***
Just like the tunnel, the field is dark, with only the stars in the night sky above us providing the light. When Brady and I head out of the tunnel, Coach Bradley is standing in the corner of the end zone, scanning the field. “Let’s talk on the 50 yard line,” he says, pointing his flashlight over at the center of the field, “That should be the safest place.”
Brady and I follow Coach Bradley to the spot he pointed the light at, and when we get there, he beckons us close to him, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“Okay,” he says, pulling out a thin stack of papers from under his arm and shining his flashlight on it, revealing a heavily marked-up version of the appropriate behavior contract we both signed, “So when I heard the news, I went back to the place where it all began, to see if I could find some kind of loophole. It wasn’t easy, especially when there are pictures of you two kissing pretty much destroying our chance at an appeal. But,” I squint as Coach Bradley gestures with the flashlight, accidentally shining it in my eyes, “I think I found something that might work.”
He looks down at the contract, clears his throat, and starts reading. “At any point, the commissioner of the league reserves the right to extend, alter or reverse any punishment handed out for breach of this contract if unforeseen circumstances arise.”
Coach Bradley looks up from the contract, a serious look on his face. “So to get you two back on the team, we’re going to need to create some unforeseen circumstances. Fast. And I think I know how to do it.”
Eyes darting towards the tunnels at the corners of the field, Coach Bradley shines his flashlight around one more time to make sure there aren’t any eavesdroppers hiding in the shadows. “Okay, so…Dr. Larson, the head of our medical staff. I know you’ve both spend a lot of time with him.”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“Trust me,” Coach Bradley says, “If it was up to me, I’d hire a different head doctor, but he’s married to the commissioner’s cousin, so the owner of the team has always made me keep him on…until now.”
He looks back and forth between us. “Neither of you have ever been to his office up in Oceanside, have you?”
Brady scoffs. “No, but everyone I know who has says it’s fucking weird. He tries to make you eat charcoal and shit.”
Coach Bradley nods. “That’s what he does to the guys on our team. But he actually has clients from teams all over the league.”
Brady raises his eyebrows. “Wait, what the fuck? Why?”
“Well, technically, this is just an educated guess, but…” Coach Bradley says, taking a deep breath before continuing, “I think Dr. Larson knows when the league does its random drug tests, and I think he’s using that information to charge players from all over the league insane amounts of money to get injected with steroids, growth hormones, and all kinds of illegal substances between the drug tests, guaranteeing that they’ll have a clean system by the time they happen.”
For a couple seconds, the only noise in the stadium is the distant rumble of the San Diego traffic outside. I guess that does explain a couple things I was wondering about. It also makes what Brady and I did look angelic by comparison…so I think I might know where Coach Bradley is going with this.
“So,” he says, “The plan is that you two go up to Oceanside to sign Brady up for Dr. Larson’s offseason ‘training’ program, looking like a new couple so that the cameras follow you everywhere you go. And then, once you’re up there, you’ll find evidence of Dr. Larson’s steroid trafficking, and you’ll show it to the cameras. Once that happens, the whole league is going to get in trouble, including the commissioner, who’s immediately going to reverse your punishment when we argue that the inappropriate conduct wouldn’t have happened if our team had a normal medical staff.”
Leaning in close to the two of us, he lowers his voice to a whisper, “Now, personally, I don’t think that last part is true. Clearly, I miscalculated when I assumed you wouldn’t be interested in each other, and my updated models indicate that this likely would have happened no matter what I did. But we don’t have to tell them that.”
“Wow,” I say, “I see what you mean about sensitive information.”
Coach Bradley nods. “I wanted to handle this quietly, after the season was over, but at this point, I don’t think we have a choice. Do you think you two are up for it?”
Brady looks down at me. Obviously, he’s up for it, he’s Brady Mack. And since I’m opening myself up to all kinds of insane ideas at this point, I look up at the both of them and shrug. “Well, it sounds like we’re almost definitely going to get arrested, but you know what? Let’s do it.”
“That’s the spirit!” Coach Bradley says, “Now, officially, I can’t use team resources to help you, but I can tell you that you’ll attract the most attention if you leave early in the morning, right as the paparazzi are arriving at your homes. Then, you’re going to want to stay at the Oceanside Deluxe hotel and eat your meals at the rooftop restaurant. It’s a nice hotel, but the security is terrible, so you’re guaranteed to have a gaggle of reporters following you everywhere. Oh, and, obviously, you’ll want to share a room, just make sure it only has one bed so no one gets any funny ideas before you can bust Dr. Larson. Any other questions?”
“Nah,” Brady says, pulling me hard into his side, “You had us at ‘one bed.’”
With a chuckle, Coach Bradley shrugs. “Alright, well, you know how to reach me if you do. I’ll be watching the news all day tomorrow as I work on the playbook, so just make sure it’s you two I’m watching. And since we’re starting early, I think I’m going to head home and get to bed.”
With a nod to each of us, Coach Bradley walks past us towards the dark tunnel opposite the one we came out of. “Have a good night, you two. I’m guessing you’ll sleep better now that everything’s out in the open.”
