Dax (The Player Book 2)

by Nana Malone

  "Everything you do reflects not only on yourself, but on your family, and on me."

  Gramps had drilled it into him on the rides to and from high school football games. "People will give you attention because of the Coulter name, but it's up to you to hold on to it once you have it. Don't disappoint them, or they'll forget you and move on to the next big thing. You've got talent, but you need to put in the work."

  Dax heard the voices of his teammates as they shuffled into the showers. It seemed that for the time being, Coach Moore's ranting was over. Dax shut the water off and grabbed his towel to dry himself, slipping past his teammates with a series of nods before heading to his locker to finish changing.

  He shoved his cell phone into his pocket as he made his way back out of the locker room to face the mass of press that stood between him and his ride back to the hotel.

  "Coulter! Coulter! How do you feel about dropping that pass?"

  "Do you think scoring that touchdown would have changed the momentum of the game?"

  "Would you care to comment on the rumors that you'll be traded?"

  "If you do get traded, where would you like to go?"

  "What did your family have to say after the game?"

  "Did your grandfather watch? Will he come down to see you play some time?"

  Dax took a deep breath. He knew better than to say anything real. Never show yourself. Ever. It was safer. Game-talk it up. Surface, keep it light. He began throwing brief answers to the reporters, who were forced into near silence in order to hear him.

  "Dropping a catch like that obviously sucks. You always want to do your best for the team. Jacksonville is home. I don't know that it would have changed the whole game. Just gonna work harder in practice, and pick it up again next week. I'm sure my family watched the game back home, but you know, everyone's always busy. You'll have to ask Gramps what he thinks himself. Other people tell me where to go and what to do, and I just do my best to do my job," he said, winding down as he reached the promise of sanctuary at the players' passage to their private parking area. "I love football and the city of Jacksonville. As long as I have fun on the field, I'm gonna keep playing. Have a good night, everyone." He flashed his Colgate smile, and was blinded by flashes from the cameras.

  On the other side of the door, he paused to let his eyes readjust. His phone vibrated in his pocket. Damn. He had a missed call and a text from his old teammate, Damon. Damon was one of the few people on the planet that Dax called a true friend.

  There was a familiar bubble of respect, tinged with slight envy, that arose whenever he thought of Damon. The guy was easily his best friend in the whole world, and Dax missed having his reassuring presence in the locker room and on the field. Damon had been picked up in the second round of the draft by the Patriots. Dax knew that if it had been Damon at the offensive-tackle position during that afternoon's game, he wouldn't have taken his eyes off that ball, and he wouldn't have dropped it.

  Samuels was fine at blocking to protect him, but Dax wasn't as sure of him as he had been of Damon. Having Damon there was what made Dax good enough. He just didn't trust anyone else.

  He did a quick search to see what time the Patriots' game was so he could calculate when would be a good time to try and call Damon back.

  Damon had done more than just guard him on the field. Dax owed him for keeping an eye out for him off the field, too. Dax had been all too willing to enjoy the loud music and boozed up girls in clubs and at parties both on and off campus. The parties they’d managed to find while on the road for away games were some of the wildest imaginable.

  Dax wasn't a total moron. He knew better thaen to get trapped. It had been drilled into his head by his grandfather. Hell, it was practically a family mantra. But somehow, he always found a way to get up to some trouble. At least, he hadn't fucked up too badly with the girls. Drinking too much, yes. Missed practices, yes. Unwanted pregnancies, no. Fuck, no.

  The booze had been more readily available than the girls, and that was where Damon had saved his ass.

  A number of hangovers led to Dax missing practices, which his coaches in turn punished him for by benching him for significant portions of the game. One dangerously close call would have cost him his spot on the team, if it hadn't been for Damon.

  It had been during pre-season practices before the start of their sophomore season on the team. Classes hadn't started yet, so there was nothing to worry about except double practices three days a week, and single practices the other two days—in other words, plenty of time for partying and recovering.

