by Lucy Snow
The game was here in Foxboro, so there was no need to travel, which was nice. I didn’t see Drake in more than glimpses - game days were always a flurry of activity for the players - they had to get in the right headspace to play, and teams went to great lengths to make sure they were insulated from the rest of the world.
So the media was definitely not allowed to get near the players on the day of the game. We would have our time in the locker room afterward, and that would have to be enough. All I could do was text Drake my well wishes and that I was rooting for him. His reply was short, thanking me and saying he was busy.
It felt weird texting him like that - so far we had confined ourselves entirely to procedural and logistical stuff - it felt way more intimate to be texting support. Had we entered a new phase of whatever this was?
I mean, I liked the sound of that…but why did I get the feeling I was just setting myself up for frustration and eventual total heart break? I felt like despite how close we had become over these last couple weeks, we weren’t actually talking to each other, just around each other.
And then, of course, complicating things like it always had a way of doing, was the sex. Oh wow, the sex. It was otherworldly good, the kind of sex that could make your toes curl in your shoes and your heart race even hours later, when you were standing in the media line to get into a preseason football game.
Which…is exactly what happened to me. I was standing in line, milling about with the other journalists, exchanging small talk about various on the bubble players, when the memory of Drake sinking his thick hard cock into me came rushing back, and I definitely looked around for the nearest bathroom where I could be alone for a few minutes to take care of myself, but in the end I managed to rally and keep my wits about me for at least a little while longer.
All I knew was, if this game went well for Drake, I would be summoning him to my room afterward, and this time I might tie him to the bed just to keep him there all night. Coaches and other players be damned, if he sealed the deal today…we would celebrate.
The tough question that was racing through my mind when Drake’s touch wasn’t taking over was, could Drake really do it? Could he overcome all the odds stacked against him and actually make the team?
He had to play well, that was the case. But really, more than that, he had to demonstrate to the coaches that he and Lance Parker could work together effectively, could create that kind of connection that Lance and Mike Sampson seemed to share. It wasn’t like the two were long lost brothers or had played together since they were kids, so it was at least plausible that Drake could come in and show the same kind of electric route funning and steady hands.
Ugh, thinking about Drake’s hands were both all I wanted to do and what I needed to do professionally, but we definitely had two different purposes going at once.
Finally, the doors opened and the media were allowed to get into their spots. The Globe had asked for and received special permission for this game - we were out on the field just to one side of the home team benches. It was a really rare thing, and during the season this was only for members of TV networks, but the Globe was here for the 3rd preseason game.
Which meant I was just off the field, watching everything. It was…amazing, a dream come true. I snapped as many pictures as I could, sending them all to my father. He replied after each one, shocked at how clear and beautiful everything was. I was in awe at the sheer spectacle of it all. I had attended so many high school college, and even one pro game a year since I was a kid with my father, but I had never been so close to the field as I was right now.
It was spellbinding. As the stadium started to fill up with expectant fans, I could feel an electricity in the air. Sure, this was a preseason game, it didn’t count for the standings, but people came all the same, and brought their families too, just to see their favorite team and recklessly speculate about which players would make the team and which would be out on the street.
Of course, then everyone would repeat that reckless speculation about how their team would do this season. Tonight would lead to a lot of hasty bets made, both in Las Vegas and with shady bookies around the world.
It was the cycle of sports. One of the many cycles of sports.
I was just starting to settle in, and finally put away my phone, after promising my father by text that I would take more photos when play actually began, but for right now I had to get ready to go and do, you know, my job and all, when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
Oh shit. Right.
Of course, the sideline was primarily for TV reporters, with their cameras and their on-field and on-sidelines interviews. Which, of course, meant ESPN would be here.
Which meant Annie Ross would be here.
“Lily Pearson!” Annie’s shrill voice rang out from behind me, and I stopped reaching into my bag to pull out my notebook. “You made it!”
My knuckles whitened as I gripped them together tight, willing myself to relax and put a smile on my face before I turned to face Annie Ross, an assistant dabbing makeup on her face, no doubt getting her camera-ready for one of her many on-air hits before, during, and after the game.
The Globe didn’t really do live coverage of events beyond the occasional live blogging, so I had no need to be all made up that way. Still, it might be nice once in a while to have someone else doing your makeup for a change.
Ugh. Don’t be jealous, Lily, don’t be jealous. Annie Ross is not worth it. TV is not better than print. Readers still count, damnit!
“Annie. Hi.” I made a big show of frowning. “Oh, we can talk some other time if you’re busy.” Or never, that would work too.
She laughed. “Oh this?” she said, waving the assistant away. “This is just part of the job, you know how it is.”
“I really don’t,” I said, as sarcastically as I could muster. I started to turn away, but Annie stepped toward me.
“How’s Drake?”
That was a loaded question, but I could answer the regular part on the surface just fine. “He knows this is a big game, he’s gotta put it all out there if he wants to make a good case for why he should be on the roster in a couple weeks.”
