Chapter Fourteen
Parker
It had been a long time since I’d just gone for a run. Our usual workouts had been lasting so many hours and going through so many different ranges, all designed to get us to that peak combination of flexibility, endurance, strength, and then speed, that just a nice, long run seemed foreign.
I left everything except my hotel key in my room and took off through the city. Soon enough, I found the lake, which was actually a river, and I ran with the water. Every time I saw a bridge, I took it. A beautiful park sat on the other side of one, and I noticed a place I thought I might want to take Lily sometime. There were tables outside and cool looking lights. I ran around the side and found it looked out over long, sloping, wide open grassy places that looked like old paintings and reminded me of scenes in the stories I still liked to read. I let myself imagine I was a character in one of those stories, running for something important. I felt like I could go all day, but eventually, I spotted a tall building I recognized and knew it was about ten miles back to the hotel.
I found my way to the river again and followed the water back. By the time I got to the hotel, I had talked myself out of calling Grogan to try to say something to patch things up. Either he was done with me, or he wasn’t, but I knew, like so many things in our world, actions and not words were what would cut it.
I was also thinking about Lily. Something was telling me to be careful.
Once I was inside my room, I opened my phone, considering giving her a call, until I checked the news on my phone and saw my own sorry ass from the night before. It shocked me, because although my face didn’t seem to show nearly how drunk I actually was, the expression was something I didn’t recognize. But worse than that, there was the prostitute, Shirley, in her pink outfit, mugging for the camera and holding onto my arm. I had no memory of it.
The picture linked to an article with a headline that said, “Rising Starr?” They’d placed pictures of me and Grogan bench pressing next to each other at the combine, and one of me on the same field next to the water spigots with my shirt off. It pissed me off. I may be proud of my body, but at our level who isn’t? I wasn’t trying to come off as some kind of beefcake.
I copied the link, switched to my social media app, and posted, “Just lucky Grogan wasn’t next to me. Talk about a ninety-pound weakling!”
I thought it was funny, but maybe that was just me, remembering him in the tunnel all pumped. Which is why I got so lucky. About two minutes later, Amber got online and somehow had managed to track down exactly that moment. Hell, every man in that tunnel would do her practically any favor she asked so it couldn’t have been that hard for her to get the shot. But there she was, walking up with an eyebrow cocked. Even in a still photograph, you could see how she moved. And instead of looking at me she was looking at Grogan’s chest, stretching the fabric of his shirt beyond reason, high beams poking through enough to make a Victoria Secret model jealous, and the look on my face mimicked exactly what I’d said to him at the time, wincing but grinning … Watch where you point those bazookas.
It played like gangbusters. Then I couldn’t help but notice other news stories—namely, the insanity going on around Lily. She had all of social media in a frenzy. Comedians were weighing in, not to mention a bunch of Hollywood types who only thought they were funny, and as far as I could tell the sports writers were in a tizzy, loving the attention while hating the fact they couldn’t control it. It made me nervous all over again, but I realized, just like that, people had stopped talking about me. I was back to being a top prospect. Now I was absolutely bound and determined to stay that way.
Grogan chimed in with a post of his own, perfect tongue-in-cheek, just saying, “What?” It cracked me up, along with thousands of others.
I got a text from Tristan saying, “You got a publicist on the payroll already?”
I got the message. I’d been lucky.
I sent a quick text to Lily, letting her know she looked beautiful, which, by the way, she did. I wanted to kill that waiter for getting a glimpse of her in that restaurant, but couldn’t blame him for a second. I also asked her to keep whatever was going to happen at the party between us, off the record, and without photographs. She got back to me right away with, No problem.
I didn’t know what I expected but somehow was a little more nervous than not. Still, I kept flipping back to that picture of her in that pinkish-colored dress. For the life of me, I could not identify the color, but her eyes and hair and that perfect shoulder…no way I was going to cancel on her. Besides, I’d given her my word, and that was that.
I also liked the way Tristan handled it all. My picture showing up with a prostitute on my arm, that look on my face, me firing off a social media volley, I was sure it would have been enough to send every member of the university’s publicity staff into insomnia for a week. He probably had an office full of damage control specialists freaking out and wondering if I was going to end up being a radioactive client. In that context, his text to me was very cool. I decided to make the call, and dialed his personal number.
“Parker, that you?” he asked.
“Hi, Tristan. About all that bullshit, that’s not me.”
“I know it.”
“You do? How?”
“Drake.”
I wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, whether it was because he’d dealt with Drake, or the big tight end had said something to him about me, but either way it was fine with me.
“Look, Tristan, I already knew what I wanted yesterday, and I don’t see any point in wasting more time. Are you available for me right now?”
I heard something rustling, but he didn’t stall. “You bet. Want me to send a driver?”
“Please. I’m signing the papers before he gets here.”
“Parker, that’s great. I’ve got counterpart copies here in front of me and am signing right now.”
“See you there.”
I threw on the last set of clean clothes I’d packed and went downstairs. Outside as the taxis pulled in and out of the hotel roundabout, I felt the air on my skin and looked up at the blue sky and laughed at myself, because I didn’t know if it was just one of those spring days that made people grateful to be alive, or if I’d finally managed to shake off whatever had been burrowing its way through my brain over the last few days. Signing that contract felt incredible. I reminded myself it wasn’t done until both sides had signed, but I couldn’t help it, it seemed like gravity had cut itself in half. I could have dived through the window and landed without rocking the car when it drove up. Instead I hopped over to the passenger door, opened it, and climbed right in next to the driver before he had a chance to get out.
