Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
“Do the Niners have a bounty program?”
“How many other players did you pay to have taken out?”
“How much did you pay for the bench-clearing brawl in the first half?”
“Are the coaches in on it?”
“How will you feel when they strip you of your Super Bowl rings?”
They just keep shouting questions. I’m not even sure if they actually expect me to answer.
“Excuse me,” I say, trying to get their attention, but they just keep going. “If you’d settle down for a moment, I can try to answer your questions.”
They start asking their questions louder.
I slam my hand on the table and knock the main microphone, causing high-pitched feedback to echo through the room. “Hey!”
The room finally goes quiet.
“I have no idea what the gentleman from DeadSpin is talking about, but I can assure you I have never instructed, encouraged, or even insinuated that a teammate go after an opponent. I run a clean team. I run a clean game. I have the utmost respect for Oliver Marshall. We’re good friends, and I was just as devastated as anyone when he was carted off the field that night. He still had a lot of games left in him, and he was forced to retire far too young. His injury was a tragic accident. But that’s all it was—an accident. The hit has been reviewed a million times, and not one journalist or football expert has ever called into question the integrity of the hit. Furthermore, I would never take part in anything that would deliberately cause harm to another player. Clearly there is some misinformation out there, and I’m sure we’ll get to the bottom of it quickly. That is all I have to say at this time.” As I pull off my mic and walk out of the room, the crowd explodes into a chaotic explosion of shouting.
I slam open the door to the locker room. All eyes are on me as I walk in. It’s so quiet, I can hear the sound of water dripping from a sink. I look from teammate to teammate, trying to get a read on the room. Obviously they heard what just happened. The question is, do they believe me?
“That there was some fucking bullshit,” Derek Smitts, one of the linebackers who has been with me since I joined the team, says.
A bunch of others shout out in agreement.
I exhale a sigh of relief. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I swear to you all, I would never—”
Shawn Mendez, a corner back, claps me on the back. “Billy Tate’s a piece of shit. There’s no way anyone’ll believe him over you. This is going to blow over, man. Don’t worry about it.”
“Agreed, bro,” Hector Martinez, our kicker, says. “He’s going down in flames, and he’s trying to take down anyone with him that he can.”
“Brennan!” Coach yells from across the locker room. “Meeting. Jeb Kane’s office. Now.”
I grab my phone and make a call on my way up there. Unsurprisingly, it goes to voicemail. “Oliver, I know there’s some crazy shit being spread out there. You have to know it’s not true. I’d never do that to you, man. I don’t care what the press thinks, I don’t care what the fans think, I don’t even care what the league thinks. You’re the only person in the world who matters on this, and I pray to God you know that I didn’t do it.”
I can’t imagine I’ll hear from him. What’s he going to say?
When I get into Jeb’s office, everyone’s waiting for me. The entire coaching staff, half the front office, the team attorneys.
Oscar, the GM, hangs up the phone, then looks at me, shaking his head. “This is a fucking mess. The commissioner’s freaking the fuck out. They just started running the ads of you talking about ending the violence! They sunk a fortune into that ad campaign, and now they’re pissed. They’re going to come after us hard. Whether Tate is telling the truth or not—”
“He’s not!” I insist.
Oscar waves me off. “Either way, they’re gunning for us. They have egg on their face again, and they’re looking for someone to take the fall. Heads will roll. We had just better make sure they aren’t ours.”
The coaches and team lawyers go through the article and grill me. I have no idea what kind of documentation they could have. Tate and I never hung out outside of the team. The only thing we talked about was the team. I’ve never even bought him lunch, let alone paid him. The lawyers have requested copies of whatever they have from DeadSpin, but we haven’t heard back yet. I seriously doubt they’ll give us anything, but it’s worth asking.
Then we go over the film. We look at the hit from every possible angle. Every possible speed. It’s a clean hit. Most players wouldn’t have even been bothered by it, but Marshall fell awkwardly and it aggravated his pre-existing neck injury. It was a fluke.
