Sure Shot (Brooklyn #4)(29)

He hands me a small bakery bag with a smile. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

When I let myself into my room a minute later, I’m nearly blinded by the glimmer of sun on the surface of the river right outside. The room is serene and comfortably appointed.

The only unsightly thing in my new space is a bouquet of balloons. They’re silver, and each one has an uplifting saying on it. “You’ve Got This!” “We’re Your Number One Fans!” “Go Get ’Em!”

Interesting choice. Kassman doesn’t usually send me balloons. I think his assistant might have been trying too hard.

On the bar, I find a plate for my croissant and I bite into it as I glance at my ex-wife’s texts.

Mark, you have to make it stop. I’m getting calls. A reporter asked me why we got divorced. Not like it’s any of their business. But just tell them, okay? I’m tired of seeing my name on Twitter.

So don’t look at Twitter. I actually type that out and then delete it. I refuse to argue with Jordanna, even when she’s being ridiculous.

There is nothing to be done, I reply instead. There is literally no way to kill off gossip other than to ignore it.

The second I hit Send, those little dots show up, telling me that she’s typing a reply.

I open the orange juice and wait, wishing I’d never responded in the first place. The juice tastes like sunshine and heaven. It’s funny, but Brooklyn is doing its best to impress me. The Bruisers facility is glorious. This new hotel is lovely. The publicist is nice. The staff is sharp, and living without a car is pretty fab.

If only my teammates weren’t trying to drive me insane, I’d have a chance at liking this place.

You could deny it! Jordanna writes. I look like an idiot. My own friends believe the things they read about you on the internet.

That’s on them, I fire back. I guess you need better friends. And I’m not giving any interviews about my personal life.

Somehow I manage not to add: And if I did, you wouldn’t even like what I have to say about the end of our marriage. I will not pick a fight with the woman who divorced me. No good can come of that.

At least keep your head down, she says. Don’t talk to reporters. Stay out of the gossip pages.

I’ll get right on that, I shoot back.

My phone rings about ten seconds later. Instantly, my famous temper spikes. I’d rather throw my phone across the room than talk to her right now. But when I glance at the screen, I see it isn’t Jordanna who’s calling me. It’s my agent.

“Hey,” I say into the phone the second I manage to answer. “Henry! How are you? Long time no see.”

“Nobody is sorrier about that than me,” the older man rumbles. “How’s the new room?”

“Nice,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “Thanks for finding me better digs.”

“That was all Kelly’s doing.”

“Still, I appreciate it,” I say, moving over to the king-sized bed, where I flop down with a weary sigh. “Did you call to yell at me for talking to Miranda Wager?”

“Not a chance. I called to remind you—” He stops to take a wheezy breath. “—not to let the assholes get you down.”

“Hey, are you okay?” He doesn’t sound right.

“Don’t you worry about me. Got plans for your afternoon off?”

“None,” I say. “Just a few prayers and incantations, and maybe a goat sacrifice or two. It’s the only way I can imagine beating Philadelphia tonight.”

Henry laughs. “That bad, huh?”

“Practice was just as bad as you read in the newspaper. Luckily, my personal life isn’t quite as complicated as you might think from the comments.”

My agent snorts. “Never read the comments, kid. That’s the first rule of life.”

“I thought the first rule of life was never order a red wine that’s not old enough to go to kindergarten.”

He laughs again, and I feel more relaxed than I have in days. Bullshitting with Henry Kassman is one of my favorite things to do on game day. I didn’t realize until right now how much I missed this guy.

Bess was right, damn it. A guy just needs his agent sometimes. “Thanks for the presents,” I say. “The balloons are a little silly. But I think there’s a fruit basket, too.”

“That’s all Kelly’s work. But silly is good. Promise me you won’t spend the day brooding. If you can’t sleep, go out and do something fun.”

“Fun? Like what?”

“Doesn’t matter. Pinball. Biking on the river. I know the game is important, but so is your life. You only get one.”

His oddly introspective comment has the strangest effect on me. I get goosebumps. Henry likes to win almost as much as I do. His pregame pep talk is usually more along the lines of knock ’em over and make ’em cry. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I say slowly.

“You do that. Now go out and do something fun, and don’t waste another second on the haters. Got any new friends yet?”

“No.” I chuckle. “That might be a while. They all think I’m a manwhore and a loose cannon.”

“They’ll come around. You need friends, Tank. No man is an island.”

“Yeah, but some men are traded to them.”