, most of the truly fun things in life were terrible ideas anyway. He was good, and he’d been at least nice enough to drive me home afterwards and act like an adult about it the next day. I could handle a few knowing looks from his teammates if it meant that we could still talk like grown-ups.
I lay back in bed and let out a sigh, reaching down under the covers to kick off my pants. I found my mind drifting to the conversation I’d had with Sam earlier that day. I felt a heavy sense of dread over it, mainly because I knew that I had found the story around which to build my article- there was no doubt that a guy like him, a small-town boy with the chance to get out for good, was a decent hook to hang the piece around. But it meant, of course, that I’d have to spend a whole lot of time with him in the coming weeks. Nice one, Emily, way to fuck the main subject of your article.
My pizza arrived, and I went ravenously to town, having been to wobbly to eat earlier in the day. I grabbed my laptop and stuck on a few episodes of whatever dumb sitcom I could find streaming, desperate to pull my mind off the situation for a while. But if I was nothing else, I was an overthinker- and soon I found myself going back to everything Sam had told me today.
I could see from the look in his eyes that this opportunity terrified him. Hell, I could see why- it would be scary to anybody. But the difference was that most people- well, most people that I knew, anyway- would suck up the fear and do it anyway. Hell, I had. The Soars were one of the biggest teams in the country- how they’d come to hear about a player in a smalltown team like the Kingstown Crows was beyond me, but they had, and it wasn’t the sort of thing that happened every day. Sam needed to jump on the opportunity, and soon.
I cleared out my bed, sticking the leftover pizza in the refrigerator before curling back up in bed and looking through all the notes I’d made over the last couple of days. Was there another angle I could approach this story at? I knew it would be hard getting any of them to talk- Johnson obviously didn’t intend for me to know, and I wasn’t sure any of the rest of the team knew anything that was going on. That just left Sam- and Sam himself seemed scared even just talking about the proposition, as if even considering it too deeply might force him to make a decision. Grabbing my Dictaphone, I began to go through some of my recordings and transcribing them.
As I listened and typed, I began to feel a creeping sense of recognition. Sam’s story- it was the same as mine, in a way. He had this opportunity halfway across the country and it was down to him to take it or not; no-one would know (or would have known, barring my article) if he said no, and if he said yes, well, great celebration as he took this brave next step. It wa strange to me, considering the idea that someone might be handed an opportunity like this and think twice. Maybe I could find some way to relate to him based on what I’d been through? I needed to find a happy medium between getting him close and not scaring him off because he thought I was trying to pursue something more serious.
I grabbed my phone, and weighed it in my hand for a second or two; Johnson had given me his number. He’d been a great help with the story, but I had the feeling he didn’t want me to know about this. I wondered how he felt about Sam’s offer- did he want the best for him, or did he want him to stay and drag the Crows out of the lower leagues and towards something more concrete? He hadn’t mentioned it to me, which made me think he was leaning towards the former. I dialled his number before I had the chance to back out, and held the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” He answered after a ring or two, sounding confused.
“Hey, it’s Emily,” I greeted him. “I was wondering if you had Sam’s number?”
“Uh, yeah,” He rustled around, sounding distracted. Then, he seemed to register what I’d said.
“Why?”
“I want to meet up with him outside training,” I replied, and he paused for a moment; I knew what he was thinking, that I’d already done a lot more than meet with him. But I wanted to get this story rolling while he was still open with me, while he was still vulnerable. Yes, it was harsh, but I needed it now.
“Sure thing,” he replied, and reeled me off his number. I typed it into my phone, thanked him, and hung up; okay, time to make this happen. I called the number Johnson gave me, and the phone rang for almost thirty full seconds before Sam picked up; I was on the brink of abandoning the call before I heard his voice, distant and echoey, down the line.
“Um, hello?”
“It’s Emily,” I jumped straight in. “What are you up to right now?”
“I’m at some family thing,” he replied with a sigh. I felt a twinge of sadness when I remembered how far away my own parents were- then thankfulness when I recalled what they’d have had to say about my current state.
“Oh, sorry to disturb you-“ I prepared to hang up, but he spoke again.
“If you’re offering me a way out, I’ll take it,” he promised, turning away from the clatter and chat in the background of the call.
“Then I guess I am,” I leaned back on the bed and grinned. “Where do you want to meet?”
“Anywhere but the bar?” He suggested.
“Your call,” I responded, already reaching for my clothes.
“There’s a coffee place not far from yours, it’s open late-see you there in half an hour?”
“Sure thing,” I agreed, pulling on my pants and getting to my feet.
“See you soon.”
He hung up, and I scrambled to grab my Dictaphone. Now I just had to figure out how to get him to see my side of the story- and get the best possible hook for my article in return.