“To both of us. Come on. It’ll be nice.” I knew Craig wouldn’t let it drop.
“Maybe,” I said, not agreeing, but not saying no. I could always decline later.
I grabbed my kit and headed towards the door leading to the car park.
“Lucas, you got a minute?” the gaf called out.
I was in a good mood. Good enough to talk to Jack Millwood.
“What can I do for you?” I asked, closing the door of Jack’s office behind me.
The first thing I had noticed the first time I had come into his office after he had taken over were the framed pictures of all the Premier League managers on his wall.
When he was asked in an interview once why he had done that, Jack had responded, “I like to see their faces and remind myself of what I’m fighting for. To get to the top.”
It was slightly unnerving sitting in a chair beneath so many faces. It was hard enough when Jack was staring me down.
“So, I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sandy McMillan, the assistant coach over at Liverpool.” He pulled out a bag of licorice allsorts and popped a few in his mouth. He held out the bag to me and I shook my head.
“Okay. And?” I prompted.
“And it seems your agent has been making calls.” Jack watched me closely. I frowned.
“What do you mean Mo has been making calls?”
Jack sat back in his chair, crossing his hands over his belly. “Are you planning to go to Liverpool in January?”
What the hell?
I had told Mo I had no intention of transferring. Why was he still having these conversations?
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to admit to Jack, of all people, that I had no control over my agent. That he was having conversations without my knowledge.
Goddamn it.
“I thought you were happy at Chester,” Jack continued.
“I am happy here,” I answered.
“Transfer is part of the game. Players follow the money. I understand you’re a rising star in the league and rightfully so. But Lucas, I’ve been around for a long time. I’ve managed three teams to the championship. I’ve won four FA cups. I’ve been to Europe. I see players like you get some glory. Their agent sees the money and encourages them to go after it. It’s tempting, I understand that. But take it from me, you’ll get more out of staying here at Chester, hone your craft, perfect your game. Let me teach you how to be the best player you can be.”
It was the first time I could remember having a conversation with Jack Millwood that wasn’t condescending.
It reminded me of the old days of talking to Gaz.
“Don’t let your agent talk you into something. Do what’s best for you. Not your agent. They’re a slippery bunch. They can derail a team. I hope that doesn’t happen here.”
“I won’t be making any decisions without really thinking about what’s best for me and the team. Don’t worry about that.”
Jack nodded, though he still seemed bothered. “You’ve done really well today. I hope it keeps up. A player that’s on top one day can be on the bottom the next.”
And there were the veiled threats I was used to from Jack. It felt better to be on familiar territory. Being in roles I was used to.
“Thanks, I appreciate the advice.” I didn’t hide the sarcasm.
“Practice is an hour earlier tomorrow. The nutritionist is coming in to go over some things,” Jack reminded me.
“I know.” I got to my feet, already pulling my phone out of my bag. Mo and I were going to have to have a chat.
“You can let yourself out.” Jack had already turned back to his computer, a sign that I was dismissed.
I walked out to my car, seething, wanting to punch Mo in his fleshy gob.
I started to dial his number then thought better of it.
There were some conversations that needed to happen in person.
“LUCAS! WHAT ARE you doing here? Leizel is here cleaning, but why don’t you come on out to the patio. Can I get you something to drink?” Mo let me inside his ridiculously large house. I could hear the sound of a hoover running in the other room. Leizel, his German housekeeper, came daily to clean the five bedrooms, three bath house, even though he was the only one that lived in it.
Mo had never married. Never had kids. His work was his life.
“I don’t need anything to drink. What I need is for you to explain why you’re continuing to have talks with Liverpool behind my back. I thought we had addressed my transferring and I told you I was happy at Chester.”
Mo stopped and turned to face me, his eyes—hidden in the fleshy folds of his too large face—were worried. “How did you—?”
“Jack called me in his office after training today. Wanted to know why I was talking to Liverpool. Or rather, why my agent was. And it’s funny, because I don’t remember you telling me you were still talking to anyone about my transfer.”
Mo started chewing on his bottom lip. “Well, I had planned to talk to you about it during our weekly catch up call. But since you’re here, I suppose we can talk about it now. But you need to take a deep breath, Lucas. I don’t want you yelling. It upsets Leizel.”
“We can’t upset Liezel, can we?” I spat out. Mo was officially on my shit list.
“Come on, Luke. You know I have your best interests at heart. Always have. We’re family.” He was trying to placate me. I had known Mo long enough to see when he was trying to soften a blow.
“We are not family, Mo. You’re my agent. You work for me. Which means you don’t make decisions on my behalf without consulting me. Ever. It’s a good way to lose some teeth, mate.” I bared my teeth in a smile that wasn’t at all friendly.
Mo opened the glass doors that led out onto a stone patio. Mo’s garden was overly manicured. It was meant to look like a Victorian garden, complete with an over the top water feature and a small hedge maze towards the back. I sometimes wondered if he walked around his house when no one was around with a powdered wig and waistcoat.
“Have a seat and let’s talk about this.” Mo pulled out a chair for me to sit in like I was a fucking woman he was trying to wine and dine.
