Tackled (Alpha Ballers #1) (8 page)

This was quite the dilemma. What was I going to do?

I didn’t really have a choice. I couldn’t march back into Bill’s office and refuse the assignment. If I even tried to do that he would fire me on the spot, and for good reason. Worse, it would just confirm Bill’s suspicion about me, and possibly about women in sports journalism in general.

No, I had to stick this out. I had to make it work. And not just that, I had to make sure that Drake stayed on the team long enough that I could show off my journalistic chops and prove to Bill that I had what it took to make it in this business.

It was the only way I could salvage my fledgling career before it careened into a ditch. So I had to make this thing with Drake work. But could I? Would he listen to me?

Would I be even be able to come up with the right words around him? I barely was able to tutor him back at Cal, I’d get so flustered. He knew it too; of course he knew it. Drake Rollins was one of the most popular guys on campus - he could have any girl he wanted and he frequently did.

“Lily, I heard you’re shipping out?” I whipped my head around at the sound of Steve’s voice. Steve stood next to my desk, looking down at me.

“He-hey Steve, yes I’m gonna be staying with the Patriots for al little while.” How did he know about that so fast? I mean, this was a newspaper and all, but I didn’t expect information to travel THAT quickly. I’d just gotten out of Bill’s office like 5 minutes ago!

“Sweet gig, congrats.” I couldn’t tell if he was being sincere or not.

“Thanks.”

Steve didn’t move. “You at all worried?”

“Worried? Why should I be worried?”

“This guy, Rollins? He’s a nutcase! You must have seen all the stories about him, he makes rock stars look like choir boys.”

“I know all about him.”

“Oh yeah, you two were at Cal together. I bet he did some legendary things around there. Got any stories?”

I looked down at my desk, starting to gather things together. “None that come to mind at the moment.”

“Gotcha.” Steve’s tone changed. “Listen, be careful out there, yeah? Drake Rollins is going nowhere fast, but don’t let him drag you down with him, OK?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying, don’t let yourself get too involved, and don’t let whatever dirt he throws up around him get on you. Careers with bigger track records than yours have been lost for less than that.”

“Uh, thanks for the advice.” I guess Steve was being sincere after all - this certainly seemed like it.

“Don’t mention it, we’re all expecting to see you back here soon. In fact there’s talk of setting up a betting pool.”

“For what?”

“For how long it takes Drake Rollins to crash and burn, get tossed off the Patriots and out of the league. Basically for how long till you get back.”

I don’t know what made me do it, but I stood up and looked Steve square the eye. “Don’t bet too short, then. Drake’s gonna make that team.”

Steve laughed in my face. “There’s no chance. Come on, Lily, can’t you see what this is? It’s a PR stunt. Armstrong would never go along with this unless it was just a side show. There’s zero chance Rollins has any shot of making that team. They just want to get some PR buzz.”

“Have you seen Drake play? He can catch anything that’s thrown even remotely in his direction.”

“That may be the case, but it looks to me like he’s more interested in doing things that would get normal people arrested.”

Steve had a point there. There was no telling what was going on in Drake’s head. I had no idea whether he was ready for the rigors of playing pro football.

I started gathering my things and putting them a bag. Luckily I hadn’t brought too much stuff to the office already. “All I’m saying, Steve, is that the guy is good enough that he gets one more chance.”

Steve stepped back. “You’re right, he does, but only because he’s that good. Anyone else would be on the street with no one remembering who he was.” He watched me pack for a second. “Listen, all I’m saying is, don’t get too caught up in reporting the Drake Rollins story. Do it as well as you can and then get back here and start writing about more important things.”

I surveyed my desk and nodded. “Thanks for your concern, Steve.” I picked up my bag and brushed by him, heading toward the door.

About 10 feet later I stopped, turned around, and walked back to him, taking my wallet out and handing Steve $50. “Put that on ‘Drake makes the team’ for me, will you?”

Steve paused for a moment while he understood what I’d said, then smiled and took my money, taking out his wallet and dropping it in. “I’ll do that. You take care of yourself out there, yeah?”

