buy his mom and dad a purebred, but they adopted a dog from the local animal shelter, instead.
Cupcake stared up at him with sad, pitiful brown eyes. She had mangy gray fur, short legs and a long, bushy tail. Only his parents could love an animal this ugly and pathetic.
“Come on, girl.” Ryland scooped her up into his arms. “I know you miss Mom and Dad. I do, too. But you need to stop crying. They deserve a vacation without having to worry about you or me.”
He’d given his parents a cruise for their thirty-second wedding anniversary. Even though he’d bought them this mansion on the opposite side of town, far away from the two-bedroom apartment where he’d grown up, and deposited money into a checking account for them each month, both continued to work in the same low-paying jobs they’d had for as long as their marriage. They also drove the same old vehicles even though newer ones, Christmas presents from him, were parked in the four-car garage.
His parents’ sole indulgence was Cupcake. They spoiled the dog rotten. They hadn’t wanted to leave her in a kennel or in the care of a stranger while away so after his injury they asked Ryland if he would dog sit. His parents never asked him for anything so he’d jumped at the opportunity to do this.
Ryland hated being back in Wicksburg. There were too many bad memories from when he was a kid. Even small towns had bullies and not-so-nice cliques.
He missed the fun and excitement of a big city, but he needed time to get away to repair the damage he’d done to his foot and his reputation. No one was happy with him at the moment, especially himself. Until getting hurt, he hadn’t realized he’d been so restless, unfocused, careless.
Cupcake pawed at his hands. Her sign she wanted rubs.
“Mom and Dad will be home before you know it.” Ryland petted the top of her head. “Okay?”
The dog licked him.
He placed her on the floor then stood. “I’m getting some water. Then it’s shower time. If I don’t shave, I’m going to start looking mangy like you.”
Cupcake barked.
His cell phone, sitting on the countertop next to his water bottle, rang. He read the name on the screen. Blake Cochrane. His agent.
Ryland glanced at the clock. Ten o’clock here meant seven o’clock in Los Angeles. “An early morning for you.”
“I’m here by six to beat the traffic,” Blake said. “According to Twitter, you made a public appearance the other night. I thought we agreed you were going to lay low.”
“I was hungry. The fire station was having their annual spaghetti feed so I thought I could eat and support a good cause. They asked if I’d sign autographs and pose for pictures. I couldn’t say no.”
“Any press?”
“The local weekly paper.” With the phone in one hand and a water bottle in the other, Ryland walked to the living room with Cupcake tagging alongside him. He tried hard not to favor his right foot. He’d only been off crutches a few days. “But I told them no interview because I wanted the focus to be on the event. The photographer took a few pictures of the crowd so I might be in one.”
“Let’s hope whatever is published is positive,” Blake said.
“I was talking with people I grew up with.” Some of the same people who’d treated him like garbage until he’d joined a soccer team. Most accepted him after he became a starter on the high-school varsity team as a freshman. He’d shown them all by becoming a professional athlete. “I was surrounded by a bunch of happy kids.”
“That sounds safe enough,” Blake admitted. “But be careful. Another endorsement deal fell through. They’re nervous about your injury. The concerns over your image didn’t help.”
Ryland dragged his hand through his hair. “Let me guess. They want a clean-cut American, not a bad boy who thinks red cards are better than goals.”
“You got it,” Blake said. “I haven’t heard anything official, but rumors are swirling that Mr. McElroy wants to loan you out to a Premier League team.”
McElroy was the new owner of the Phoenix Fuego, who took more interest in players and team than any other head honcho in the MLS. He’d fired the coach/manager who’d wanted to run things his way and hired a new coach, Elliot Fritz, who didn’t mind the owner being so hands-on. “Seriously?”
“I’ve heard it from more than one source.”
Damn. As two teams were mentioned, Ryland plopped into his dad’s easy chair. Cupcake jumped onto his lap.
“I took my eye off the ball,” he said. “I made some mistakes. I apologized. I’m recovering and keeping my name out of the news. I don’t see why we all can’t move on.”
“It’s not that easy. You’re one of the best soccer players in the world. Before your foot surgery, you were a first-team player who could have started for any team here or abroad. Not many American footballers can say that,” Blake said. “But McElroy believes your bad-boy image isn’t a draw in the stands or with the kids. Merchandising is important these days.”
“Yeah, I know. Being injured and getting older isn’t helping my cause.” As if twenty-nine made Ryland an old man. He remembered what the team owner had said in an interview. “McElroy called me an overpaid liability. But if that’s the case, why would an overseas team want to take me on?”
“The transfer period doesn’t start until June. None have said they want the loan yet.”
Ouch. Ryland knew he had only himself to blame for the mess he found himself in.
“The good news is the MLS doesn’t want to lose a homegrown player as talented as you. McElroy’s feathers got ruffled,” Blake continued. “He’s asserting his authority and reminding you that he controls your contract.”
“You mean, my future.”
“That’s how billionaires are.”
“I’ll stick to being a millionaire, then.”
Blake sighed.
“Look, I get why McElroy’s upset. Coach Fritz, too. I haven’t done a good job handling stuff,” Ryland admitted. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve never been an angel. But I’m not the devil, either. There’s no way I could do everything the press says I do. The media exaggerates everything.”
“True, but people’s concerns are real. This time at your parents’ house is critical. Watch yourself.”
“I’m going to fix this. I want to play in the MLS.” Ryland had already done an eleven-year stint in the U.K. “My folks are doing fine, but they’re not getting any younger. I don’t want to be an ocean away from them. If McElroy doesn’t want me, see if the Indianapolis Rage or another club does.”
“McElroy isn’t going to let a franchise player like you go to another MLS team,” Blake said matter-of-factly. “If you want to play stateside, it’ll be with Fuego.”
Ryland petted Cupcake. “Then I’ll have to keep laying low and polishing my image
