Down By Contact (Wilmington Breakers Book 1)

by Johnson, Sloan

  Down by Contact

  Wilmington Breakers #1

  Sloan Johnson

  Contents

  1. (Zach)

  2. (Griffin)

  3. (Griffin)

  4. (Zach)

  5. (Griffin)

  6. (Zach)

  7. (Griffin)

  8. (Zach)

  9. (Griffin)

  10. (Zach)

  11. (Griffin)

  12. (Zach)

  13. (Griffin)

  14. (Zach)

  15. (Zach)

  16. (Griffin)

  17. (Zach)

  18. (Griffin)

  19. (Zach)

  20. (Griffin)

  21. (Zach)

  22. (Zach)

  23. (Griffin)

  24. (Zach)

  25. (Griffin)

  Epilogue

  Coming Soon

  Author’s Note

  About the Author

  Also by Sloan Johnson

  Acknowledgments

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Down by Contact © 2017 Sloan Johnson

  Cover Art: Cover Me, Darling

  Cover Photography: Ryan Harmon by Eric Battershell Photography

  All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Sloan Johnson, authorsloanj@gmail.com http://authorsloanj.com

  This book is dedicated to everyone who’s struggled to live authentically without sacrificing their dreams

  One

  (Zach)

  As I struggled through my workout, I felt every hot dog, soft pretzel, and cup of overpriced beer I’d indulged in over the past few months. There were only two and a half weeks left until the start of training camp, and if I didn’t get my ass in gear now, the coaching staff was going to kill me. Possibly for real. They’d work me until I fell over, certain my heart would explode inside my chest. But it’d been my choice to take some much-needed downtime in the off-season, so I’d find a way to get through it. Maybe.

  My finger hovered over the button on the treadmill, knowing I needed to pick up the pace and intensity before Nixon Cross walked in. He was one of the best strength and training coordinators in the league because he never accepted mediocrity from his players, even when they showed up voluntarily for extra workouts. And in his eyes, I had a lot to prove this year. I needed to show the coaches, the media, and the fans that my rookie year wasn’t a fluke. Sometimes, I felt like all eyes were on me, just waiting to see if I’d flop in my second year with the Wilmington Breakers. The moment I stepped off the plane in Raleigh, I’d committed myself to proving I’d earned the right to be one of the elite, a professional athlete. I wasn’t going to let anything tear my focus away from that goal.

  “Zach, Coach wants to see you,” Nixon called out from his small office at the corner of the training room, at the exact moment I’d cranked up the speed to begin my intervals. Fucking hated intervals when I was in peak condition, but now, I really despised them. The sound of his voice echoing off the concrete walls startled me, causing me to stumble and damn near fall flat on my face.

  “Now?” I asked, running a towel over my face.

  “Well, you’re sure as shit not getting an engraved invitation, so yeah, I’m betting he meant he wanted to see you as soon as you get your lazy ass up the hill.” I bit back a sarcastic retort, knowing it’d just make Nixon punish me later. Last year, some of the veteran players called him the Grim Reaper, because he was a messenger of career death. When he tapped you on the shoulder and told you to go see Coach, it was never for a pep talk about what a great job you were doing. I could only guess what was said in those meetings since I’d avoided cuts last year, but I assumed it was along the lines of, “Hey, you did your best, but that wasn’t enough. No hard feelings, right?” Which was stupid, because there were always hard feelings. Nixon noticed my hesitation. “Move your ass, Kendricks! Unless you’re trying to start this year off on a bad foot, in which case, keep on doing what you’re doing. It’s bad enough you weighed in heavier than you did last year and you’re lifting lighter. That means you think this is a seasonal job. It’s not. If you’re not dedicated to the team, I’m sure there are plenty of cocky punks out there just dying to knock you off the roster.”

  Shit, he’d noticed how out of shape I was. So much for my plan to turn things around before our mandatory report date. Should’ve listened to Dad when he told me I needed to stay focused. Regretting my little rebellion wasn’t something I’d ever admit to him, though. He was already pissed off at me for putting my career on the line and for asserting my independence by buying a house over the summer. “On it, Nix.”

  I’d been walking the Patterson College campus all my life. This was home, which was part of why I bawled like a baby when I found out Wilmington was drafting me in the first round. While the rest of my family jumped around, screaming their excitement, my knees buckled and I dropped to the floor. As a kid, I’d hidden in the cove of trees, watching players make the hike from the training facilities up to one of the administration buildings. Back then, I’d thought the guys were focused on their feet because they didn’t want kids like me pestering them for autographs. Now, I knew it was because they were on their death march. No matter how many times I reminded myself Coach wouldn’t cut me before training camp even started, my heart still raced with nervous anticipation.

  Standing outside his office door, I gave myself a pep talk. Told myself I was stupid to think signing papers on the house last week was presumptuous. I was a damn good player and Coach knew that. When that didn’t work, I closed my eyes and tried to take a few cleansing breaths. Fuck, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so nervous I wanted to puke.