I watch Coach Bradley disappear into the darkness at the corner of the field. Then, once he’s gone, I turn back towards Brady, who’s over on the sideline behind me, looking up at the thousands of empty seats above us.
“It was always going to happen eventually,” he says, in a low voice.
“What?” I ask, stepping up beside him to look at the sea of seats, “Dr. Larson getting busted?”
Brady shakes his head. “No. This,” he throws his arms out at the stadium around us, “This is what happens whenever anyone gets too close to me. They join me in the spotlight. They see what I deal with every single day. Some of it’s good, some of it’s bad, but all of it’s really fucking intense. So usually, it drives people away. And usually, I don’t mind that much, because I’m getting everything I ever fucking dreamed of.”
He looks down towards me. “But now, the spotlight’s on you. And it’s the weirdest fucking thing. Because I don’t want you to leave.”
Caught off guard, my breath catches in my throat for a second. But only for a second. Because when I think of how much happier I’ve been since a certain overly cocky football player threw himself over a balcony railing and into my life, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than here.
“I’m not going away,” I say, blinking back tears as I finally make my choice, “I’m staying right here in the spotlight with you.”
And that’s when I find out what if feels like to get tackled by Brady Mack. One second I’m looking into his eyes, the next I’m on the ground, pinned beneath his massive body with my back on the grass of the football field, my lips on his.
And in that moment, I know I made the right choice. I can feel it in the way he kisses me.
So right now, all that concern for what’s going to happen tomorrow is the furthest thing from my head. Win, lose, or somewhere in between, as long as I’m here with Brady, we’re a team. No matter what.
So I guess Brady was right. When you look at it that way, real life is a lot like football.
Chapter 22: Brady
“So, uh, I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a fucking savage.
”
Dr. Larson cocks an eyebrow at me behind his glasses. It’s been hard to keep my cool around him here in his fancy little office, where he’s been hiding while the guys on my team are getting hurt so he can push steroids on guys who are just trying to stay in the league.
But I manage well enough. “So, you know, I don’t want to do a fucking ‘training program’ until next season starts. I want to do the real shit, now.”
I toss the vial of charcoal water he just handed me right back to him, and he just barely catches it. Dr. Larson never liked me. I don’t think he really likes athletes in general, honestly. But Coach Bradley was right about one thing. Cassie and I leaving first thing in the morning for a steamy Oceanside vacation? Every fucking sports reporter in southern California was following us five minutes after we got in the car. And judging by the crowd that’s forming on the beach outside the huge exam room window, they just found us again.
Dr. Larson sighs, walking over to the window and throwing the blinds closed. I know he wants to tell me to fuck off, but turning me away is going to look pretty fucking suspicious in front of the biggest possible audience. “Well, honestly, I’m a little confused why you’re even here. After all, aren’t you dating Resident Doctor Parker now? Why come to me, a doctor with thirty years of experience, when you could get medical care from someone who’s less than six months out of med school, got everything handed to her, and slept with one of her patients anyway?”
“She fixed me up way fucking better than you ever did,” I say, glaring at Dr. Larson.
Then, I take a deep breath, trying to be as nice as I can. “Look, I’m not trying to be your friend, I just heard that this is a fucking next level program, and I want in. The real program, not the one where you make people eat sand. Otherwise, those reporters out there are going to have a pretty interesting story, and your little secret office isn’t going to be a secret much longer.”
A vein twitches in Dr. Larson’s forehead as he looks over towards the blinds covering the exam room window. “Fine,” he says, looking like someone who just drank a vial of charcoal water, “But before we say another word about the real program, you’re going to need to sign this.”
He pulls a thick, intense-looking contract out of the cabinet under his sink and practically flings it at me.
“It’s a nondisclosure agreement,” he says, “Ensuring that you won’t be running your mouth about what the program is to anyone, not even your new girlfriend. See, the cornerstone of the program is a few very cutting edge treatments, and I can’t have a football player who can’t even keep it in his pants long enough to go to the Super Bowl telling everyone he knows about them.”
Yeah, so cutting edge they’re banned in every fucking country where they play sports. Shaking my head at Dr. Larson, I look down at the contract in my hands and start flipping through it.
Shit, this thing is fucking crazy. Once I start the program, I have to complete it or I get sued. Honestly, if I sign this thing, it seems like Dr. Larson can sue me whenever he wants. And worst of all, he gets complete control over when I start. So no matter what I say, there’s no way he’s showing me what I need to see before the Super Bowl.
I look up from the contract and shake my head. “Fuck, can I take this home or something? I need a fucking lawyer before I sign this.”
Dr. Larson narrows his eyes at me. “Does it look like you can take it home?”
I shrug, tossing the contract back to him. “Fine, but I’m going to need some time to think about it before I sign. That thing is bullshit.”
“Of course,” he says, the tiniest hint of a fake smile on his face, “And if you do decide to join the program, you know where to find me.”
With a nod, I jump off the exam table and walk past Dr. Larson and out into the halls of his office. I wish I could just start throwing these fucking doors open until I find what I need…
Well, shit, why not? I look both ways down the empty hallway. This place looks pretty dead.
