By Chance, No Choice (Stetson Series Book 1)

by Xyla Turner

  “Well, if this is Elaine Culter, she’s sixteen and has no business being at your party, let alone in your room.” The older cop informed.

  “I agree, officer. I did not card everyone’s date when they brought them to this party. However, I would welcome you to take anyone under the age of eighteen. I have ninety-nine problems and a kid ain’t one.”

  There was some snickering from the other players standing further behind him. The officers did not find it amusing. The tall one yelled, “If you are under the age of eighteen, get your asses out of here before we bring the fake id card detector around. You have five seconds.”

  To Shane’s surprise, three girls stepped forward and scrambled out of the suite. One of the young women, who did not look anything like twenty-five, came back inside and said, “My friend Elaine is sixteen and he has her.”

  Her trembling finger was pointing to Shane with the girl still over his shoulder.

  “We’ll take her from her,” the shorter cop said.

  Shane lifted her and gave him to the shorter officer. The taller one patted him on the back and said, “You lucked out man. That’s a senator’s daughter and he was looking for blood. I’ll be sure to let him know she went untouched. Not sure who brought her, but he’ll be happy to know that someone was looking out for her.”

  “Yeah, do that.” Shane relaxed.

  “You have a good night,” The shorter one called back as they left.

  Shane could hear the sobbing girls outside the suite, but he was thankful that he just dodged that bullet. He also knew he needed to slow down because that type of heat could be career ending. Tonight would not be the night for that, so he turned around and yelled, “Hit the musssiiiccc!”

  * * *

  The next day, his coach called him into the office with a written reprimand for the police being called and having underage girls at the party. His coach always tried to tell him that he was larger than this; more than this. That he did not have to succumb to the game, but he could shape the game to him. Shane always heard him, but he just wasn’t there yet.

  He reminded him of his father, Darius Sinclair. He was a man’s man and worked for everything he ever acquired. That is what he taught Shane. Work hard, work faster, work smarter. This was how he was able to get to the National Football League (NFL) and recruited by the Washington Redskins four years ago. Shane finished college and played overseas for a few years. His father was proud of him, his accomplishments and more important that he was creating his own legacy. Shane knew he’d never be half the man his father was, but he strived to obtain a portion of this legacy his father sweat blood and tears to obtain.

  His parents were married for thirty years, had three beautiful children and they grew up in South East DC. Shane tried many times to move them, even to Maryland, but they would not have it. His father would always say, “I paid for this house, I’m going to live in this house. So, son when you pay for your house, you better live in it.” His mother was no better. If Shane offered to get the house cleaned since his parents were older, she would say, “I live in this house, so I’ll clean it. When you get your house, you clean it.” They were two peas in a pod, but they were proud and they instilled in us the importance of hard work.

  Jeffery Mills, Head Coach of the Washington Redskins, issued a fine that Shane would be sure to get from Keith. He didn’t bring the girl to the party, Keith wasn’t stepping up because he did not need another strike against him. The coach had already threatened to trade him if he kept up his shenanigans. Shane had his own run-ins with rules and fines, but that was not with the team or the coach, it was with the media and specifically reporters.

  In the past, Shane would call press conferences and not show or let a reporter ask him a question and when he finally stopped, he would give them his food order. The reporters always tried to crack the hard exterior he showed for them, but he never let up on his pranks with them. Shane did not care for the parading of players for the dog and pony show for anyone, but to be forced was only torture.

  He also played pranks on his teammates and opponents, but last fall, they got him good. During a pre-season game, someone put a bullhorn near his ear, while he was sleeping. Blasted it, causing Shane to jump up and step into a pile of tar as he was consistently hit with torn pillows so he was covered in feathers. He went down and so did the feathers. There were pictures on all social media platforms and that was a prank orchestrated by his team and the opposing team, the Philadelphia Eagles.

  Shane’s eyes searched the humongous locker room for Keith. He probably was in his usual corner, with headphones on his ears, getting ready for practice. His eyes were closed and as expected his round head placed on his thick neck was rocking to the beat. He probably shouldn't be trifled with, but Keith no longer cared, since it was him taking the rap for his mishap.

  Keith stalked over to him and slapped his broad chest with the paper. The big man had growled before he opened his eyes. Shane stood there, shoulder length feet apart with his arms crossed over his chest. He was not as big as Keith because he was a running back. He was solid, slender and all muscle; the perfect shade of chocolate as his mother still said. Keith, on the other hand, was like a beast and a perfect linebacker. He was light on his feet, but the man could bend steel. Or so he says.

  “What the…” Keith flared up, then he stopped when he saw who it was standing over him.

  “This is the fine for the underage girl.” Shane bent slightly at the hips to whisper.

  “Oh yeah, man. My bad.” Keith had a look of remorse on his face. “Next time, I'll be sure to card.”

  “What? There won't be a next time man. I'm pulling you off that girl when she damn near passed out drunk. What were you thinking? Then I'm the one caught looking like I'm taking advantage. This type of shit ends careers. It won't be mine. I work too hard for that shit and I won't let a soul take that away.”