  “Is there a reason you’re standing out there instead of sitting your ass in this chair?” Coach called out, causing me to jump for a second time in fifteen minutes. It was like they all had some sort to ninja stalking skills and got off on scaring the shit out of unsuspecting players. I pushed the door open, forcing my shoulders back and keeping my chin up as I walked across the small office. “It’s good to see you. While your numbers from the last minicamp weren’t great, knowing you’re in here on your own time shows you’re dedicated to getting back to where you need to be.”

  “Thanks,” I responded, letting out the breath I’d been holding. Maybe I was right. Maybe I hadn’t been called up to be given my walking papers. “I know I’m sluggish, but give me another week and I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Coach shuffled some papers around on his desk, never looking up at me. “And don’t be too hard on yourself. I’ve seen a lot of players walk through my doors over the past twenty years. What you’re going through is normal. You were overly confident in your ability to rebound from the off-season. You’re used to college ball, where you still worked out, but your focus shifted to your studies after the season ended. This is your job now, and it doesn’t start in July and end in Janua
ry or February. That’s not to say you have to live and breathe football every minute of every day, but you do need to make time to stay in shape. That is your job during the off-season.”

  “I understand, sir,” I said. No way in hell was I going to slack again next spring, thinking it’d be easy to get back into shape. One of the features I loved the most about my new place was the in-home gym. By the end of the week, it’d be fully outfitted with everything I needed to keep up my strength. And I couldn’t wait until I loaded up the truck to move to the coast, because there was nothing better than running on the beach early in the morning. Not only did I feel more focused and centered when I got that run in, but if I ran high enough on the beach that the tide hadn’t packed the sand, it was one hell of a resistance and agility workout. “I definitely learned my lesson and I won’t disappoint you this year.”

  “That’s what I wanted to hear,” Coach praised me. He glanced up from the paperwork in front of him, his mouth opening and closing a few times as though he was trying to find the words for what he wanted to say. When he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest, my anxiety pitched up a few notches. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Outside the Pocket.”

  “Yeah, I used to watch it every season. It might sound stupid, but when I was in high school, I watched for ideas on how I could push myself harder than our coaches did in practice.” Much to Dad’s chagrin, football became my life the first time I put on pads and a helmet. I felt like a soldier readying for battle with every piece of protective gear I strapped on. I loved everything about the game and dreamed of someday having the opportunities I’d been afforded over the past year. Outside the Pocket was the best way for a kid to get a glimpse of what life in the NAFL was really like.

  “That was pretty smart, although I’d have thought you were one of the kids sneaking into training camp to get a closer look at your idols.”

  “Yeah, I did that, too,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks flush in embarrassment. Part of the reason I was so big on spending time with the fans every day during training camp was I knew what it was like to sit on the other side of the fence, praying that someone, anyone, would notice us and come over to say hi. “But watching on TV let me pause and rewind to see what they were doing.”

  “Good, because this year, the league has arranged a deal for the network to follow the Breakers around during training camp,” Coach informed me. That was cool for all of about three seconds, until I realized why he was calling me into his office. My stomach flipped before he even said his next words. So much for staying focused. “Everyone knows you’re talented on the field, but your personal life so far has been shrouded in secrecy. The fans want to know who Zach Kendricks is beneath the uniform.”

  “I’m honored, Coach, but I’m not sure I’d be comfortable having cameras on me every minute of the day,” I admitted. “I want to show the coaching staff that I have what it takes to be here, and that means eliminating any sort of distractions. The Breakers are paying me a crazy salary and I need to put my energy into earning that paycheck.”

  “It won’t be as bad as you think,” Coach assured me. “We’ve been meeting with the production team and made it clear that as soon as we see any of the players suffering on the field because of the attention, we’ll halt production. I’m not exactly happy about the league’s decision because this is a pivotal year for us, but we drew the short straw. Now, it’s up to all of us to make the best of a bad situation. Can I count on you to be a team player?”

  If I was going to go through with what I’d wanted to talk to Coach about all summer, this was the time. After seeing what my brother’s boyfriend had gone through as a closeted athlete, I wasn’t going to live my life that way. I didn’t want to look back years from now, wondering if I’d buried myself so far in the back of the closet that no one would want to get near the stench of my emotional mothballs. I didn’t want to hate the sport that was my life, because I felt robbed of having someone by my side when I eventually retired. Plain and simple, I didn’t want to be PJ. If my life was going to be under a microscope, I needed to be honest with Coach. He needed to know what he was getting into by asking me to take part in this show.

  “Well?” he prodded when I remained silent. I shifted in my seat, suddenly feeling like a student sitting across from the principal. “I can see there’s something on your mind. Care to share and we can work through your reservations together?”

  Taking a deep breath, I pondered what I could say to make this sound okay. Then, I realized there shouldn’t be a good or bad way, so in my typical style, I just blurted it out. “I’m gay.”

