The Home Team

Chapter 2

Adrian

“I am sorry Adrian, but there is nothing that we can do.” My agent, Wesley, said as he folded his hands on his desk. My contract was almost up, and it was time to renew it. Only there was a problem. The team’s manager did not want to. “With your injury this season, they have chosen not to renew and risk you not being ready to play next fall or you possibly re-injuring it later on. You’re a liability if they keep you on.”

“But the doctors and therapists all said that the tear was not as bad as they originally thought and that I would be fine to play by next season.” I yelled, my anger starting to grow. They can’t do this to me. Not right now. I have worked so hard to get to where I am now just to lose it all because of a stupid torn ACL. “There has to be something that you can do to persuade them to renew the contract.”

“I have explained everything that the doctors said to them and they still said no Adrian. It is a lot of money to risk on a player that is at one hundred and they just are not willing to take it. I am sorry.” Wesley says, leaning back in his chair now.

I can not process the feeling right now. Everything that I had worked for was gone. My entire career is gone. I was the star quarterback for my high school all four years and got a full scholarship to Riverview University to play for them. From there, I was drafted by the Panthers in the fourth-round pick and have been their starting quarterback for the last five years.

Now, because of a bad hit in the first game of the season leading to a torn ACL, they don’t want to take a risk on keeping me on the roster. “What about a transfer to another team or being a free agent? Another team may want to take the chance on me,” I said. There is still hope, there has to be.

My agent sighs, “I tried that too. But none of the other teams want to spend that kind of money on a player that might never be able to play the game again either.” He says and I swear I deflated like a balloon losing all its helium. “Listen McCoy, you have other options. It might not be exactly what you envisioned yourself doing at this point, but it is something.”

“Screw that I’m not doing commercials and sh*t like I’m a washed out forty-something player that just can not keep up with the game anymore.” I ground out through clenched teeth. There really isn’t any shame in those who have retired to go that route, but I wasn’t even thirty yet.

“Just think about it okay. There is still some time before your contract is up. I will keep trying and see if I can come up with anything else.” Wesley added as he leaned back in his chair again.

I sighed, “Thanks man, I appreciate it. And sorry for losing it on you just then. I am just frustrated with all this bullsh*t.” I said as I stood and shook Wesley’s hand before leaving his office.

Even though he said he would try, there really wasn’t much that could be done. I knew that. The fact that many of the other teams had already refused to pick up my contract proved that, but a part of me just wasn’t ready to give up just yet. I pushed myself hard in physical therapy to gain back the strength that I had lost and in five months I have made more progress in my recovery then any of them had anticipated. If I can't play football, what in the hell am I going to do? The thought was playing over and over in my mind as I drove back to mine and Carson’s apartment.

He was the wide receiver for the Panthers and the two of us had just clicked on the first day of training five years ago. He was not from Riverview, so I took him under my wing and showed him the town and the rest was history.

“Didn’t go too well, I take it.” Carson said the moment I walked through the front door to the apartment. Slamming the door a little too hard as I closed it behind me. “Sh*t that bad, eh?” he asks.

I narrowed my eyes at him from across the foyer. “You have no idea. They don’t want to renew me, and no other team wants to touch me after the accident.” I said before heading into the kitchen to grab a beer out of the refrigerator.

“Seriously?” Carson said when I returned to the living room and tossed him a beer too.

“Yup. They are just going to cut me loose at the end of the season. What the hell am I going to do?” I asked, taking a slip of the beer as I sat in one of the armchairs across from my roommate. “This can't be happening.” I mumbled under my breath before taking another sip from the bottle.

“What about…” Carson started, and I glared at him. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“If it has anything to do with commercials and sh*t save your breath, I already shut that down with Wesley.”

“Actually, it wasn’t that.” He said as he stood and searched through the newspaper that was on the coffee table for a few moments. He paused before folding it in half and passing it over to me. “If you can’t play anymore, why not use that degree to teach some upstart kids everything you know. It is the next best thing.”

Riverview is not very far from Rosewood, so a lot of the town's events and announcements end up in the city papers as well. Taking the folded paper and opening it, I saw there was an article about my old coach from high school retiring and the school was accepting applications to fill the position. It wouldn’t be a bad alternative if I got the job, but there was no telling how many applications they would get from qualified applicants, but how many of them had not only led the school to four state championships and had gone pro, even if it was only for a couple of years.