  “Yeah, man.” He shook his head and hit it with his beefy hand, “I keep messing up.”

  “Get your life together man. Not sure what's going on, but you need to get your shit together and I'm saying that because I care.”

  Shane walked away because the practice was in an hour and he had to go through his stretching, massage and cool down before it actually started.

  Once practice was over, Shane had to go through another series of routines that included an ice bath, another massage, and the steam room. While practices were three hours, it took almost eight hours between preparation, actual practice and team meetings. Similar to any other full-time job. Critics always say this is a game, but it is very much a business.

  Once Shane entered his car, he called his mom. His pop never answered the phone, but it stayed on his mom’s hip.

  “Shane Sinclair,” he groaned because if his mom was calling him by his full name, that meant he was in trouble.

  “What's up mom, what'd I do?”

  “Where are you supposed to be, huh? Remember that charity that you started, but since you hooked up with the spicy gal, you've had no time.”

  “Not spicy mom, her name is Stacey.”

  “Well, she looks like that Spice Girl.” His mom asked, “You know the one with the frazzled hair?”

  “Mom, she had a bad hair day.”

  “Every picture I see, she has a bad hair day.”

  Shane groaned, “Mom, what about Lula’s.”

  “Don't you have the fundraiser tonight? In one hour.”

  “Uh, oh no.” He started rifling through his calendar at the stop light. “Mom, oh no.”

  “Oh yeah. Your father is on his way there now.” She warned.

  “Dammit,” Shane growled. “Okay, mom. Got to go. I’ll be a little late, but I’ll be there.”

  “Umm, hmm.” She murmured and hung up the phone.

  Shane would never admit this to his mom, but ever since he and his fiancé hooked up eight months ago, he had been off his game. He was normally on top of the charities and events because they were all linked
with his father’s interest or businesses. The event tonight is a fundraiser that he and his father co-founded since Shane’s grandmother, and his father’s mom died from the disease. Before the NFL, Darius Sinclair, had his own fundraiser and he went door to door to collect monies from people on his paper mailing list. He sent out flyers and even offered to pick up the donations. When Shane made it to the NFL, the first thing he did was set up a location, hire a firm to run it and made his dad the Executive Director. This move was not met with gratitude, unbeknownst to Shane, his father did not like the motive behind what his son had done.

  Shane tried to explain that he did it for him and his grandmother, but Mr. Sinclair replied with, “That’s for the wrong reason.”

  For the life of Shane, he did not understand, until the first event, when a breast cancer survivor was hugging his father and thanking him for merely keeping the movement going, but actually being there. It clicked for Shane, so when he went to his father to explain that he understood, his father congratulated him and gave him his famous words, now that he had disposable income. “You cannot throw money to fix real problems, most problems start from the inside and work their way out.”

  Once Shane arrived home, took another shower and grabbed a suit, he realized that Vivian was out of town and knew nothing about this event. Lately, things had been distant between them and Shane was not sure why. She seemed to be in a wedding frenzy some days and could care less others. He attempted to speak to her about it, but she just smiled, sat on his lap and started to frisk him. He was not a man that would turn down sex so that usually worked, but as his father said, ‘most problems start from the inside and work their way out.’

  When Shane arrived at the event, located in downtown D.C. at the Marriott Hotel, his mother and father were already mingling with the guest. His dad gave him a stern look of disappointment, so he nodded his head to accept. His mother simply shook her head and smiled, waving him over to join them.

  Darius Sinclair was dressed in a black tux with a black bow tie and a pressed white shirt. He had a silver goatee that almost glowed in contrast to his chocolate, wrinkled free face. He was six foot, two inches and still kept an athletic build, from his ordinary manual labor. The man looked to be in his forties but was actually fifty-eight years of age. His mother, Beatrice Sinclair, had on a long light golden chiffon dress that swung out around her ankles, barely revealing her three-inch heels. Her mostly silver colored hair was in Shirley Temple curls that swept to the right side of her golden face. She also did not look to be a day over fifty, yet she had just turned fifty-six.

  The event space was elegant, with chandeliers in every section of the ceiling, pink table clothes on every table with a tied, pink ribbon around a basket as the centerpiece. Drinks were flowing, the ice sculpture was melting and people were giving money.

  It was time for Mr. Sinclair to address the audience, so we all sat down as the bell chimed.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you all for coming. I won’t be long, but I had to take this opportunity to thank you for all of those that have been around since we first started the Lula Foundation. That was over thirty years ago and thanks to your help and support, it has definitely expanded by leaps and bounds. I would be remised, if I did not mention my son, Shane. He’s grown up to be such a wise young man and as much as I want to take the credit, I just can’t. I know that when I move on and when the time comes, he’ll continue to make this foundation the great success that it has grown to be. I know, he’ll continue the legacy because that’s just the type of son he is. Love him dearly.” He took a sip of water, “Now without further ado, let’s announce how much we’ve raised. Drumroll, please.”

  The continuous beat of drums played repetitively, then he announced the amount raised. It was much larger than last year, so this was excellent. Cameras were clicking and even the press were in the back, speaking with the various guest. Shane’s contribution was minor and he recognized this, by not being in the forefront and not broadcasting his involvement. He did not know why his father just publicly named him, but he knew he would avoid the press. This was his father’s charity and it would remain that way.

