Page 138 of The Tryout

Sitting on my bed, I dial the number, fully expecting to leave a message.

“This is Kinkaid.”

I was so ready to leave a hyper-professional voicemail that I’m taken aback by the abrupt start to the conversation.

“Um, hi, Mr. Kinkaid. This is Avery Lawson, Finn Murphy’s boyfriend? We spoke last week?”

I hear the shuffle of papers in the background.

“Lawson…you’re the UCLA kid, right?”

A little surprised he remembers me, I hum in acknowledgement.

“Everything good with Murphy? I mean, I assume he’d tell me himself, but that boy is wrapped up pretty tight.”

Isn’t that the truth?

“He’s fine, or at least he was last night. I’m actually calling with a question for myself.”

His end of the line goes quiet for a moment.

“You know I’m not your agent, yes? I’m happy to help, but there are certain questions I won’t be able to answer.”

“Yeah, I know. I was more…how did you decide to become an agent?”

The silence is even longer this time, and I worry that Jack is going to hang up on me for wasting his time.

“I mean, it’s either be a coach, be an agent, or sit on your ass, right? Agent seemed like the best bet.”

He’s not wrong. Once the game is done, there are only so many options available. Especially back then, when mid-tier players weren’t necessarily making enough money to retire off of.

“Did you go to law school?”

“Me? Hell no. Not smart enough, and back then no one really did. We all just sort of fumbled our way through until we figured it out. More common now, though.”

I hum at this.

“Lawson, you thinking of a career change?”

After the back-and-forth and beat-around-the-bush of my conversation with Porter and Banks, I appreciate his straight talk. And unlike this afternoon, when I couldn’t find the right answer anywhere, my response is on my lips immediately.

“Yes, sir. I am.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

FINN

In the middle of January, I get a call from Jack. In and of itself, that’s not too unusual – he’s definitely more hands-on than Steve ever was. But as my time in Minneapolis stretches on longer and longer, I’ve been thinking of calling him myself to ask what’s up.

“Hey kid, how are you?”

I’m guessing he doesn’t want to know the full answer to that, which is somewhere between completely miserable and absolutely elated. Or maybe it’s both at the same time?

“Hanging in there. What’s up?”

I lean against the wall of the hallway outside the arena gym. I’d come in early to get in a run, the snow and ice now too extreme outside for even me.

“Well, just got off the phone with Greg, and it looks like they’re planning to keep you around for the time being.”