“Thanks for the heads up, Bill.” I stood up again, or rather, started to, but Bill waved me down yet again.
“One more thing. Now the top brass wants to chase this story as long as they can, and run it into the ground. And they want you to do it.”
All the relief turned cold. “What does that mean?”
“It means they want you covering Drake Rollins 24/7, if that’s how you kids say it. They pretty much want you on him all the time.”
Following Drake? Shit. “Drake Rollins is all washed up, even before his career started. No team will touch him, he’s not going anywhere. Following him around is just a waste of time.”
Bill Thompson looked at me with something approaching a tiny bit of respect, that almost instantly disappeared. “Normally, I would agree with that assessment,” he grumbled. “But I happen to know something you don’t, part of the library of things I know that you don’t. Drake Rollins isn’t done yet.”
Shit. I had seen the cloud, and now I had just seen the silver lining, and Bill was hitting me with even bigger cloud behind it.
“Pack your bags, Pearson. You’re on Drake Rollins patrol from now on.”
“Pack my bags? Where am I going?”
“Where else? Foxboro. Now get out of here.”
Shit. Six months ago I would’ve been over the moon to be covering Drake Rawlins as a professional journalist, even if he couldn’t cover me with his body.
But now, the prospect of spending any time around him, while certainly appealing on a sexual level, seemed like career suicide. Drake Rollins was going nowhere, a downfall that he had created all on his own, despite his incredible talent.
And as much as I wanted him to do terrible and naughty things to my body in bed, I did not relish the idea of my career going down the tubes with his.
Shit.
CHAPTER 08 - DRAKE
Three days after the draft…
the draft was over. No team took me.
Fuck. My awesome career and millions of dollars was over and gone before it even began. What was I gonna do now?
I had come back to the hotel room my agent had been paying for. He kept assuring me that he’d get back to me, that this wasn’t over yet, but I didn’t want to hear any of it.
I’d called my parents, of course, but they already knew what had happened. The conversation wasn’t long; I couldn’t bear to keep talking and hear more of the disappointment in their voices.
Other than talking to my parents and agent I avoided my phone for a couple days. The texts and calls were crushing at first, and I turned off the ringer after the first couple hours. Then they trailed off as all the sympathy people felt was replaced by getting on with their own lives.
In a way that made things a little better. Sure, I liked that people were thinking about me, but I didn’t want to walk around with this feeling that I had let everyone else down for too long.
Of course the video from the draft of me and Lily arguing had gone viral. Just my luck. Now I had that to add to all the things people had heard about me in the months since I had caught my last touchdown for Cal.
All that kind of stuff and no on the field performance makes it really easy for people to forget how good you are. I didn’t do a lot of social media stuff as it was, but even I knew I was getting raked over the coals all over the place.
I couldn’t avoid my phone entirely, though. My agent, Adam Snyder, had told me on the last call that he’d call again this morning to go over next steps with me. I was glad to hear it - even though I was still pissed over what had happened, I knew Adam was on my side.
Of course, Adam was in it for the money, but still, the fact that he kept me on despite going undrafted was still a big deal to me. I knew that if I stuck with him I might be able to get another shot.
My phone screen lit up and I saw it was Adam calling. I took a deep breath and picked up. “Hey Adam.”
“Drake! How are you holding up?”
“I’ve been better,” I sighed. “Got anything for me? Give me some good news, please.”
“I’m working on it, I’m working on it. Give me a little time, Drake. Things are moving.”
“Can you give me a hint? Don’t leave me hanging here!”
“I don’t want to say anything and jinx it.” As agents went, Adam was the most superstitious I had ever met, and that was saying something.
“Come on, man, this is my life we’re talking about.”
“I know. That’s what I called to talk about, actually.”
I paused. Adam Snyder wasn’t exactly known for dispensing life advice over the phone, but at this point, at the end of my rope like I was, I was more than willing to listen if he was going to send any wisdom my way. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You need to come around, Drake. This crazy life style of yours isn’t gonna get you any farther than this. Twenty years ago a pro athlete could get away with a messy life off the field, but now with all this technology around, everyone recording everything, that shit won’t fly.”