by Violet Paige
They are wrong about me. And the thing about me is I love to prove people wrong.
***
It was hot as shit on the practice field. The September sun beat down on everyone. It didn’t discriminate between million dollar players or the trainers who took home fifty thousand a year. It was brutal and unrelenting, reminding all of us what it meant to play football in Texas.
Ownership promised we would have an indoor facility soon with air conditioning, but that didn’t do a damn bit of good when my linemen were cramping up on the field and I could barely see from the sting of sweat rolling in my eyes.
I gripped the ball between my fingers, digging into the leather with my nails while the sideline crew ran out to squirt water in the players’ mouths. I didn’t see what good an ounce of water was going to do in this heat, but I waited anyway.
Our rookie tight end, James, walked up to me. “What did you think of that last play?”
“I think it sucked.” I held my helmet under my arm and squirted water on the back of my neck.
I could see him huffing as hard as the rest of the team and he was twenty-two—the youngest guy out here.
“I’ve been asking for pointers since July,” he started.
I didn’t want to hear his excuses or anyone else’s. If you played for the American Football Association, you better have the balls to back it up. James was a top draft. He was new to the league, the process, and me.
“You want advice? Get out there and catch the fucking ball when I throw it.” I slammed my helmet over my head, clamping it against my forehead. “Is there anything else you need to know?”
He shook his head, running to the line of scrimmage. I didn’t take on projects, and I sure as hell didn’t take rookies under my wing. They had to learn like the rest of us did.
This game wasn’t built on kindness. It wasn’t built on friendship. It was built on that scoreboard. When the clocked down to zero the only thing that mattered was what number was next to the Warriors’ name. Make catches. Block punts. Tackle the runner. That was their job. If they needed me to tell them how to do that they didn’t belong on my team.
The Austin Warriors were one of the league’s original teams. You either hated or loved us. There wasn’t a lot of gray area with AFA fans. There were families in the stadium on Sundays who had handed their seats down for three generations.
We were a legendary team. A team with deep roots. A team with history.
Warrior football was everything to this town. And that made me the fucking general. The commander of this army.
I yelled, scattering the conditioning team. “If you want to get the hell out of this heat, let’s finish this practice.”
I could see I wasn’t the only one. The linemen weren’t tolerating the heat. Droplets of sweat beaded on their noses as they took their positions for the snap. We had two more plays to run. Only two. If I could make it through, I could soak in an ice tub for an hour and put this hellish practice behind me.
I could forget the imprint the sun had burned on my forearms. Forget I practiced for the third day in a row hung over. There was Too much bourbon last night. I could still taste it in my mouth. The way my tongue was thick. But that was part of the Luke Canton package. I did whatever in the hell I wanted at night, but I performed on the field the next day.
I called out the next play, took the snap, and threw the ball long into the end zone. I nodded at James. He caught it square in the chest. It was a perfect spiral.
No one wanted to be out here. It wasn’t glorious or glamorous. It fucking sucked running drills in a hundred degree heat.
Twenty minutes later I was in the practice facility locker room climbing into a tub of ice. The trainer added another bucket of cubes as I slid my feet to the bottom of the floor.
“How’s that, Luke?” he asked.
“Just keep dumping it in until I say quit.”
The ice was melting against the blistering patches of skin I immersed under the surface. It was both painful and a relief. It was the shock I needed to erase the last fragments of my headache.
I started to settle in, trying to adjust my huge frame to the confines of the tub. It was hard to fit all of me in this cramped space. My dark hair was stuck to my head. I scooped a handful of the ice water and dumped it on my scalp, and shook the water from my ears.
“Canton!”
I whipped my head around. “What?”
“Coach wants to see you.”
I glared at the tight end assistant. “Tell him I’m doing a cool down.”
He shook his head. “Doesn’t care. Wants your ass in his office now.”
“Damn it,” I muttered. I considered refusing to leave, but the assistant waited in the doorway. I pulled one icy leg and then the other out of the tub and dripped across the tile. I wrapped a towel around my waist, tucking the corner against my hipbone and pushed through the locker room door.
I knocked on Coach Applewhite’s door and walked inside.
His eyes pinched together. “Luke, you couldn’t put any clothes on?”
I stared down at my body. There was a puddle of water at my feet. “I was in cool down, but was told you couldn’t wait. This is what I had on. I can come back,” I offered.
To his right was Mr. McCade. I straightened my back. I had been too pissed at Coach to notice that the owner of the Warriors was in the office.
It was no secret Coach and I didn’t agree on much. We tried to stay out of each other’s way off the field as much as possible. It usually worked. Until now.
“Since you’re here, why don’t you sit?” Coach nodded toward the couch.
Mr. McCade was easily in his seventies, but none of us knew for sure. What we knew was he was a cheap bastard. He wanted the best team in the league, but wasn’t willing to pay for the facilities or the equipment we asked for. He wanted high dollar players, but negotiations could drag on for weeks. I didn’t have a lot to say to the man. He was my employer, but I wasn’t a fan.