We’re going over some of Tate’s other big hits from last year when the door flies open and Carmen storms into the room. She points at me. “You. Not another word.” Wagging her finger back and forth, she looks at Oscar. “Shame on you. Talking to him without a union rep or his lawyer present. You should know better.”
“Carmen, it’s okay,” I reply as I walk toward her. “This is all bullshit. We need to work together to put it to bed.”
“There is no ‘we’ anymore. There is you and them.” She points around the room. “They are the league. They’re going to do everything in their power to protect the team first, the league second. They will throw you to the wolves if it helps them. I know you’re like family with some of these people, but that’s why the expression is ‘like family’ and not actual family. What this is is business, and in situations like these, there’s bound to be collateral damage. It’s my job to make sure that isn’t you.” She snaps her fingers. “So let’s go.”
She pulls a stack of business cards out of her coat pocket, then hands them out. “Here’s my card. I look forward to working with you boys to squash this Tate like the cockroach he is. You can call me any time, day or night. Until then, no more talking to my client on this matter without me, or a union rep present.”
I know Carmen’s right. At the moment, we’re all on the same side. But if this drags on and accusations start flying, they will protect the team. That’s their job. Personal relationships be damned.
“It’s okay, Chase.” Jeb stands and walks toward me. “Go home. We all know you didn’t do this. Now we just have to find a way to get out of the hot water.” He holds out his hand. “We’ll figure it out.”
I shake his hand. “Thanks, Jeb.” I give a curt nod to the rest of the group, then follow Carmen.
Just before I leave the room, Jeb calls, “Hey, Chase?”
I spin around. “Yeah?”
“Great win tonight. I’m proud of you.”
The game tonight feels like a million years ago. As though it was in a completely different lifetime. One where the entire country didn’t think the worst of me. I didn’t do this. I know it’s impossible for there to be evidence that I did, but I have a sinking feeling this is going to get out of hand and there won’t be anything anyone can do to stop it. Man, I’d give anything to go back to my biggest problem being ungrateful fans with unreasonable expectations.
“Thanks,” I say. “Let’s squash this shit so we can get our focus back on the game where it’s supposed to be.”
Once we’re down the hallway, Carmen opens the door to a conference room, then looks inside. “Empty.” She shoves me in and gestures for me to sit. She takes a seat at the head of the table and pulls out her laptop. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.”
We talk for hours. She asks a million questions, many about things I would never imagine would be relevant, but I answer everything in as much detail as possible.
Her phone chimes. She reaches in her bag, then pulls it out to check the message. “Oh, I’ve got a call with the Executive Director of the Players Association in an hour, and I need to get back to the office first. I think you gave me enough to get started.” She closes her laptop. “Hopefully we’ll expose this guy for the scumbag he is and this will go away be
fore the next news cycle. In the meantime, the only words out of your mouth are ‘No comment.’ I don’t care if they ask what time it is, if it’s going to rain today, or if you’d like a stick of gum. Your answer is, ‘No comment.’ The only way for stories like this to die, and to keep yourself from digging a deeper hole, is for you to keep your mouth shut. Now head home and kiss your fiancée. She’s probably climbing the walls by now.”
“Oh shit—Ari.” How could I not call her? I run my fingers through my hair. “She must be losing her mind.”
“It took every persuasive skill I have to talk her out of coming down here and cracking heads.” She chuckles. “I used to think I was the scariest thing in heels, but I’m a pussy cat next to her.” She puts her laptop in her bag. “When my staff couldn’t find me, she and your puppy hunted me down in my Bikram Yoga class so she could get me down here. I don’t think I’ll be welcome back to class again, but if she hadn’t done it, you’d still be in there talking yourself into trouble.” She points her thumb in the direction of Jeb’s office. “That’s one helluvah woman you have.”
“She’s amazing. I’m a lucky bastard.”
