Page 43 of Big Stick Energy
“The issue? The issue is I have a first-round draft pick sitting in Finland like a goddamn tourist instead of meeting his summer trainers!”
“Is it a travel issue? Or is it his paperwork?”
“The second thing. But the airline won’t let him board! Some bureaucratic horseshit.”
I sigh. “Sir, the travel department can’t help you. This is an immigration issue. You need the US consulate in Helsinki. I’m in the middle of a three-hour drive after seeing my sick father, so you’re going to have to put on your big boy pants and handle this yourself. His agent probably has legal help on standby for things like this.”
In the driver’s seat, Eric smothers a snort. And over the phone line, my boss growls like a grizzly bear. “Who’s his agent again? Bruno?”
“I think so? And if your player needs a hotel while this gets sorted out, call the Ritz-Carlton in Helsinki and ask for Emmi. She’ll find him a room.”
Silence. Then: “Fine. I’ll call Bruno first.” Then a longer pause. Then, a grunt. Possibly the closest thing I’ll get to a thank-you. “And Kendrick?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Hope your dad is okay.” He hangs up with a click.
Setting down the phone, I finally exhale. Meanwhile, Eric laughs out loud from the driver’s seat. “Never heardanyonetalk to Sharp that way before.”
“It’s tactical,” I admit. “He’s exhausting, and he has a lot of control over my life. But when I don’t push back, he just becomes more difficult.”
“Still,” Eric says. “The way you handled him just now is impressive. You refuse to be a doormat.”
“Are we sure about that?” I lean back against the leather headrest and close my eyes. “My father asked for a lunch date, and I came running because I’m never the one who got his attention. And now…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“And now you don’t know how to feel about his heart trouble,” Eric says for me.
“I thought I had more time with him,” I blurt. “He says he’s not dying, but it also sounded serious. Like I should get over all my anger and quick. Or else I’m just a monster.”
“Not hardly,” my fake boyfriend says. “He might be difficult,or even manipulative, and you’re still allowed to be freaked out about his heart condition.”
“Well, good. Because I am.”
The rest of our ride home is pretty quiet, and it’s mostly my fault. When we pull up in front of my building, I thank him for the ride.
“Shall we do this again next month for the wedding?” he asks, setting my suitcase carefully onto the sidewalk. “Everyone will be expecting us to roll up together.” He gives me a lopsided smile. “Unless we break up first. Your call.”
Our little ruse is the last thing on my mind right now. “How about we play it by ear? What if you need to bring someone else? Maybe this is the week you meet the future Mrs. Tremaine.”
“On the treadmill?” He smiles at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Sure, buddy.”
“You never know.” I can’t help smiling back. “And I might meet the future Mr. Kendrick at the college library. We’ll have a friendly fight over the last stale corn muffin at the café.”
“Sounds hot.” He closes the Porsche’s little trunk. “You take care of yourself, okay? And let me know how your dad is doing.”
“I will.”
He drives away a moment later, and I go upstairs to my stuffy apartment and my homework. Except now I’m more distracted than ever.
Two days later, I get an email from Eric.
Hey Darcy,
I happened to speak to the team doctor today, and I mentioned that a friend needed to makean appointment with a cardiologist. He recommends Dr. Talbot at NYU and said to name-drop him for an appointment. The wait time is sometimes long, I hear.
E. Tremaine, Cha-cha Competition Winner
I grin at my computer screen like a goober.