I act like I’m walking towards the waiting room until I pass a long hallway lined with unmarked doors winding towards the center of the hospital. Then, checking to make sure no one’s looking, I round the corner, pulling the handles on the doors one at a time.
Locked, locked, locked…this is probably where all our fucking training equipment is. I pull the handle of the last door on the right, expecting it to be locked like all the others…but it actually starts to swing open.
“Don’t touch that door!” I grit my teeth as Dr. Larson comes flying down the hallway towards me. Personally, I’d like to just walk into the room and let him try and stop me, but with Cassie out in the waiting room, I decide not to make too much of a scene.
“Sorry,” I say with a smirk, releasing the handle and letting the door swing closed, “I thought this was the way to the waiting room.”
“Well, it’s not,” Dr. Larson says, “In fact, it’s supposed to be locked.”
Turning back towards the waiting room doors, he yells at the top of his lungs. “Front Desk!”
A few seconds later, a nervous-looking girl with red hair and glasses steps around the corner, doing a double take when she sees me standing next to Dr. Larson.
He gestures towards me. “You left the storage room unlocked, and this idiot almost walked right in. You’re lucky I caught him, because now, instead of firing you on the spot, I’ll let you keep your job. But if I find any unlocked doors in this hallway ever again, you’re never setting foot in this building again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Dr. Larson,” the red-haired girl says under her breath, pulling out a thick ring of keys and locking the door I just opened.
Dr. Larson shakes his head. “Show Mr. Mack the actual way to the waiting room. He seems to be having some trouble finding it. I’ll be in my office.”
He walks down the hall and rounds the corner again, leaving me alone with the front desk worker.
“Sorry about that,” she says, “Is he that bad for you guys, too?”
“Yeah,” I say, “He’s that bad all the time. Probably compensating for being a shitty doctor.”
The desk worker starts to laugh, then stops herself, looking nervously up and down the halls. “So, uh…did you sign the contract?”
I shake my head. “Fuck no.”
Instantly, she lets out a sigh of relief. “Great! Don’t. You’re my sister’s favorite player, and if I let you sign that thing…she’d never forgive me.”
Looking around one more time, the desk worker leans in close and lowers her voice to a whisper. “Look, I definitely shouldn’t be telling you this…but you should get far, far away from here. I know you’re probably mad that you got suspended and you want to start training for next season, but this is a bad, bad place.”
A doctor holding a bag of empty syringes rounds the corner, giving us a suspicious look as he passes us in the hall.
“The waiting room’s right this way!” The desk worker says in a cheery voice that must have taken months of fucking practice, “It’s a pretty common mistake, so don’t feel bad. I’ll lead you out!”
Then, when the doctor is out of earshot and we’re walking towards the waiting room door, I look down at the desk worker. “I know it’s a bad place. I’m not here for the reason you might think. Still, thanks for the warning.”
As we reach the door, I see Cassie through the narrow glass window above the handle, frowning as she reads a brochure for the clinic. She’s pretty easy to spot, especially because she’s wearing my jersey, the exact same one she was wearing when I met her. “I hope your sister’s not too mad about what happened.”
“Oh, no,” the desk worker says, “She’s really excited for you. She…well, we…grew up without parents, just like you. That’s why she loves watching you play. And she says you’ve looked happier with Cassie than you ever have, and for her, seeing you like that is better than watching you win a million Super Bowls.”
I stare into the waiting room for a few seco
nds, taking in what I just heard. “Well…if she ever starts feeling like the whole world is against her, or like there’s something wrong with her…tell her it gets better. I used to think there was a place in my heart that was always going to be empty, but ever since I met her?”
I point through the window at Cassie. “I can feel that empty place healing up when we’re together, like a bad cut that’s finally fucking starting to scab over. And someday soon, I think I’m going to wake up next to her and it’s going to feel like I never even had it. And I can’t fucking wait for that day to come.”
The desk worker looks out at Cassie. “I’ll tell her that. I think she’ll like hearing it.” She looks over her shoulder. “But, uh…here’s the waiting room.”
I linger for a couple more seconds with my hand on the door handle.
But you know what? I don’t want to leave just yet. I’ve still got some unfinished business to take care of.
The desk worker’s starting to get nervous beside me.
“Hey, so…what’s your name?” I ask her, my pulse starting to elevate like it does when I step out onto the football field.
“Meagan,” she says, nervously putting her hand on the waiting room door as her eyes dart towards the hallway that leads down to Dr. Larson’s office.
I nod. “Well, Meagan…after I do what I’m about to do…how would you like a job with the San Diego Kings?”
Looking her in the eyes, I hold out an outstretched hand. And when she realizes what I’m asking, she practically has a heart attack. “Wait, is that why you came here?”
I smirk. “Someone had to bring the cameras.”
Meagan takes a deep breath as she stares down the hall, listening for footsteps. “Trust me, I want to…but I signed a contract, too.”
“I’ll tell them I snatched the keys,” I say with a shrug, “And I’m serious about you working for the Kings. We need more people like you on the team and less like Dr. Larson. And if you give me those keys, I promise we’ll take care of you…right after we win the Super Bowl. Deal?”
Savage: A Pro Football Romance Page 15