Annie nodded. “I’ve been reading all your work on him, it’s been very good.”
Her compliments just rang so hollow to me and I couldn’t take it anymore. I stepped closer to her and spoke, my voice low. “Cut the crap, Annie, I know what you did.”
“Why, Lily Pearson, what do you mean? What did I do?”
“The lie you spread about me and Bill Thompson.”
“That wasn’t me, honey! Why would I do that?”
“You tell me, Annie, you’ve had it out for me for years now, and I’ve never been able to figure out why!”
Annie’s smile was beatific, like she was a super villain gleefully explaining her evil plan to James Bond as he was about to be killed by one of the villain’s dastardly henchmen or wily and deadly contraptions. Like sharks with laser beams. “Of course you know why I’ve had it out for you, you little bitch. You know why I started that rumor about you!”
“What? Tell me! I’m asking you, Annie, why?”
“Because, you’ve always been better than me!” Annie roared, making the people around us look up for the first time. “I should never have been outshined by someone like you! Not me! I’m Annie Ross, and I’m better than that! I’m on ESPN!”
I stood up straight and took out my notebook from my bag, making a big show of writing something down. “Glad I had this on me, Annie,” I smiled as I turned the notebook around and showed it to her. It read ‘Annie Ross worked for ESPN.’
“Nice try, but you got the tense wrong. Didn’t they teach you any grammar at Cal?”
“Oh they did. And they also taught me a lot about public speaking.”
Annie’s face clouded as she tried to figure out what I meant. “I don’t understand.”
I pointed to Annie’s lapel. “Your mic was on, Annie. ESPN’s g
ot a really high quality recording of you admitting to starting a slanderous rumor about me. They probably won’t be too thrilled with it.”
I had the foresight to pull out my phone right then as Annie’s face went whiter than I would have thought possible. “And I have a recording just in case.” I tapped a couple times on the screen and took a picture of her.
“Smile!”
And then it was time for the game to start.
CHAPTER 24 - DRAKE
The locker room before a football game alternates between quiet and loud. These days most guys have their headphones on so they can listen to whatever music they like to in order to get in the groove, find their happy place, the place where they can most effectively go out and pound other guys into the ground, dominate them, and make them rue the day they ever picked up a football and strapped on some pads.
Every so often, though, It was time for a pep talk, and football pep talks can be awe-inspiring and life-affirming, but not so much with the New England Patriots. They aren’t much for showing off like that. Their take is that if you put right amount of work and effort into meetings, studying the playbook, working out in the gym, and then again on the practice field, the actual game itself is just an extension of that. Just a way of putting it all together, integrating everything you’ve been building up to for the week.
It’s kinda refreshing to have so few big huge cheerleading efforts by different guys or coaches. It really was just everyone in their own headspace, sometimes looking at each other and nodding slightly, giving each other a fist pound or two as you passed by a guy’s locker.
Very few words were spoken. They weren’t needed. Everyone was there to do their part to help the team get to where it needed to be. That win. That W on the win column. Of course, this was a preseason game. No championships would be won or lost today, or even gotten closer to or farther away from.
But it was a critical game for the team, and for a whole lot of guys in that room. Each of these lockers in here had a strip on it that said someone’s name. It was very, very easy for someone to slip in and slide that strip out of the locker, so it once again belonged to no one, ready for the next guy to claim it, either for good or temporarily.
I sat in front of one of those lockers, looking up at the strip with “ROLLINS, WR 81” on it. No one had ever asked why I chose number 81, and I would never tell anyone the real answer was because I liked square numbers, and I liked the number 9, so 9x9 = 9^2 = 81 was a natural choice I’d never had reason to change.
This was my locker. It might be my locker for less than a week longer, or it might be mine for two weeks longer, or it might be mine till January, or even beyond that. It was my job to make sure that this stayed my locker. If I could do that, I was all set.
I had my headphones on, drowning out all the sounds around me. Most guys listened to something upbeat, something loud, something with a strong beat. Me, before games, I had always listened to instrumental rock. Just a couple guitars, a bass, and a drummer, the kind of music that you could space out to, the kind of music where the band stood on stage and rocked back and forth, their eyes closed, while the audience swayed back and forth too.
That was the kind of the stuff that got me ready for a game. It kinda turned the volume down on everything else, like it set a new level for me, something I could build off of once I got out on the field.
I went through my preparations, trying to keep Lily out of my head, but that was far easier said than done. Just the feeling of having her in my arms again, touching her, kissing her, was enough to snap me out of my routines.
It wasn’t just all physical, though. Lily challenged me. She forced me to confront things about myself that I didn’t like, and because of her I was a much better man.
She was the best. I was lucky to have her in my life.
I laced up my shoes, getting them just the way I liked them, testing out how much give they had. I liked a tight lacing job, I never wanted to slide around in my shoes. At various times I had even played with shoes just a tiny bit too small, just to make sure when I planted my foot, I knew exactly how it would feel and where it would go.