“Think it over. And if Wesley can’t find another team willing to take you, then I would go with that,” Carson says, tapping the paper before heading into his room at the end of the hall.

That night I couldn’t bring myself to fall asleep. No matter what I did, it didn’t help bring sleep any closer and after several hours of just tossing and turning, I finally gave up and pulled my laptop out and started working on my resume just in case. It was worth a shot.

Three days later

New Year's Eve

I closed my laptop after submitting my application to my old high school, Rosewood High. The deadline for the applications was still a couple of weeks out, so I knew I wouldn’t be hearing anything anytime soon. Wesley had been trying to find another team that would be willing to take me, but everyone he called since the meeting also had the same answer: no. So, I gave up hope on that and told him to just call it off for now.

Pestering them wouldn’t change their minds. It would just make me appear even more desperate than I was.

Carson came in earlier and talked me into joining him at The Inferno tonight for their New Year's Eve bash. He said I needed something to take my mind off football sh*t and that the best way was by dancing with a bunch of sexy ass girls all night. I wasn’t sure if it would really help, but I was ready to give it a go.

I showered and shaved before stepping into a pair of black denim jeans and a light tan t-shirt. I styled my hair back messily with a bit of hair gel and grabbed my silver chain with a cross and slipped it over my head. Satisfied with my appearance, I joined my friend in the living room and the two of us headed off to the club.

“You ready to get laid tonight?” Carson said, fist bumping me as we walked down the hall to the elevator. He was dressed similarly in a pair of dark washed jeans and a white shirt. The Inferno is the place to go around Riverview when you're looking to let off some steam, if you know what I mean. Carson is a ladies’ man and always has a new girl every couple of days.

“We will see about that,” I said. I pull my fair share of women too, but after my last girlfriend I have been in a bit of a dry spell of my own making. She was a gold digger and the moment I got hurt and she realized that I might not play again, she left. Needless to say, I have steered clear of women since.

By the time we arrived at the club, there was already a long line waiting to get inside the building. But being football stars has its perks and we are able to bypass the line and head straight inside. The music is loud, and you can feel the base through your body every time it hits. It was packed inside with many of the patrons wearing New Year's glasses and accessories. We made our way through the thong of dancing bodies and as soon as some of the women realized who we were, they were all over us.

They were all desperate for attention, or maybe it was the free drinks they thought they might squeeze out of us or the hopes of getting laid by one of us. I didn’t know, but I couldn't stand the fake interest anymore and I excused myself to head to the bar.

“Oh, come on man.” Carson yelled over the music as I slid out of the booth that we had procured for the night.

“Have at it, they are all yours.” I said and he settled back in the booth and wrapped his arms around both women’s shoulders and pulled them in closer and they ate that sh*t up.

I made my way back to the bar and grabbed the bartender's attention, telling him what I wanted, and he pulled me a beer from the cooler and popped the tab. “Hey, you look familiar.” He said as he placed the beer bottle in front of me and I just grunted in response. “You are Adrian McCoy, right?” he asked again, and I nodded this time.

“Yeah, that’s me.” I said, taking a sip of my beer.

“Oh man, this is awesome. My little brother is never going to believe that I met you tonight. He has your jersey hanging on his wall.’ The bartender rambles on.

“How old is your brother?” I asked, taking another drink.

“Six. He wants to be a quarterback when he is older because of you.” He says with a genuine smile.

I returned his smile and grabbed the cocktail napkin and a pen. “What’s his name?”

“J-Jackson.” He stuttered, looking a bit surprised. I wrote the boy a quick note to study and train hard and he would make a great quarterback one day and signed my name.

“You got your phone?” I asked and he quickly pulled it from his pocket and snapped a selfie with me and I handed him the napkin.

“Thank you so much Mr. McCoy.” He adds, looking at the bar napkin before putting it in his wallet for safe keeping.

“Not a problem.” I said, finishing off the first beer and ordering another.

“On me.” he says with a smile before he goes to help another customer.

I turn around on my bar stool and watch the crush of people dance and grind their bodies against one another. With the way several of the women are eyeing me right now from the other side of the bar, I can tell I am going to need something stronger than beer to make it through the night.