Page 58 of Breakaway
He walks past me into the apartment. Sets the folder on the counter. Sport coat over a polo. Phone in his back pocket. Kyle has been here before. He has sat on this couch. He knows the kitchen, the balcony, the view.
"Luca," he says, nodding toward the couch.
"Kyle." Luca raises a hand without getting up. "How's Velasquez?"
"Impatient. Which is normal for him. How's the wrist?"
"Good. Full rotation since last week."
"Glad to hear it." Kyle turns back to me and opens the folder. "Extension terms are clean. Same structure as last year. I flagged two clauses on page four, but nothing that should keep you up at night."
"Good."
He pulls the papers out and walks me through the playoff bonus clause. I ask about the no-trade language. He explains the difference between a full and a modified. Luca types on the couch. The apartment sounds like what it is. Two men in a shared apartment on a Saturday morning while their agent handles business.
Kyle squares the papers on the counter. "Mind if I use your restroom?"
"Down the hall. Second door."
He walks past the kitchen. Past the living room. Into the hallway.
When he comes back, his face is different.
I see it before he speaks. The set of his jaw. The way he glances at Luca before looking at me with his hands at his sides and his posture careful. I don’t know what he saw, but that look tells me everything I need to know.
"Wes," he says. "Can I talk to you on the balcony for a minute?"
Luca's typing stops.
"Yeah," I say.
The balcony door slides shut behind us. The ocean is flat. The air is warm. Kyle puts both hands on the railing and looks at the water.
"Kyle."
"Give me a second." He does not turn around.
I give him ten. Fifteen. I let him have the water and the railing and whatever he is rearranging in his head. When he turns around his face is not angry. It is something I have not seen on him in the twelve years he’s been my agent.
"The guest room door was open. The bed had gear bags on it. Multiple. Nobody sleeps in your guest room, do they?" he asks.
"No."
"How long has this been going on?"
"Year and a half."
"A year and a half." He says it slowly. "And you told me it was a roommate situation. ‘The kid likes the setup. Saves him money.’"
"I know what I told you."
"I asked you to look out for him, Wes. I asked you to be a friend to a twenty-two-year-old kid who didn't know anyone in this city. I asked you because I trusted you."
"I know."
"And this is what happened."
I don't answer. I may not have broken a rule, but I broke Kyle’s trust.