I laughed. “Steve, I’m going to Foxboro. It’s not Afghanistan, it’s not Antarctica. It’s like 40 miles away.”

“Fine, fine, get yourself lost, then. See if I care.”

I smiled. “Bye, Steve.”

I said goodbye to a couple other coworkers on the way, people I was just starting to get to know since I had arrived. They all treated me with sympathy, like I was leaving forever, never to return.

What the hell? It’s not like I was dying, why were all these people treating me like the next time they would see me was at my funeral?

My career couldn’t be so tied together with Drake’s success now, could it?

That made no sense.

What had I gotten myself into?

CHAPTER 10 - DRAKE

First day of training camp!

First day I had a chance to show all these assholes that I belonged here, that I was part of the team, and that I would be the deep threat in the end zone they needed to bring home a championship.

It had taken a little getting used to the weather in Massachusetts - I much preferred the warmer weather of down south, but when you were in my situation, you couldn’t really choose where you played. All I needed to do was make the team and show people what I could do, and maybe I’d get to sign a big deal somewhere else where I could walk around without a jacket on for most of the year.

Today, at least, was sunny and warm, and I knew the humidity, which I was just getting accustomed to for the first time in my life, would be killer once we got out onto the field, but for now it wasn’t so bad.

I arrived at the facility at 8am, just as expected. Coach Armstrong was standing outside the front door, greeting the players, new and returning. When I came up to him, I held out my hand to shake with him, but he just looked down at his clipboard.

“Rollins. Good to see you,” was all he said. It was the least affected greeting I had ever gotten.

“Thanks, Coach! Happy to be here! Excited to help out.” Coach Armstrong grunted and ushered me inside. There, the attendants and assistants helped me out in getting my room assignment.

It took me a few minutes but I found my room, unlocked the door, and walked in, setting my bag down on the cold floor. Two single beds. “What the fuck is this?” I said out lout to no one in particular.

An assistant, passing by in the hallway, stuck his head in. “Everything cool?”

I turned around and faced him. “There are two beds in here! And they’re both so small!”

He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s two to a room. We have over a hundred guys in here right now, and this isn’t a hotel.”

“I need my own room, man, I can’t live like this!” I had not lived with a roommate in….I had never had a roommate!

The assistant disappeared. “Take it up with the management if you have a complaint.”

“I’ll do that!” I called out after him.

“I wouldn’t recommend it!” he called back, farther away this time.

I picked my bag back up and threw it on the bed closer to the window. I sat down next to it and looked around.

This room fucking sucked. There was no way I could stay here for a month. Not with a roommate. With any luck I’d have a lineman staying with me, some giant dude who snored. Ugh.

How could I get my own room?

I couldn’t even find a room service menu, what kind of place was this? I was better off in New York, at least there a guy could get some service!

I sat there feeling sorry for myself, wondering how I had gotten to this place, where I was a no-name undrafted free agent begging for scraps, willing to do anything to even make a team, let alone get a huge contract and endorsement deals like I had dreamed.

Of course, then memories of all the fun I had had during and after college came rushing back, and that put a smile on my face. I wondered what the policy around here was like for having girls over. I needed to find that out quick. I scrolled through my phone, wondering which girls I knew were local, and which would have to fly in.

I looked to my right and saw the other bed. Ugh. Maybe this wouldn’t work out at all.

The door opened and a bag came in, carried by a guy I had seen before when doing research on the Patriots. I wasn’t a fan of a particular team as a kid, I just liked watching all the greats do their thing under the bright lights, and try to pick up those moves and put my own spin on them.

And I had lit up the high school and college game doing it.

That meant when I found out I would be a New England Patriot, I didn’t really know anything about them, and I had done a little bit of research on the way here.

The guy was tall, a couple inches taller than me. Built, like he knew his way around a gym, but that was every football player, though some did have a habit of arriving to training camp 30-40 pounds overweight. Not this guy.

This guy was Lance Parker, the quarterback of the New England Patriots. He had a reputation for being a choir boy.

