Tackled (Alpha Ballers #1) (7 page)

“The blogs and TMZ would beg to differ, Drake. According to them, and according to public opinion in general, the most important things in your life are booze, getting in fights, and sleeping with as many hot girls as you can. That sound about right?”

Shit. He really had me over a barrel here. “But that just comes with the territ-“

“Shut the fuck up. Don’t give me that crap. Not every super star has trouble avoiding every drink or every girl who wants to climb on his dick.”

I stayed silent, and Adam continued. “You’ve got a lot of talent, Drake, and no one is questioning your work ethic in the weight room, or on the field, even. But a big part of work ethic is not letting stuff like parties and girls get in your way when the big stuff is coming.”

“I tried -“

“Let me finish. You know as well as I do that plenty of players get by with that stuff, but they keep it under the radar. The stories I’ve heard, you wouldn’t believe. But, before you go off and think I’m telling you that you can do whatever you want as long as no one finds out, stop right there.”

I was just about to say something, but Adam cut me off before I could. “You are not one of those players. You have the talent, sure. You’re the best receiver I’ve ever seen, that’s the only reason we’re still having this call. But you need to understand that there is no such thing as ‘no one finding out’ with you anymore.”

He paused. “If there’s one thing this new world of ours likes, it’s a train wreck in progress, and dude,” the word sounded strange coming from Adam, “you are the definition of a train wreck in progress.”

“You really know how to lift a guy up when he’s down, Adam, anyone ever tell you that?”

I could hear him smile through the phone. “All the time, kid, all the time. But don’t get me wrong, you need me on your side. I’m not here to tell you what you want to hear. That’ll do neither of us any good. I’m here to tell you that there’s still time to fix this mess you made, if you buckle down and lay off the external shit. You understand me?”

“I think I do.”

“There is no ‘think,’ here, Drake, there is only ‘yes’ and ‘no.’”

“Yes, Adam, I understand.”

“I’m not entirely convinced yet, but convincing me is luckily your job, not mine.”

“Where do we go from here?”

“‘We’ hang up the phone now, and then ‘you’ sit and think about whether pursuing this is what you really want. Really think about it hard, Drake, I cannot stress this enough. You are Ceasar staring at the Rubicon.”
 

I laughed. Adam continued, “You’re a smart guy and I knew you’d get that reference. That’s not something I can say about most of my clients.”

“Like the ones from Stanford?”

Adam groaned. “Don’t get me started on that hellhole. I dropped every single one of them as soon as possible. Never going to work with any of them again.”

That made me just a little bit happier. “Back to the important stuff. I’m serious, here, Drake, I want you to figure your shit out.”

“Alright, alright, Adam, I get it. When we hang up, I’ll sit here and think about it.”

“Good man. Oh and one more thing, lay off the room service, yeah? That shit’s expensive, and I’m paying for it.”

“Yeah, I’ll keep it low. I haven’t been eating much these last few days.”

“I understand.”

“Adam, what do I do next? I mean, besides figuring out what the fuck I want to do?”

Adam sighed. “Sit by the phone, man, sit by the phone. That’s kinda all you got right now.”

“Have you heard anything? No calls, you said?”

“No calls, right. I’m working the phones myself, but no promises. You really fucked up big, dude. Teams are running away scared, and given your crazy talent, I’m shocked myself. It’s not like you’ve been arrested for anything. Lately.”

I groaned. “Let’s not go over it again, Adam.”

“I know you don’t want to, but keep in mind you’re going to have to answer questions about this stuff from people a lot less friendly than me, at least till you can string together some good games. Assuming you get onto the field in the first place.”

“Right, right. OK, thanks, Adam.”

“Think about it, Drake. And stay by the phone.”

He hung up, and I put the phone down.

I already knew the answer to Adam’s question. Of course football was what I wanted to do. There was nothing else for me. Sure, I could get a job in engineering, but engineering didn’t come with the bright lights of Sunday night and the adoration of thousands whenever I did my job.

There was nothing like that, and I couldn’t give up that dream before it started.