Then someone tapped me on the head, the generally accepted way of getting someone’s attention in the locker room when they couldn’t hear you and weren’t looking. I paused my music before looking up, only to see Coach Armstrong standing in front of me, his hands on his hips.
I took my headphones off, leaving them around my neck. We hadn’t spoken in 2 weeks, not since the start of training camp. Oh he had yelled at me a couple times on the field, and once I even got a “good job, Rollins,” out of him, super soft but I still heard it, and it had been the highlight of my football career to that day, no joke.
“Yeah, Coach? Anything I can do for you?”
Coach Armstrong’s face was stony, and his voice betrayed not even a single hint of emotion. The man was known around the league for being a football robot, and over the last couple weeks I had learned that reputation was well earned.
“Yeah, son. There’s something you can do for me.”
I stood up. “Sure, Coach, anything, what is it?”
Coach Armstrong gripped my pads and pulled me in close. “This is your final chance, Rollins. I need you to give me a reason to keep you on this time after tonight. Do you understand me?”
Oh shit, this really was the most important game of my life. “Y-Yeah, Coach, I got you. I’ll make you proud.”
“I don’t care about pride, son. I care about winning football games. You show me you can help me win football games, I’ll keep you here as long as you like. But if you can’t, or if someone can do it better, I got no use for you. We clear?”
“Crystal clear, Coach. I’ll make it happen.”
“That’s all, then.” Without another word, Coach Armstrong moved along, walking up and down the rows of lockers, stopping in places to talk to certain players, but leaving most to their individual preparations.
Oh shit, I was really in the soup now. This was do or die time. I couldn’t go back to my previous life, but I couldn’t go any further as a professional football player unless I had a monster game tonight.
No pressure.
I sat back down in my locker, looking back at the floor, concentrating and trying to find the focus, the place I went before games to get in the zone.
Another tap on the helmet. I looked up. Lance Parker.
“Hey, man.”
“Hey, Lance. What’s up.”
Lance smiled. “Not much, man, just getting ready for it. I just wanted to say that you’ve looked really good this last week, so don’t think I haven’t noticed.”
“That’s really good of you to say, thanks, Lance.”
“No worries.” We gave each other daps, and Lance continued. “This is a big game for you, Rollins, and I want you on my side when he season starts.”
Oh. SHIT. This was fucking huge.
“But I need to know that you and I can connect, yeah?”
“Yeah, man, whatever you need.”
“That’s my man. I’m gonna be looking for you out there, you haul it in and we’re all good, yeah? We can ride this all the way to a championship. You with me?”
“Yeah, Lance, I’m with you, 100%.”
“Alright, cool. I’ll let you go, see you out there.”
We dapped up again, and Lance was gone.
Shit, I had a chance, a really good chance. The first thing I did? Pulled out my phone and texted Lily what Lance had said, off the record. No reply.
I sat back down and ignored the rest of the world, this time much happier.
And then, before I knew it, it was time for the game to start, and I had my helmet on and I was in the tunnel with the rest of the guys, giving one last fist bump or helmet tap. In the tunnel all the petty conflicts between the guys on the team fell away.
Now we had a common goal, something all of us were working toward.
And then we were out on the field, with the tens of tho
usands of fans cheering. This game was against the Philadelphia Eagles, and some of the Eagles fans had traveled all the way to Foxboro for the game, but this was definitely a strong home crowd, with blue, red, silver, and white banners and colors all over the place.
It felt really good, seeing all these fans here to watch us play. I flapped my arms up and down, trying to get a rise out of the crowd, and I heard ripples of clapping and cheering come out.
I loved being out under the bright lights of a football stadium. For my entire life, since I had started playing, this was the best feeling in the world. Knowing that all these people were here to see my team, see us play, see us win, and watch me catch touchdowns - it was the biggest high, better than any drug.
And now it was about to start again. Possibly for the last time. I really hadn’t even had that thought until just that moment, and when it washed over me, I was momentarily stunned.
This could be my last football game under lights like this. Everything after this, any time I touched a football, could be just playing catch in the backyard or the park with friends. I might never have pads on like this, might never again go to war like this with my teammates beside me, for real.
Wow. That was much heavier than I thought.
No pressure, Drake.
Then we were all on the sidelines, getting ready, doing some final stretches. The team captains went out as the game started, and we got the ball first.
Normally the Patriots always defer the coin toss if they win, and get the ball to start the second half, but I was really happy that Coach Armstrong decided to play things a little different this time.
The game didn’t matter, but the point was to test out the new players, the guys on the bubble, and come up with the best 53 men for the full season roster.
Now was my time to shine.
CHAPTER 25 - LILY
I pulled out my phone just as the game started and saw Drake’s message from before the game, how giddy he was about Lance reaching out to him.