“Hey!” He smiled as he dropped his bag and came over to me. “I’m Lance Parker. You must be Drake Rollins.”

I stood up, a little surprised he knew my name at first, but I regained my composure quick. “Yeah, man, Drake Rollins. Good to meet you.”
 

“Looks like we’re gonna be roommates.” Lance turned around and set his bag on his bed.

“Yeah? You sure there wasn’t some mixup with the room assignments?”

Lance laughed. “No, man, nothing like that. Coach Armstrong has a weird way of doing things. This is only my second year, but I learned that in the first week last year. Expect the unexpected around here.”

“Yeah?” Last year Lance had gone nearly undrafted, taken in like the sixth round or something. He had been a backup his first year, but after last season, the team had shipped the starter out of town for some draft picks, betting it all on Lance to take over. They had drafted a new backup in the 4
^th
or 5
^th
round, I thought.

Lance unzipped his bag and started unloading things, still turned away from me. “It’s not just a way of doing things around here, it’s a way of life.” He put some things away in one of the drawers on the end table next to his bed and sat down. “You’ll find out about it soon enough,” he said with a grin.

“Any tips? I want to make a good impression, make sure I get to stick around a while.”

“Good man. Trouble is, the tips are just cliches by this point, stuff I’m sure you’ve heard your entire life. Try your hardest, try and get better each day, and don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“You’re right, I have heard that stuff all before.”

Lance nodded. “It’s all true, and now even more so. You’re still the same, it’s just that now the competition is a lot better. Know how many college football players there are?”

“Somewhere north of 10,000.”

“Yup, and that’s just in Division 1. How many players are there in the pros?”

I did the math really quick. “About 1700.”

Lance smiled. “Very close. 1696 to be precise, not including practice squads. What does that tell you?”

I thought about it for a second. “It tells you most college players don’t make it here. Only the best of the best even get a shot.”

“Exactly. It’s not guaranteed. If you screw up here, there are any number of other players who will climb over you to get your spot.”

“That’s pretty dark, man, how do you deal with it?”

Lance’s face clouded up, like he was thinking really hard. “Not well,” was all he said.

Suddenly the room had gotten a little still, and the air was heavy. I figured I’d change the subject and keep things light, no sense in finding out your roommate’s dark secrets in the first 10 minutes. “What’s the deal with having guests here?”

“Guests?”

“Yeah, you know, having some girls over. Gotta have fun in the evenings and weekends, yeah?” I smiled.

Lance did not. “This isn’t a frat house, Drake. We’re not here to party.”

“I know, I know, but how do you all let off some steam? You know, relax?”

“I go to the gym for that. I watch film, work on my mechanics.”

So Lance Parker really was the football-playing robot I had heard about. And he was my roommate.

Shit.

It suddenly occurred to me that Lance Parker was not someone I could think of as a friend. Yeah, we were living together for a little while, but that didn’t mean we were brothers or anything. Not yet. I had to watch myself around him, or he could go blabbing to Coach Armstrong and get me kicked off the team faster than I could figure out what was happening.

I had to be careful. No one was on my side but me, not until I had shown them what I could do and just how valuable I was to the team.

“Can I give you a little piece of advice?”

“Sure, man.”

“Something I wish someone had told me when I got here. Keep your eyes and ears open. Yeah, this is a cutthroat business, but we’re all here for the same reason.”

Yeah, I’m here to make the team, get a huge contract, and have that money roll in so I can live the good life.

When I didn’t say anything, Lance continued. “And that’s to win a championship for New England. That’s the only thing that matters around here.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“The coaches and all the other players, that’s all we want. So if you make that all you want, and you do what it takes to make that happen, learn as much as you can, take the criticism where it comes, and just get better every day, then you’ll fit in just fine.”

He paused. “But if you’re here to showboat, you might as well keep your bags packed. We’re not the flashiest team in the league; we don’t care about that stuff. We’re here to win games. It doesn’t have to look pretty or show up on ESPN every night, it just has to work. You got me?”