My phone buzzed, and I looked over at it. There was a message from Adam. I tapped on it, and saw, “Hope you’ve made up your mind by now. Pick up the phone.”

What was he talking about? I stared at my phone.

Then, out of nowhere, it started to ring. Unknown number. I stared at it again as it rang twice more before I picked up. “Hello?”

“Drake Rollins?”

“Yes.”

“Coach Armstrong, New England Patriots.”

HOLY SHIT. A fucking pro head coach was calling me. Was Adam trying to organize another pep talk? He did know practically everyone in the league, so it wasn’t impossible. “Ye-Yes, sir. Ni-nice to speak with you.”

“You really fucked up, kid.”

This was already going bad. “Ye-Yes, sir, I seem to have gotten myself into a mess, sir, but I’m gonna figure out how to get out of it.”

“I’ve seen your tape, kid.”

“Yes?”

“You’re not bad. A little raw, but not bad.” Coach Armstrong was a legend around the league. He was widely believed to be one of the greatest football minds of all time, and on top of that, he was one surly bastard. Calling me ‘not bad’ was probably one of the biggest compliments in his arsenal, and I don’t think anyone had ever paid me one that meant more to me.

“Thank you, sir, I’ve had good teammates and I’ve put in a good amount of effort along the way.”

“You also,” Coach Armstrong paused and I waited with bated breath, “seem to really enjoy doing things that make pro football teams head for the hills.”

“Yes sir, I know, and I won’t be doing that stuff any longer.”

Coach Armstrong laughed, and I briefly moved the phone away from my ear till he stopped. “Listen, kid, I have two rules. The first is that you do whatever it takes to get what you want as long as you don’t break the law. The second is that you never blow smoke up my ass. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir, we’re clear.”

“It’s ‘Coach,’ kid, ‘Coach.’”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You’re on a short leash, kid, so make the most of it.”

“Huh?” I was confused, this didn’t make any sense.

“Get on a plane and be at the facility by Monday. Your agent will have the details.”

“I don’t understand…”

Coach Armstrong sighed. “I’m signing you to the team, Drake. I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself and become a professional football player.”

HOLY.

SHIT.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t do anything; I could barely stay standing. This was insane. Was I dreaming? What was going on here?

I was hyperventilating. “You still there, kid?” He had a knowing sound to his voice, like this was definitely not the first time he’d made a phone call like this and given life to someone in my position.

“Yes, Coach, I’m here, and I want to thank-“

“Save it, kid. All I’m giving you is a chance. I’m opening the door you decided you’d rather close, and I’m allowing you to the opportunity to make that decision over again and walk through it this time.”

His voice grew hard. “But make no mistake, Rollins, you’re on the shortest fucking leash I can find. If you step out of line even once, or don’t give me everything you got in the field, I will cut your ass without a moment’s hesitation.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Kids like you think they’re such hot shit in college. Well, this is the pros, and we only take the best of the best and we still cut people from the team without mercy. So give me all you got and we’ll see if you make the team.”

“I understand, Coach. I won’t let you down.”

Coach Armstrong chuckled. “Kid, I don’t even know you. I couldn’t give a shit whether you succeed or not - my job is to win championships, and if you’ll help me do that, I’ll give you all the help I can. But if you can’t, I got no use for you. Got it?”

“Yes, Coach.” There was a moment’s silence. “And thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Ever.”

“Of course.”

“I mean it. Do not mention it. Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Coach Armstrong suddenly sounded weary, like this was the worst part of his job. All of a sudden I wondered if this whole thing was a huge practical joke, a funny way for Adam to drop me as a client.

“Yes?”

“The general manager’s office saw that video of you at the draft.”

“Listen, I was in-“

“Save it, I don’t care. In fact, I appreciate the passion. But the GM’s office thought this would be a good way to enhance our social media presence.” The way he said those last words could not have been laced with more complete disdain.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that as long as you’re on the team you’re going to be shadowed by a reporter from the Boston Globe. Daily interviews, videos, all that shit. I don’t like it, but there are a few things around here I can’t control.” He paused for a second. “And if you even think about repeating that to anyone, just remember, I have about 6 states worth of people who will happily bury your body in their backyards and never tell a soul about it.”