“I can get my own chair.” I grabbed it from him and sat down. “Now, explain to me why you’re still in talks with other teams? The last thing I need is more rumors in the fucking papers. My teammates are already questioning me. I don’t need this shit, Mo.”
“Can I get you and Mr. Bradley anything to drink?” a small woman with black hair and a large chin asked. Mo smiled at her with genuine affection and I could have sworn Leizel the housekeeper blushed. I was pretty sure Mo was diddling the maid, but I didn’t really give a toss where he stuck it.
“No thank you, Leizel,” Mo told her. I smiled at the woman and she closed the door and went back to her duties.
Mo let out a breath. “Yes, I’ve been talking to Liverpool. They’ve been particularly persistent. I know you had expressed your desires to stay with Chester, but given your meteoric rise in the league, I think you’re doing yourself a disservice to not get every possible penny your worth.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at my manager. “It’s not just about the money, Mo.”
Mo leaned forward, resting his arms on the glass-topped table. He leveled me with a hard look. “Don’t be so fucking naïve, Lucas. It’s always about the damn money. If you think otherwise, you’re a fool.”
“Chester are paying me nicely—”
“Liverpool has offered you a five year contract for 20 million quid, plus a two million signing bonus, Luke.”
That gave me pause.
Twenty million pounds?
Holy fuck.
Twenty million pounds.
“So don’t tell me that doesn’t interest you.” Mo’s smirk annoyed me. Mostly because he was right. It interested me. I couldn’t forget I used to a kid on a councill estate who couldn’t afford a pack of Match Attack cards at the newsagent, now here I was being told that one of the best club
s in the world wanted me to play for them for more money than I could imagine having.
Fuck yeah I was interested.
“You still have no right to talk without my knowing it, Mo.” I didn’t sound so angry anymore. But I still had loyalty.
“I can’t do that to the boys,” I argued.
Mo snorted. “You’re telling me that if Craig or Alan or Shane were given a twenty million deal to one of the top flight clubs they wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat? Don’t be a wanker.”
“Don’t make me punch you,” I warned.
Mo lifted his hands in surrender. “All I’m asking is to think about it. I can send you the official offer. Look it over. Then we can talk. Don’t undersell yourself, Lucas. Take what you can now because you never know what tomorrow will bring. You may be hot shit now, but next season who knows. Look at what happened to Phil Sousa.”
Phil Sousa was a great cautionary tale to all footballers. Ten years ago Phil was the league’s top scorer. His team went on to win the league then the FA cup. He was days away from signing a three-year contract that would have awarded him millions of pounds when he collided with another player during training and broke his leg in two places. His career was over. He never played again.
He was the reminder that it could all be over in a moment. There was an element of frantic desperation in the heart of every football player. We all knew that our time in the sun was fleeting.
I got to my feet. “Okay, we’re done here.” I was annoyed with Mo for using the ghost of Sousa to scare me. I was more annoyed that it had worked.
The impulse to take the money was overwhelming.
“Look, I love your loyalty Luke. It’s one of your more exasperating and endearing qualities. But don’t let it blind you.”
“Says the man who’s loyal only to his own pocket,” I muttered. He ignored my comment.
“Before you go, there’s something else,” he added.
There was a note in his voice. One that I didn’t like.
“I’ve gotten word from a contact I have at The Mirror that they have a story in the works about you,” Mo said.
“So? They’re always printing stories about me.”
Mo leaned over and put his hand on my arm. The display of physical comfort worried me more than anything. “Your dad is trying to sell information to the highest bidder. Offering an insider look at your childhood. He’s handed over head teacher reports from primary school. He’s selling your school photos.” I was clenching my teeth so hard I thought I’d break my jaw. Mo squeezed my arm. “He’s also saying your mother sent him money when you first signed with Canterbury. That she’s been giving him money for years. Your money.”
I saw red. I slammed my fist down on the table; a spider web of cracks fanning out beneath my hand.
“Luke, that’s brand fucking new!” Mo shouted.
“That fucking arsehole!” I roared. I got to my feet and kicked over my chair. I closed my eyes and tried to get my temper in check.
It wasn’t the first time the sleaze who shared my DNA tried to make money off my name. When I first started playing in the Championship he contacted The Sun and tried to sell information about me for a story. Unfortunately for him, they weren’t interested. I wasn’t a name then. They didn’t care that I had been on a behavior plan when I was in year three or that I had knocked out my neighbor’s tooth when he stole my skateboard.
Now, that information came with a price tag.
And there was no way my mother would send him money. Particularly my money. I wouldn’t believe it.
“Calm down, Lucas. Just calm down. Getting angry and destroying my property won’t solve anything. And I’ll insist on you coming with me to IKEA and pick out new patio furniture,” Mo admonished.
I tried to breathe deeply. I thought about beaches and puppies and Morgan’s gorgeous tits. Anything to stop me from beating the shit out of the first person I came across.
Mo put his hand on my shoulder. “I’ll get the solicitors on it. They’ll slap him with a defamation suit. Or a slander suit. Or any suit just to get him to shut up. I only wanted you to know what he was trying in case he comes to you—”
“I haven’t heard from that spineless sod since I was twelve. He’s too much of a coward to come to me for anything,” I snapped.
