Tackled (Alpha Ballers #1)

by Lucy Snow

  “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 time
s 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?

  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 atte
ndants 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.