  “I’m glad you finally told me,” Coach responded. There was no disdain in his voice, and when I looked up, he offered me a kind smile.

  “You knew?” I thought I’d done a damn good job keeping this to myself, but obviously not.

  “I had my suspicions,” Coach admitted. “And when your brother’s face started making the front page, it made sense you’d be gay, too. After all, you’re identical in most ways that count.”

  “So, you mean you’re not pissed off that I didn’t tell you sooner?” I’d run through every possible scenario for this moment, and it was safe to say Coach’s reaction was one I never expected or dreamed of. It almost annoyed me that he wasn’t pissed off to hear there was a queer in the locker room. That was what I’d steeled myself for when I realized I couldn’t keep hiding who I really was. Having his support made me feel like a fool for waiting this long. I could’ve been honest sooner and I’d have had the support of my team.

  Coach shook his head, sighing loudly as he leaned forward. “I’m not angry, Zach. A bit disappointed, yes, but I understand why you wouldn’t make it an issue. And I figured you’d do what you felt was right, when you felt the time was right. I’m sorry if I’m forcing your hand sooner than you’d like.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I’d been trying to figure out how to tell you, so maybe it’s a good thing this is all going on. Can’t really chicken out if I’m going to have cameras with me all the time.”

  “You saying you’re going to turn into a playboy this year?” Coach teased.

  “No, sir,” I assured him. “I’d been hoping to tell you and then go on with my life. I want to prove I deserve to be here. I want to make you see that you didn’t make a mistake drafting me.”

  “I’ve never thought that, not once. I’ve been around long enough to know that it takes time for a player to reach their full potential. I don’t like wasting money, even when it’s the team’s money, so if I didn’t think you’d be a good long-term investment, I wouldn’t have drafted you,” he reassured me. Every muscle in my body relaxed a bit. “So, I’ll ask you one more time, are you going to be a team player when it comes to the show?”

  “Of course,” I responded without hesitation. This was a complication, but nothing I couldn’t overcome. I’d likely have blue balls by the end of training camp because there was no way in hell I’d be able to sneak away for a quick hand job from one of the few friends I trusted, but I’d get through somehow. Plenty of guys did it. Hell, my brother’s boyfriend had spent years locked away in the closet so he could keep playing baseball; maybe he’d have some suggestions for me. “Just tell me when and where I need to be.”

  Coach grimaced, knowing I wasn’t going to like his response. For as tough as he was, he really did care about his players. Some of our opponents criticized him for giving us too much time off, saying he was going soft in his old age. The truth was, he’d been around long enough to know players worked that much harder when the coaching staff showed they appreciated the work we were putting in. “They’re finalizing the details as we speak. Monday, there will be a meeting between production, our staff, and the players who will be showcased. There are a total of six of you this year. When we get through all the specifics, you’ll head off for the rest of your break and it’ll be showtime. Someone from the network will be calling you later today to get your schedul
e so they can make arrangements for the crew member assigned to your story. They’ve assured us their employees will stay out of your way as much as possible.”

  Fuck. Moving was already going to be a pain in the ass since Nate was down in Florida and Dad refused to help, saying he wasn’t going to enable me doing something I was bound to regret in the near future. As much as I loved the old man, I wanted to strangle him sometimes, too. He was a micromanager of epic proportions, certain we’d fail if we weren’t kept on a short leash. Now, I had to look forward to doing it with a camera on my ass the whole time? That was just perfect. The entire world would get to see me lugging boxes into my new house without anyone to help me.

  I wasn’t going to ask any of my local friends, because the only people I kept in touch with were my hookups, and let’s just say there was one common thread between them: they were all slightly effeminate, wickedly creative, and for whatever reason, willing to put up with my insistence that we only do anything in private. Even though I was navigating my way to living life as an openly gay man, I wasn’t sure I wanted the first time the world saw me for who I was to be with a string of fuck buddies.

  “I don’t suppose I can say that’s epically bad timing for me, can I?” I asked, hoping maybe I’d be able to hold off the cameras at least a few days. Let me get my personal shit into the house and then it’d just look like I was waiting on furniture and other big stuff to be delivered. That was far more normal than watching a twenty-four-year-old pack everything he owned to move out of Mom and Dad’s for the first time. Last year, I’d rented a furnished apartment because I wasn’t sure I’d make it a full season in the same city. But now that I had a contract, I felt secure enough to buck Dad’s arguments and follow the advice I’d given Nate. It was time for both of us to live our own lives, without worrying about what anyone else would think. So far, it was working pretty well for him. It was still strange to not be able to yell for Nate from my bed, knowing he was right across the hall, but he was happy. Stressed, but happy. “You see, I just closed on a place down by the beach, and I’m supposed to be moving everything down next week. That’s why I’m working so hard in the gym now, because I know there won’t be time once I’m doing shit around the house.”