“And she’ll get you through this. Listen to her. She has good instincts, and she’s really good at keeping her mouth shut. Follow her lead.” She pats my back as we leave the room. “Just lay low until you hear from me.”
“Thanks, Carmen,” I reply, then head down to the locker room.
I was hoping things would have thinned out after four hours, but I think the mob has gotten bigger. I put in my earbuds, tuck my head, and plow through the crowd. They swarm my truck when I try to leave. It takes me over a half hour to get out without running someone over.
I drive home in a daze, my mind reeling from everything that just happened. I go back through every interaction I can think of between Tate and me, trying to come up with anything that might help me figure out where he’s going with this. No matter how hard I try, I can’t think of a damn thing. I must be missing something.
The mob around the front gates is three times as big as it was this morning. I hope my sister had the good sense to call in her students. It’s one thing to mock the press when they’re sniffing around for gossip; it’s another thing when I’m in the middle of a scandal. The guards have to get out of their station to get the reporters to move enough that I can drive through. My popularity with the neighbors is growing by the second.
Ari runs into my arms the moment I walk into the house. “We’re going to fight this. Everyone will know this is just Billy’s desperate attempt to hold onto the spotlight. It’ll be over as fast as it started.”
I hold her close, inhale the sweet scent of her shampoo, and pray she’s right.
Ari’s kind enough to make me dinner, but I can’t eat a thing. I just push my food around my plate while I tell her everything. My brain is fried and the last thing I want to do is rehash everything for the third time, but Ari’s been home and scaling the walls, waiting to talk to me, so I do my best to give her my full attention.
After we’ve talked in circles for hours, we agree I need to try to get some sleep.
I pick up my plates and carry them into the kitchen. “I hate to say it, but I think we need to move. The press is only going to get worse. The neighbors are still trying to come at me through the HOA. If we leave, the press leaves and the neighborhood can get back to normal. I don’t see any way around it.”
She takes the pans off the stove, then rinses them. “Agreed. It feels as though we’re letting them win, but we can go to my condo or maybe Daddy’s. Daddy’s is the most private, and it’s close to Levi.”
I put the dishes in the dishwasher, and for once, Ari doesn’t say a word about the way I did it. She must feel like I need a break. “There’re benefits of being downtown, but I don’t want to fight traffic to Santa Clara every morning. Let’s just go to Aiden’s. We’ll figure the rest out from there.” I walk up behind her at the sink and wrap my arms around her waist. “I hate running.”
She turns off the water. “We’re not running. We’re being smart. Why do you think Daddy moved out there to begin with? We’re exposed out here, and that’s only going to lead to more trouble.” She turns her head so she can look up at me. “It’s the right decision, I promise. Hopefully once we have a little space from the press, things will calm down. When it does, we can always come back.”
I shake my head. “I’m not sure I can ever feel safe here again. It’s such a shame. When I bought this house, I thought how nice it would be for us to raise a family in a real neighborhood, where there are tons of kids and parks. Where our kids wouldn’t need a chauffeur to see their friends. They could just ride their bikes as long as they were home by dinnertime. You know—normal.”
“A neighborhood doesn’t give kids normalcy. Their parents do. Our kids will grow up just fine because we’ll do everything in our power to make sure of it.” She points at the window where a couple walking their dog is trying to look in. “Living like this will make our kids feel like an exhibit in the zoo.”
The woman pulls out a pair of binoculars to get a better look at us, and her jaw drops when I jump up and down like an ape.
Laughing, Ari snaps my butt with a kitchen towel. “You’re not helping!”
“Maybe not, but hopefully she’ll think twice next time!”