One sweep around Coach’s office and you could see what the McCades thought about funding the management offices. The place looked like it hadn’t been updated since 1985. A row of play manuals lined the bookcase above his desk. There were a few framed family pictures scatted on the top shelf along with a team photo from three years ago. They all needed dusting.
“All right. What can I do for you, Coach? Mr. McCade?”
“I’m going to skip over the inspirational coach’s speech and get to the point.”
“Sounds good to me.” I stared at both of them with eyes just as cold as theirs.
Applewhite sighed. “We’ve got a problem on the team.”
“Yeah, guys are passing out left and right because they’re out of shape, it’s one-hundred twenty degrees out there, and rookies don’t know their routes,” I snarled. “What’s the status on the new indoor practice field?”
“Luke, we’re not here to talk about facility expansion. I’m not talking about the other guys. I’m talking about you.”
I sat there in my towel, waiting to hear what league infraction I had collected this time. Because it wasn’t the first time they had drug me in here with threats about my behavior. I’d gotten the speech fifty times to stop drinking. To stop picking up women. To stop speeding. To stop using my celebrity to get favors. The thing was I didn’t give a shit. I lived my life the way I wanted and as long as I gave them results every Sunday, they could fuck off.
Mr. McCade cleared his throat before reaching into his suit pocket and retrieving a photograph. “Do you know this young lady?” He slid it across the coffee table.
I picked it up. Pretty girl, but I’d never seen her before. “Nope.” I tossed it on the pile of sports magazines covering the flimsy white wood table.
“That’s not what she claims. She accosted me this morning outside of my home. It was a surprise, especially to my wife.”
If McCade wanted me to feel sorry for him, he didn’t know what it was like living with papa
razzi. I couldn’t buy gas without reporters asking for a statement. No sympathy here.
“So?”
“So,” Coach intervened. “She claims you got her pregnant.”
“What the fuck?”
I stared at her picture. I’d remember a pretty face like that. And yes, I was a womanizer, but I wasn’t a fucking idiot. I used protection for accusations like this one. I knew what women wanted when they got in bed with me, and it wasn’t usually a night of hot sex. They wanted money. They wanted fame. They wanted a way to be noticed.
There were advantages. It kept things light. I didn’t get trapped into relationships. I had freedom. The way I saw it, it was perfect. The women came and went and my status never changed. I had what every man wanted. I learned to be careful.
“Luke, you’re a train wreck.” Coach stood from his desk and paced in front of his windows. They faced the practice field. He could watch us sweat from here while he called plays to the assistants on the field. There was one thing this office had—AC.
“Hold on. I don’t even know this girl. You can’t expect me to respond to this. It happens all the time.”
“And that’s the problem.” He spun around. “The drinking. The gambling. The partying. The women. It happens constantly and it has to stop. You’re out of control. It’s all out of control.”
“I didn’t sleep with that girl.” I gritted my teeth. “She’s extorting you for money. You have to see it.”
Mr. McCade plucked the picture and returned it to the silk lining against his chest. “That may be, but she has a compelling case. And all we need is one woman to come forward to the press, and see how many more follow after her. She’s the beginning of your worst nightmare. How many kids do you think you have out there?”
“She’s lying. She has no proof because it didn’t happen. I didn’t sleep with her.” I paused. I hadn’t missed the last question. “And the answer is none. I don’t have any kids. I like women, but I have no interest in becoming a father.”
“See, Luke what you don’t seem to understand is that no one would believe you. There are more pictures of you stumbling home, than there are of you with nice, respectable women. You have a reputation in this town. You have given the Warriors a reputation. And it’s going to stop.”
I felt the anger rising. I refrained from balling my hands into fists. I wasn’t going to knock out the team’s owner or Coach, but I was seeing red. One bullshit lie and they were coming down on me like I had done something wrong. I hadn’t touched that girl.
“What are you implying?” I asked.
Coach was doing most of the talking now. “There are provisions in your contract for moral conduct.” His eyebrows rose. “We can cite you for violating multiple infractions of the Warriors’ code of ethics.”
I shot up from the couch, almost losing my towel in my rage. “The hell you can.”
Mr. McCade folded his hands in his lap. “You’re a valuable quarterback, Luke, but right now you’re more of a liability to this franchise. I don’t want my family legacy soiled by your antics. The McCades have everything at stake. This is our team—not yours. This is your last warning.”
I glared at each of them, my eyes darting with fury. “Where’s Linc? Why didn’t you call him in for the meeting?”
Coach pressed his knuckes into the desk. “Your so-called manager? Your brother?”
I nodded. We all knew who Linc was. Applewhite was just being a dick. Linc took care of the business aspects of my life. He should be here getting me out of this damn meeting.
“He has about as much control over you as a wild bronco. He wasn’t invited. This is between you and your contract.”
I was tempted to end the meeting right now. Refuse to talk without my manager present, but it was better to get this over with. I wanted to know where this was headed.
“Spell it out. What do you want from me?”
“Clean up your act. Stop coming to practice reeking from the night before. No more gambling. Hire a damn driver. Choose your friends wisely.” Applewhite rocked on his heels. “And no more women. None.”
I chuckled. “You’re fucking with me now, right?”