“I understand, Coach.”

“Good. I’m not thrilled with the idea, but the GM’s office said it was a requirement for signing you. And the last thing is, the reporter who’ll be following you around.”

“Yes?”

“The same one from that video. Lily Pearson. I’ll see you bright and early on Monday. And kid, you better make this worth my while.”

Coach Armstrong hung up, not waiting for an answer, leaving me holding the phone to my ear for a few seconds before I realized he was gone.

Shit.

Lily Pearson. The reporter from the draft. The girl from Cal. She was going to be following me around, keeping track of me.

I was gonna have to be really on my game from now on, no distractions whatsoever. This was my life and my future we were talking about.

So why couldn’t I get her out of my head?

CHAPTER 09 - LILY

It was like I was being exiled from home. Of course, I had only worked at the Boston Globe for a couple weeks now, and it had definitely been on the rockier side of things thus far, but all of a sudden I was moving out, not sure if I would ever get to come back.

There was no reason for me to work our of our main Boston office anymore, since I was going to be with the Patriots full time. I had gotten word that the team had provided me a room at the facility where I could stay.

On the one hand I was thrilled to be getting closer to the team, and there really wasn’t anything closer than living at the facility. At the same time, as I looked around the office, walking back to my desk after leaving Bill Thompson’s office, I knew I would miss this place.

I just hoped that I didn’t get fired before I could come work here again. There was always that distinct possibility. If my writing wasn’t up to standards, if the website didn’t blow up from my videos and interviews, I’d be in trouble.

Of course, if Drake Rollins didn’t play ball, we were sunk right from the start. I had assurances from the team that Drake knew what was going on, that he was willing to submit to interviews and have the process of his comeback documented on our website.

Frankly, I was shocked that the Patriots even gave him the time of day. I knew Coach Armstrong was huge rebel when it came to coaching moves - my father and had both cheered and yelled at his decisions since he had arrived in New England more than a decade ago.

Just think about seeing Drake again after all this time made my head swirl, and I was almost dizzy with emotions. He was all I had ever wanted in a man, but I had always stayed away from him - he always seemed more fixated on playing football and sleeping with as many hot girls as he could, wherever he went, and as much as I wanted him, I couldn’t get involved with that kind of guy, it just wasn’t me.

The Patriots were coming off a rough season plagued by minor scandals, but at the same time, Coach Armstrong’s reputation hadn’t really taken a hit.

They did need some help at wide receiver, and despite my Cal-focused bias, I was pretty sure that with good coaching, Drake Rollins could become one of the league’s breakout receivers.

The question was, did he want it bad enough? Results so far would suggest that he was more interested in booze and boobs. None of that stuff would fly anymore. Sure, if he was an established player with some great seasons behind him and a big juicy contract, he could get away with a high-flying lifestyle.

But an undrafted free agent? All 32 teams had passed on him 7 times each. Not only that, I heard from Bill that the Patriots had been the only team to even return Drake’s agent’s call about signing Drake after the job. The Patriots knew just how much power they had over Drake, and they would cut him in a heartbeat and not miss him ten seconds later.
 

Football might be a game on TV, but it was a serious, multi-billion dollar business in the real world, and none of these teams had any time to waste on players who wouldn’t perform or wouldn’t keep themselves out of trouble.

Drake Rollins. Holy shit, I was going to spend the next few months practically glued to Drake Rollins. Just thinking about him made me hot with lust, and I looked around the office to make sure no one was staring at me, finally satisfied after a few seconds that everyone else was more busy with their work than watching me fan myself back to a normal temperature.

He was such a jerk, but that didn’t stop me one bit from wanting him on a level I had never experienced before. And now I was going to be following him around the Patriots practice facility as long as he was on the team.

How would I stay sane? How would I handle that acidic wit of his while wanting to tear both of our clothes off?