  There were plenty of guys on the team who were over twenty-one, or had found other ways to acquire the wide variety of booze that flowed freely at the multitude of parties that summer—most of which were held off campus.

  The one rule everyone understood and agreed to, was keeping the school's name and the team itself as far from that kind of notoriety as possible. Lots of students lived in the Pittsburgh area during the summer, working summer jobs or internships. So it was never just the players or the cheerleaders in attendance. The campus police could be trusted to look the other way most of the time, as students made their way back from the Strip district in the early-morning hours. But local cops were only too happy to set up checkpoints in their efforts to crack down on both underage drinking and driving under the influence.

  Dax only remembered bits and pieces of that night.

  Dax hadn't overindulged, at least not compared to what he normally packed away at one of those parties. He'd had half a dozen beers and a few mysterious shots that included much harder stuff. The combination had turned his stomach more than usual.

  He'd figured he hadn't had enough to eat that day, or hadn't hydrated enough during practice. Either way, his head began to pound, and after retching in the bathroom to eliminate some of what was churning in his gut, he'd eventually agreed to hitch a ride from some local girl who'd made it clear she wanted to hook up.

  If he was being totally honest, he would say that he hadn't paid any attention to the girl all night. He had no clue how much she'd been drinking.

  Damon had taken one look at the pair of them, and pulled off a cock block of epic proportions. He'd insisted on accompanying Dax to the team house on campus. Neither Dax nor the girl had been too happy about the decision. But Damon was six-foot-four and two hundred and fifty pounds of resistance. It was impossible to tell him no.

  The girl hadn't even driven three miles before Damon had insisted she pull over and let him drive. She'd started carrying on, but in that calm, Damon voice he’d said, "I'm pretty sure you're drunk, and I don't want to wind up in a ditch somewhere."

  She’d been belligerent. “I am not drunk. I just pre-gamed with some vodka and cough syrup before going into the party. I just feel a little woozy is all.”

  Damon had just stared at her. “You're kidding right?”

  “Nope, cold medicine is in the glove compartment.”

  Dax remembered that very clearly, only because he'd been terrified of the way the chick was driving.

  When she’d finally stopped the car, only to start screaming at Damon, his friend had calmly helped her out and called Safe Ride for her, assuring her they’d deliver her car to her place. Then he turned to Dax.

  "Here," Damon had said, handing him a bottle of cold medicine from the glovebox. "Don't drink too much."

  Once Safe Ride came for the girl, Damon had taken over driving. They’d hit the first checkpoint a quarter mile later. By the time the officer came over and they got out of the car, Damon had explained that they had been studying with friends when Dax felt ill. Damon agreed to drive back with him to make sure he got to bed all right. "He's a bit groggy from the medicine," he said, showing the bottle to the officer. "Can't tell if it's just a summer cold or early allergies, but he needs rest before practice tomorrow. We've got a big game coming up in two weeks—first of the season."

  The cop had been skeptical. But with no open containers visible in the car, and Dax
falling asleep on his feet and smelling mostly of sickeningly sweet, artificial cherry, he’d let them go.

  Back in the car and farther up the road, Damon had let out a tense breath. "You're damn lucky that mixed crap you drank had so much grenadine in it, or that wouldn't have worked."

  A car with four other players in it was pulled over that same night, and all four were cited for underage drinking. The coach had to bench them for two games each, and they were given disciplinary warnings.

  One got caught again, and he was kicked off the team two weeks before Thanksgiving. As for the girl, she was underage. Like way underage. Barely eighteen. Dax shuddered to think about what could have happened.

  After that incident, Dax was much more careful about the where, when, and how of his partying and drinking.

  He never took those kinds of risks again.

  Three

  Dax sat up. "What do you mean they've backed out of the deal?"

  His agent Vic took a beat too long to answer.