Chapter Fifteen
Chase
This is a perfect example of NFL Commissioner Eckert’s incompetence. Every day there’s another headline of an NFL player committing a felony. Child abuse, two shootings, alleged statutory rape—just to name a few. Multiple instances of flagrant unsportsmanlike conduct. Helmet-to-helmet hits. Eye gouging. Egregious late hits to quarterbacks that have resulted in career-ending injuries. He issues suspensions, then repeals them the moment the players’ union pushes back. The NFL decides the way to show America that the league doesn’t condone violence is to create a nationwide anti-violence campaign. They choose golden boy Chase Brennan to be their poster child. The only hitch is Brennan’s been running a pay-for-pain racket. Can we please start talking about giving Eckert the axe?
Carrying a tray of fruit, Ari comes into the living room. She places the platter on the coffee table, then turns off the TV with the remote. “This crap will be around for one news cycle. Two at the most. Shelly will get this under control.”
We’ve been on the phone with Shelly on and off since midnight, debating strategy. Later this morning, she’s going to release a generic statement denying Tate’s claims and stating that I’ve offered my full cooperation to the NFL and will do everything I can to help put this issue to rest. But as I scroll through the news on my phone and see every headline is about me, I’m not sure a short denial’s going to be enough to calm these waters. Even if I convince the commissioner this whole thing is a figment of Tate’s twisted imagination, the world’s been blasted with stories that I’m the type of person who would pay to end another player’s career. I don’t think any amount of retraction stories can erase those thoughts from their minds.
My eyes meet Ari’s. “What if I can’t get out from under this?”
“You will. We will beat this.” She takes the phone from my hands. “But first, you have to stop. Nothing good will come from looking at the news. Media blackout, remember?”
The doorbell rings.
“That must be Carmen,” Ari says as she walks toward the front door. “I’m sure she’s going to tell you the same thing.” A moment later, she returns with Carmen.
“Morning, Carmen. I hope you have good news.”
Her scowl tells me otherwise. “You’d better have a damn good reason for giving Billy Tate twenty thousand dollars the week after the Super Bowl.” She shoves a piece of paper in my face, then sits on the opposite sofa. “Start talking.”
The paper is a copy of a check I wrote to Tate. Oh fuck, this looks bad. “I completely forgot about this, but I swear, it isn’t what it looks like. The day before the Super Bowl parade, do you remem
ber that tornado that absolutely decimated a small town in Mississippi? It was awful—fifty or so people died, hundreds more were injured?”
She nods. “I remember something about that. What does that have to do with anything?”
“That was Tate’s hometown. He said he was leaving straight from the parade to go help with the relief effort. Every guy on the team gave him money.”
I expect to see relief on Carmen’s face, but instead she looks as though she wants to strangle me. “You just gave him twenty thousand dollars? Are you insane? If you wanted to help, why didn’t you give to the Red Cross or something legitimate?”
“Thousands of people were homeless! I was worried about them, not Tate’s tax-exempt status. He was going, and I wanted to help. What kind of prick would I be if I didn’t do what I could to help people whose lives had just been destroyed because I can’t get a tax deduction for it?” I hate this part of my life. We live under a microscope. Every move we make, every decision is put through such scrutiny. It’s complete bullshit that I’m going to burn for trying to do a good thing.
“You have to be smarter than this,” Carmen lectures. “All charitable donations should go through your accountant so he can make sure it’s legit. At least use the note section next time! That’s what it’s there for!” She picks up her phone and hits the voice-to-text button. “Search for Billy Tate disaster relief, Mississippi last February. Locate other players who donated.” She sets down her phone. “I’ve got Butch looking into Tate. Hopefully she can find something to corroborate your story. We need something to take away their smoking gun.”
Smoking gun? How does one check to one guy prove I was running a bounty system? “I’m not sure what I find more insulting, that they think I’d do this at all or that they think I’d be dumb enough to pay for it with a check.”
“I know, I know,” Carmen says, holding up her hand. “The whole thing is ridiculous. We just need to do everything we can to squash it quickly and sue the hell out of everyone. Step one is finding out everything we can about Tate. You know Butch. If there’s dirt on him, she’ll find it.”
Love To Love You (Love/Hate #3) Page 14