“I know talking about your dad is a sensitive subject. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“You tell him that if he says one thing about my mum that I’ll come for him myself. I’ll rip his ball sack from his body and shove it down his fucking throat,” I snarled. God I wanted to hit something. Unfortunately from Mo, he was the only one in hitting distance. But I couldn’t very well punch my agent.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from Morgan. I was supposed to pick her up twenty minutes ago.
I’m on my way. Had to stop by Mo’s to talk first.
“I have to get going,” I said.
“All right. But please don’t worry about your father—”
“He’s no father of mine,” I corrected.
“Okay, well Mr. Parks then. Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle it.” I nodded curtly as he followed me back into the house and towards the front door.
My agent stopped me before I could leave. “So I hear from credible sources that you’re seeing someone. An American.”
He was trying to change the subject. To get me to focus on anything but Johnny Parks and his efforts to make money off me. Lucky for him Morgan distracted me every time. “Is your credible source Anna?” My sister had a big mouth. Too big.
Mo grinned like the used car salesman he used to be, relieved that I was calming down. “I saw the pictures. They’re everywhere. I also know that you haven’t gotten into trouble in weeks. That’s a record for you.”
“You make it sound like I’m out of control,” I griped.
Mo patted my shoulder. “Well weren’t you?”
I shrugged off his hand. “Yes, I’m seeing someone. And yes her name is Morgan. And yes she’s American. What else do you want to know? What shoe size she wears? What’s her favorite vegetable?”
“I like that you’re settling down a bit. From all accounts she’s a good girl. Just keep your head in the game and don’t get bogged down with personal bull shit, Luke,” Mo lectured. I was pretty sure that the favorite part of his job were the times he could dispense advice, like some sort of wise sage. Sometimes I listened, sometimes I didn’t.
“Okay, I think our heart to heart is officially over.” I walked down the steps and headed towards my car.
“I’ll send over the official offer. Look it over carefully, Luke. Don’t dismiss it outright. Really think about it. Talk to your mum. Talk to Anna. Let’s revisit this after Sunday’s game. And don’t worry about Mr. Parks. I’ll take care of it,” Mo called out.
I didn’t bother to respond.
“YOU SEEM DISTRACTED. Is everything okay?” Morgan asked a little while later. We were walking through downtown Chester. I tried to ignore the dozens of people taking pictures with their phones. Morgan, on the other hand, became tense every time someone asked for an autograph or a photo.
“Why can’t they just let you walk around in peace?” she grumbled after a group of teenage girls asked her to take a picture of us.
“It’s part of the gig, Morgan. You get used to it,” I assured her. Though I wasn’t sure I ever really would. Being recognizable was strange. And I was still wasn’t entirely used to people knowing my name. Knowing details about my life. Loving me even though they didn’t know me. Celebrity was an odd thing. Not always pleasant.
Part of me worried that she’d never get used to it. I knew it was a lot to ask her to allow her life to be dissected and torn apart by the media. By my fans. By the people who thought I wasn’t permitted a private life for the simple reason that I had chosen a career that put me in the spotlight.
It was getting dark. By the time I had left Mo’s house it was well after seven. Dating Morgan in daylight
hours was difficult with my schedule. So far, she was very understanding but we were in early days yet.
My last girlfriend or two hadn’t taken the constraints on my time very well, and that had been before the Premier League.
I lifted her hand to my mouth and kissed it softly. I loved touching her. And talking to her. And just being with her. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been able to talk to a female that wasn’t in my family about anything. Usually talking wasn’t involved in anything I did with women.
“There’s a lot on my mind at the moment,” I admitted. I had purposefully put all thoughts of Johnny Parks out of my head. But the Liverpool offer still weighed heavily.
The air was cool. September was almost over and we were well into autumn. Morgan looked like a bloody Eskimo bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf. I had given her a hard time when I picked her up about us not being in the North Pole. She had told me to shut up. I loved how she never took an ounce of shit from me.
“Tell me. I might be able to help. Or at least listen while you whine.” The wind was starting to pick up and it was blowing her hair all over the place. She shivered and I tucked her into my side, rubbing my hand up and down her arm.
“I don’t whine,” I argued. “And it’s just my agent has thrown a wrench into things.”
“Your agent? How?” Her teeth were starting to chatter.
“Okay, let’s get inside. I don’t want you turning into an ice cube. Getting you naked later will be a lot more difficult then.”
She elbowed me in the side and I grunted. “You’re such a sweet, sensitive soul,” she deadpanned.
We made our way to a coffee shop on the corner by the cathedral. It was mostly empty, which was a bonus. “Find us a table and I’ll get some coffee. What would you like?”
Morgan made a face. “I don’t drink coffee. Can I have an English tea?”
“Tea? Really? I thought Americans only drank coffee black.”
“And I thought the English were supposed to be polite and reserved. It seems we’re both all about shattering stereotypes.” She kissed me on the mouth and walked off. And man did I love to watch her as she did.
The Beautiful Game (Man of the Match Book 1) Page 26