“Your contract is in jeopardy. Your position on this team is in jeopardy. The last thing I’m doing is fucking with you.”
Coach reached into the top drawer of his desk and placed a manila envelope on top of his clipboard. I saw my name written on the tab.
“Go ahead,” he urged. “Open it.”
I thumbed the flap, flipping it with hesitation. I stared at the contents scattered in front of me. I picked up the top newspaper clipping. “What is this?” I questioned.
“Your file,” he muttered, turning his back to me. “It’s every article. Every picture. Every time you were pulled over for speeding and there was a write-up. It’s every headline about noise disturbances from the parties you throw.”
I spread the articles and notes around, digging through the stack Coach or some bored son of a bitch in human resources had collected on me. My life in Austin was compiled into this damn folder. But I couldn’t find anything on my quarterback rating or the numbers I put up every Sunday. There was nothing on my pre-season stats. No, this was a file on the dirty life I lived in the public eye. Austin’s star didn’t hide. He lived fully. That’s what the folder showed me.
“So this is what it’s come down to? No one here has my back? You don’t care how many points I put on that board out there? What you care about is a fucking stack of newspaper clippings? Unbelievable.” I shook my head.
“We do have your back, Luke. That’s why we’re having this meeting.” Coach turned to his desk and handed me an invitation. “This is for you.”
It took everything I had not to crumple it in my hand. I lifted the wax seal and pulled the linen paper from the envelope.
“What is this?” I could tell from the swirly handwriting it was already something I was going to hate.
“There’s a charity event tonight for the children’s wing at the hospital. Lexi Wilde is going to perform. Go. Make the highest donation. Don’t drink the champagne. Leave alone, before the event it over. Don’t even speak to a single woman there.”
I chuckled. “You expect me to be a monk and you’re taking over my PR now? Isn’t that below your pay grade, Coach?”
“No, I have someone doing that. You have a meeting with him in the morning at eight. His specialty is cleaning up cases like yours. His name is Roger Maine and he’ll want a full debrief of your first event. It’s black tie, so go home and get some rest before you show up. We need pictures of you being a member of this community in a positive way.”
“This town worships me,” I growled. I didn’t need some prick named Roger to tell me what to do.
“No, they worship the Warriors. Don’t mistake the two.” His nose was almost touching mine.
“And the girl from this morning?” I asked, turning to face Mr. McCade.
“I will pay her to keep her silence, but it’s the last time. If I hear of another one, you’re off the team. I’d rather pay to get rid of you than keep paying off your whores.”
I wasn’t the kind of man to beg, and I was done with this meeting. I’d never met the girl, and I sure as hell didn’t get her pregnant.
“Anything else?” My hand was on the doorknob. There was enough strength in my right arm to rip it off the door. I was angry enough to do it.
“I think we’re pretty clear here. You agree?” Coach asked, smacking gum between each word.
I nodded. “Oh, I got the message. It’s clear.”
I slammed the door behind me, storming to the locker room. By the time I walked in, the place was cleared out. The trainers were gone. The players packed up. And my ice tub was drained.
I shoved the gilded invitation into my Warriors’ bag and got dressed. I couldn’t get out of this shit hole fast enough.
I slide behind the wheel of my truck and pressed the screen on the dash, scrolling for Linc’s number.
I backed out of my spot as the ringing echoed in my truck.
“Hey, brother. How was practice? It’s hotter than hell today.”
“Tell me you didn’t know anything about the McCade meeting.”
There was silence. “Linc!”
“Stop yelling. No, I don’t know anything about an ownership meeting. What happened?”
“Applewhite hired some kind of damage control PR expert I’m supposed to work with. Our first meeting is tomorrow at eight. I want you there.”
“You got it,” Linc responded quickly.
“Why do you sound calm about this? It’s bullshit.” I was livid. It felt like everyone was out to hang me.
“Calm the fuck down, Luke. I’m sure they’re blowing smoke. It’s a PR guy, not the league president. I’ll be at the meeting. I’ll talk to him. You have nothing to worry about.”
I stopped at a red light. “They’re threatening to cut me out of my contract.”
That got his attention. “What? Mother fuckers,” he muttered, but it came through clearly on my speakers.
“Exactly.”
“All right. You hang tight. I’ll get someone from the union on the phone. We’ll talk to legal. They can’t threaten you.”
Linc knew if I lost my spot with the Warriors he’d most likely be out of a job. Running my business interests was his only position, and I paid him over a million dollars a year to keep shit like this from happening.
I slowed the truck as I approached the gate to my driveway. I lived on the outskirts of Austin with a hundred acres surrounding me.
“Don’t call the union yet,” I instructed. “Let’s see how tomorrow plays out first.”
My older brother didn’t seem at ease. “They can’t threaten your contract. There are by-laws for this kind of thing. What are they saying you did?”
I pulled into the garage, and put the truck in park. “I didn’t do anything.”
“It’s going to come out. What are they saying?”
“They think I got some girl pregnant, but I didn’t. I’ve never seen her before.”
Linc was silent again. He was thinking. “All right. I’ll take care of this after we have the meeting. They can’t fire you for something you didn’t do.”