“Sean, hi. How are you?”
“I’m good. A little hungover, but that’s normal for me. Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come watch the team practice today, then join me for a late lunch, early dinner kind of thing. Nothing fancy. Just a burger or pizza, something simple. We can talk about the interview you want to do.”
My lips moved for a second, but my brain was slow in sending out words. I nervously cleared my throat again and tried not to sound too eager.
I said, “Hang on, Sean, let me look at my schedule…”
I muted the earpiece and counted down from ten as I took a few deep breaths and tried not to hyperventilate. When I was sure that I could speak coherently, I tapped the earpiece to unmute the call.
“Sean? Hi. I’ll have to move some things around on my schedule, but I think I can make that work. What time should I be there?”
“Awesome. I’ll leave a pass for you at the security gate outside the practice field. Say around one o’clock?”
“That will be fine,” I said. “I’ll see you there.”
I ended the call and took a minute to catch my breath, then hurried down the hall to Dru’s office to let her know that Katie Holmes was back.
Sean
Man, the coach was on my ass from the moment I walked onto the practice field. Okay, granted, I was still a little hungover from my long night of partying and felt like I was gonna puke, but I ran every route he assigned me and caught every ball.
After an hour in the hot sun, my body was drenched in alcohol sweat and every muscle ached. I plucked a bottle of Gatorade out of the ice bucket and stood on the sideline to suck it down.
“Donovan, you’re moving like a goddamn sloth out there today,” the coach snarled as he walked past me. “You need to pick up the pace or get the fuck off the field.”
“I’m catching the balls, ain’t I?” I said, wiping sweat from my face with the back of my hand.
Coach Rickets stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me. He leaned in and sniffed the air between us.
“You smell like pussy and booze,” he said. “And you look like shit.” He came close enough to poke a stiff finger into my chest. “We’re not paying you eight-million dollars a year to party your ass off at night and give a half-ass effort on the field during the day. You have until Friday to dry out and clean up your a
ct or Lockett plays yours spot on Sunday. Am I clear?”
“Crystal,” I said, biting my tongue so hard I could taste blood. I knew better than to talk back to Rickets. I might be the star running back, but he was the coach and he decided who got to play and who stood on the sidelines. Talent is what gets you to the game, but it’s the coach that tells you when to play.
It would kill me to just watch a game and not play in it.
Rickets was a grade-A asshole, but he was right.
I was partying my career into the ground. I had to dry out and get my head back in the game before I found myself unemployed.
“How did that feel?” Leon asked as he dropped his helmet on the ground and fished out a red Gatorade.
“How did what feel?”
“Getting your ass chewed off by the coach.”
“Felt great,” I said. I tugged the drenched t-shirt over my head and mopped the sweat off my face with it.
“He’s right, you know,” Leon said. He stood next to me, but kept his eyes on the field. “You’re killing yourself, man. He’s gonna give your spot to Lockett, and when that happens, they’ll find a way to break your contract or trade you off to fucking Minnesota.”
“That’s never gonna happen,” I said, shaking my head.
Leon shrugged. “I hope you’re right. By the way, I asked Monique to marry me and she said yes.”
“That’s awesome, man,” I said, bumping him with my elbow. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, man,” he said. He tilted back the Gatorade bottle and emptied it into his mouth. He tossed the bottle into the trash and picked up his helmet. As he was putting the helmet on, he nodded toward the stands behind me.