  Under Further Review: Chapter 2

  “Reporters have a job to do and while most people don’t like it, the news still needs to be reported”

  Three months earlier: Diamond

  The plane was not packed, which was great since Diamond had not been in the mood for small talk. She put her small luggage bag in the overhead bin so she would have leg room and enough space for her laptop. This way, she could scout out the people she would be working with at the new job for the local DC television reporting, WUSA. Diamond was elated about the opportunity but more ecstatic about getting away from sunny California. No more Heathcliff, no more Genevieve, no more news, and no more anything that reminded her of the ‘failure.’

  She did not realize she was muttering, until a guy walked up to her and said, “Were you talking to me?”

  Slowly, Diamond looked up and saw a tall, handsome, Hispanic man, with dark curly hair and a chiseled nose. “Oh, no. Just talking to myself.”

  “Oh.” he wrinkled his eyebrows in disappointment. “I can talk if you want.”

  Feeling slightly annoyed, Diamond responded, “Oh, no. I’m not really up for company.”

  “That’s unfortunate, he sat down next to her.”

  Diamond turned her body half of the way to face him with an astonished look. She gasped, “What are you doing?”

  “Talking with a beautiful lady,”

  “But I don’t want to talk,” Diamond curtly responded.

  “Doesn’t mean you don’t need to. A woman, like yourself, talking herself. That’s not good.”

  The annoyance of this guy started to bubble over when she snapped. “Look, I don’t feel like having company. I don’t want to talk. This plane is empty, can you please chose another place to sit.”

  The man reared his neck back like he was offended and put off. “Well, lady. All you had to do was ask. There was no need for you to be so abrasive.”

  Diamond sighed, “I did ask.”

  He gathered his bag and stormed to the back of the plane while Diamond shook her head. She closed her eyes, to get ready for her new life, her new job, and her new beginning. Free of any failures, free of any regrets and open to all that she set out to get.

  * * *

  “You won’t last long here?”

  “Excuse me.” Diamond looked at the older man whose beer belly more than quadrupled over his pants and his stringy hair spoke volumes about his hygiene.

  “You’re too nice. You have to be cutthroat to survive in this business. You don’t have that and until you get that, you won’t make it here.”

  She was sitting in her cubicle in front of a blank screen getting ready to write up a report. Up until this point, she was giving odd jobs, high school teams and one time, there was a little league game. As a sports news reporter, Diamond knew that there were not a lot of women and undoubtedly very little women of color in the industry. Her brown, mocha skin, petite stature and innocent look were also something that either worked for her or against her, depending on her audience.

  Three months on the job and she still had yet to get anything substantial. This needed to be addressed and Diamond planned to do that as soon as her manager came into work. After she had typed up her notes from the high school football game, she looked at the highlights from last night’s game. Eagles vs. Redskins. Her team won because the Eagles have not been on a winning streak in over five years, but the Redskins weren’t necessarily the better team. Shane Sinclair had two touchdowns, which was rare and he had 80 yards. He was a good and solid player, definitely on the rise to being in the hall of fame, but his arrogance was just over the top.

  He was known to dislike reporters and during any post game conferences, he would either flat out play jokes on the journalists, sing songs or refused to talk. He had to show because it was in his contract, but no on
ce since Diamond had been following him, had he ever talk to a reporter. They had a game in two days so she would ask/persuade LeAnne to let her cover it with someone else.

  As Diamond looked at the clock, awaiting her manager’s arrival, her mother texted her that she was going to come to town in two months, so she needed to plan something to entertain her. Diamond looked at the schedule and saw that the Redskins would be playing against the Broncos, and that was why her mom was coming. She was born and raised in Oakland, California, but the woman was a Denver Bronco’s fanatic. Deidra Reeves, Diamond’s mother, had been a sports fan all her life. That’s where she received it from. For fun, they would go to see football, baseball and basketball games. Her mother was a lover of all sports, but those three were her favorite. This was passed on to Diamond, who decided in college that she wanted to be a reporter, then she narrowed it down to sports.

  Thirty minutes later, LeAnne Whitley strode through the door with her standard flat shoes, gray slacks, and a white blouse. She always wore business casual attire, which in Diamond’s mind, made sense. She was another woman in a male-dominated environment, so whatever she did get, she had to work twice as hard. Hence, why most of the time, people just thought she was abrasive. Diamond had not experienced that side of her yet, but she intended to brace herself when it did happen.

  There was no wonder when Diamond walked in with her four-inch pumps, a smart navy suit that showed her curves and a tie and ruffle blouse. Her straightened hair was pinned up in a bun and she had diamond studs in her ears.

  “What can I do you for, Ms. Reeves?” LeAnne briefly looked up, then back to her screen, barely long enough to acknowledge her presence.

  “Good morning, LeAnne. The Redskins play the Dallas Cowboys and I would like to cover this on sight.” Diamond smiled at her screen.

  “Well, I already have two people there. So, no.” She responded as her eyes bore into the screen.