  "Look, Dax. We knew this might be a problem. It shouldn't surprise you. We still stick to the plan. You with your nose clean, no major scandals, and play your ass off. Plaster that smile on your pretty face, and it'll come."

  Yeah, but Griffin Sports Drinks was supposed to be the easy endorsement. And he actually liked the product. It was a healthier option for kids, so he didn't have to feel bad for peddling shit full of sugar. "But dude, I haven't even done anything. I've stayed my ass at home. I've played my best. What the fuck more do they want?" The dread settled in his gut like a kettle bell. He knew what they wanted. They wanted him to be a Coulter. Like the rest of his siblings. Seemingly perfect in every way. And he was…not.

  Vic sighed. He'd been Dax's unofficial agent since he'd gone to college. Thanks to NCAA rules, Dax couldn't have an agent, or make any money from football, until he went pro. Vic worked for Legacy, so that helped things along. He was more a family adviser. Until Dax had graduated and gone into the draft. "Look, you need to count on me. Let me do my job. We will get you something. You trust me, right?"

  The hell he did. Vic was self-serving, and he wanted that brass ring of a Superbowl champion. And he wanted to line his pockets with Benjamins, and blow the money on three-thousand-a-night hookers. But the guy was a shark, had always been a shark, and his clients reaped the benefits. So Dax trusted him that much. He rubbed at the burning spot in his chest.

  Since the draft, he'd had bouts of that burning, hollow sensation right at center mast. Like something was burning a hole inside. It scared the shit out of him. Because he knew that shit wasn't physical. Physically, he was fine. Better than fine. He was in phenomenal shape. No injuries, nothing. But still, that burning.

  He'd even cooled it somewhat on the partying. And the women, too—which was a travesty, because a guy had needs.

  He loved women, everything about them. The way they smelled and moved and flicked their hair. All women—brunettes, blondes, redheads. God, he fucking loved redheads. But lately, he hadn't been that interested. He just wasn't feeling it.

  The idea of dealing with that fawning turf groupie who wanted nothing more than to suck the gridiron right off his dick had somehow lost its appeal in the last few weeks since training camp.

  Some of his teammates couldn't believe their misfortune. He was legendary for his partying, and they'd hoped to reap the benefits of his name. Sorry, boys. I have other shit I need to do.

  "Fine, Vic. I'll sit tight."

  "Good. I promise you, this will happen. Now, I'm going to inform the family of the next steps in the plan."

  As he hung up with Vic, the burning got worse. That's right, his family. Vic didn't work for him, per se. He worked for Legacy. And his agent was about to run to his grandfather to tell the old man that Dax was such a fuckup that he couldn't hold on to a sure-thing endorsement. Fantastic. Dax's day just went from bad to worse.

  "I didn't ask you to do that, Damon." Asha paced in front of her closet while she tried to find something to wear that said, Hey, I'm approachable, but also professional. So far, all she'd managed to come up with was Ice Queen…cold and stiff,…as usual.

  "Asha, chill out. I'm only doing what's best for you."

  Her brother might not be able to see her, but she narrowed her gaze and let her voice chill several degrees. "You remember the bigger, meaner version of you? The guy you like to call Dad? You're supposed to be on my side."

  "And I am on your side." Her brother mumbled. "I just think it can't hurt to know another person when you're alone in a strange city."

  "But I don't know Dax Coulter. You know Dax Coulter, and from what you've told me, he's not exactly someone I want to hang around with."

  "Oh, come on, he's a good guy. And you're my sister, so he'll look out for you like you're his own. Besides, with Dad knowing Brent and doing business with Legacy, it's good to keep the families tight. C'mon, I worry about you, little sister."

  Asha sighed, trying to remind herself that he was doing this out of love, and nothing else. "Damon, I understand, but Dad's been breathing down my neck. You think I don't know he's the reason I didn't get the Baltimore Ravens job? I should have been a shoo-in. I've worked with the franchise before. And I've worked with the VP of Marketing before. But no, dad had to get involved with his demands, and then the position went to another candidate. The only reason I got this job, was because I didn't tell anyone I was applying."

