[THE WAYARKE SERIES, BOOK #1]
"Take it easy."
"It's never easy with you."
"Good."
୨୧
Ever since Austin Chanler was young, the NBA has been his dream. The one thing he's wanted for himself. Now a 19 year old sophomore, eligible for an academy one ste...
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AUSTIN
Waking up to my phone buzzing like crazy next to me is the least of what I'd expect after yesterday at the fair. I choose to ignore it, rustling in bed until my phone changes from buzzing to ringing. Turning back to face my phone lying on the dresser, I reach out and place it to my ear— not even bothering to check the contact name. At first, all I hear is the dangling of keys through the speakers until a voice speaks out.
"Hey, man." Dean. "Look, I know it's early." Pulling my phone away from my ear, my eyes widen at the time. 4 AM. When I place the phone back up, he's in the middle of a sentence. "I just needed to let you know beforehand." My brows furrow.
"Let me know what?" I say, my voice coming out raspy and full of sleep. Over the line, I can hear the sound of a car unlocking, rustling, most likely him stepping inside, before he continues.
"I was at the university's gym," he starts. "I swear I was alone the whole time. It was just me and a few random guys." He blows out a shaky breath, like he's preparing himself to tell me everything.
"What the hell happened?" I'm sitting up now, the silence in the house sending straight tingles up my spine.
"When I was finished, there was a newspaper lying on the bench press. I don't know who put it down, but it was there. The newspaper club has been trying to interview me, so I'm assuming it was them. They wrote a whole lot of shit, man."
"Dean, is this worth calling me about? You're confusing the fuck outta me." I reach up to rub my forehead before I ask. "Well, what did they write?" I clear my throat of the grogginess. "Something about you?"
"I'll send you it." He says before I hear the disconnecting tone play when he hangs up. Shuffling up more comfortably, I open my messages— the light from the phone blinding. Squinting at the image, I read every inch. ______ DEAN:
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______
This wasn't something about Dean. This was about me— rumors about what I do in my free time. Almost every word is false; pure lies. What I do in my free time only consists of hanging out with friends and excessive exercise. I haven't touched a girl since Boston. When I reach the last few lines, I understand why Dean was so panicked to tell me. They're questioning if I'm on their team for anything other than the game. If this goes public, it'll be on record for the drafters to see. When I go for contract, they'll do research on me. They'll find this— and think I'm unreliable. They'll think I don't care about the game. I'm packed with straight fury. This could ruin my chances of going pro— of getting away from here. From proving myself to my dad.