  Damon sometimes tried to speak for their father. But Asha knew Damon understood exactly what a pill the old man could be, and thankfully, he didn't say much. "Asha, you know it's better to ignore him."

  "Yeah, well, not possible. For years, I've tried to get his attention, to get him to notice me because of me. When he finally decides to take notice, it's to make demands for a personal box. Sure, he played football, and Rory Coulter was his mentor, but his Superbowl rings will only take him so far. Thank God, I got a job with the Thrashers." Yeah, her father wanted no part of her team. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't prestigious enough. Fine by her. She could make a name for herself and maybe have someone notice how good she was all on her own for once, not because she was Damon's sister, or Marcus Wix's daughter. She was Asha. She could stand on her own two feet. And she didn't need her brother making any friends for her. This wasn't like high school or college. She was an adult. She'd manage perfectly fine on her own. She hoped.

  Four

  Safely ensconced at home, Dax checked his voicemail before calling Damon back. Yeah, that was a big mistake.

  "Dax, it's Gramps. You've got to get yourself straightened out—and I'm not talking about that crap you pulled on the field, either," his grandfather's gravelly voice said with force Then his tone dropped lower and he mumbled about the dropped pass that was going to wind up on the sports networks' cycles of bad plays for the next seven to ten days. "Anyway, what I'm really calling about is these rumors out of Jacksonville. My contacts tell me there's truth to some of them, and I know I've already told you to cool your heels when it comes to your extravagant nights out. I know it's your money you're playing with. And if it really were just the money, that'd be one thing, but you're always playing with more than that, and you should have some respect. If not for your father and I, who have done so much to build the Coulter name, then think about your brothers. Fox and Gage don't need to come up with your shadow over them. If you won't do it for yourself or your father, then just think about doing it for them."

  Dax's drink almost spurted from his nose. As if he were actively trying to do any of it to spite the old man. As if he'd ever done anything but try to make him proud. And the very idea of Fox and Gage being embarrassed by his behavior was laughable. Fox and his group of friends looked down on football from their hockey haze. As for Gage, he was in high school. The tales of his brother's exploits on top of his family's wealth and reputation would only further cement his status as one of the popular kids, especially since he’d already proven himself a basketball king.

  He igno
red the rest of his grandfather's message and skipped ahead to the one from Echo. He loved his twin. He really did. There were so many ways in which he felt she was the only one who truly understood him. But they couldn't be more different. It was really amazing that they got along at all, with personalities that were designed to clash. But there was something to be said about those nine months of close quarters.

  "Hey, Dax. Ignore whatever it was Gramps called you to say. It's not entirely your fault you dropped that ball. Your buddy Samuels let that guy who intercepted the ball last week through, so it was only natural for you to make sure you were properly covered. Anyway…looks like you're doing a decent job of keeping the press interested without giving them much to work with, so keep up your vigilance on that front. It sucks, I know, but it's the best way to dodge rumors. If you hear anything, or need someone to talk to, you know who to call."

  Dax couldn't help but smile at Echo's efforts to make him feel better. He checked the last voicemail, expecting it to be from his father.

  It was from Bryce, though, and after a quick compliment on how great Dax had played, despite the loss and the missed catch, Bryce moved on to asking Dax if he would be best man at his wedding in November.

  Dax had already double-checked the Thrashers' schedule, and so long as he was able to keep himself from getting traded, the wedding was the same weekend as the Thrashers' bye week.

  "Please, Dax," Bryce's voice begged from the recording. "And if you do say yes, just remember to keep any plans for the bachelor party tame…ish. Thanks again. We'll talk soon."

  Dax shook his head as he turned back to the television where the Patriots' game was winding down. They'd passed the two-minute warning, and the Pats had the ball and the lead. All they had to do was kneel it twice to run the clock out.