“I’m Parker.”
“Wentworth,” he said.
I laughed before I could stop myself. “Sorry.”
“Quite alright,” he assured me.
“It’s just, I thought you were messing with me for a second.”
“Would that I were.”
“Well, come to think of it, Wentworth is an outstanding name.”
He cocked an eyebrow while taking a smooth turn. “Would you like to trade?”
“A professional driver named Parker?” I smirked.
“You have a point. I’d probably have to become a valet.”
I laughed, then changed subjects. “I’m signing with Tristan today.”
“Congratulations,” Wentworth said, giving me a sideways glance.
“You don’t mind me riding up front, do you?”
“It’s unusual, but not at all.”
“I’m a little pumped up is all,” I said.
He smiled, but I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, so I just kept jabbering.
“Do you like working for Thorne?” I asked.
Wentworth didn’t say anything for a moment, then nodded his head. “I do.” He continued and told me how he came to work for Tristan Thorne, it was a hell of a story.
“Whoa,” I said. “I mean holy shit. That’s really cool.”
He smiled. I wanted to ask him more, but we had arrived. Tristan and Amy were standing in front of the building with smiles. Tristan had a contract in his hand holding it up and shaking the pages.
I could have been more careful, probably should have been. I mean, if it had all been a damn good hustle, if there were things in the contract only a lawyer could catch, where I was getting screwed three ways from Sunday, literally in the case of the NFL schedule, I truly would not have known. I read the contract line for line, and never found a sentence that didn’t seem to be in reasonably plain English, but what the hell did I know?
I’d made up my mind. I just didn’t believe I was going to end up disappointed by Thorne Enterprises. If I were, in three years I could dump them and find someone else. I opened the door with my own copy of the contract in hand, shoved it at Tristan and grabbed a pen from Amy. We laughed as we raced each other to sign. I won, but it was close.
He handed his copy to Amy, who slid it carefully in a folder. I folded mine roughly and stuffed it in my back pocket. We shook hands.
“So, Park, we’ve got ass kiss scenario B3 laid out in the office.”
I laughed. “What’s that mean?”
“Oh, I’ll tell you all about our scenarios at the party. In the meantime, just pretend you’re eating it up, okay?”
“Uh, sure.”
I turned around to Wentworth as Tristan and Amy started toward the entrance to the building. We nodded at each other. Inside the lobby, a bunch of the staff was there, and then I was blown away. Drake Mathison and the woman I took to be his fiancée, Peyton, were right there with them, giving me a standing ovation.
The big tight end walked over, rolling his eyes at the whole setup and we gripped hands and bumped shoulders. He said, “Enjoy it while it lasts, rook.”
I didn’t want to say something stupid, so I just laughed. Then Tristan hustled us into the elevator. We went upstairs to his office. There were a bunch of different soft drinks and deli sandwiches.
“Shit. I was hoping for barbecue,” Drake remarked.
Tristan seemed genuinely apologetic, which made it funny, “We did that already, sorry Drake.”
“I was going to take Peyton out for steaks.”
She put her arm in his and with a calm-the-pouting-giant-baby voice said, “We’ll go tonight, okay?”
I looked at Mathison, and he flashed that grin that had been on the cover of about a hundred magazines over the last couple of years, grabbing a half roast beef sandwich and a bottle of water. I took a closer look at the spread and realized the sandwiches looked like they’d come right out of magazines, too. The smells of deli meats, cheese, vinegary dressing and spreads, pepperoncini and bread that must have come right out of an oven hit me, and I grabbed the nearest sandwich. It turned out to be a combo of salami, prosciutto, and spicy pepperoni and with one bite I was trying to sneak a peek at the packaging for the name of the place.
“Compaglioni’s,” muttered Tristan through a full mouth.
Drake just grunted, eyeing his next selection from the couch.
Peyton and Amy took the time to find plates. I didn’t know how they were even going to get their mouths around them, but in another two minutes realized they were managing just fine. I tried not to look at the girls too much, but it wasn’t easy. Peyton was the kind that would make every head in a room snap, and Amy was, too. I concentrated on my food.
“So, Drake, I’m glad you were here today, or B3 would have been pretty boring.”
“Which one is that?”
“The one where an unsigned rookie who’s going to go high in the first round calls unexpectedly on a weekday ready to sign.”
“Did you do that one on me?”
Tristan looked wounded. “Don’t you remember the rock band, and the dancing girls, and the—”
“I’m just fuckin’ with ya. Yeah, I remember wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.”
The girls giggled. Amy answered my question before I could finish chewing. “Tristan has about a hundred scenarios he’s tweaking all the time. For just about every conceivable occasion with one of our clients, everyone in the office has a permanent file with detailed instructions. He’s not kidding when he says the factors, in this case, were your circumstances, and also the time of year, what we’ve got going on … everything. With the draft coming so close, and the party preparations, and the fact you were already signing before you even got here, B3 was called for. The reason we’re in the office is to talk about the possible teams that could draft you and how to approach your rookie contract. If Drake hadn’t already been coming to take Peyton out to lunch, we would have scrambled to find another veteran athlete to talk to.”
“Thanks for doing this,” I said to Drake.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. Least they’re feeding us.” He got up and grabbed the other half of the sandwich I’d picked.
We ate, and I listened. Every time I thought I had a question, someone was already in the process of answering it. Drake was telling me a few things about various coaches and GMs, and other players who were team leaders around the NFL. I noticed Amy taking shorthand notes and when she caught my eye she nodded and tapped her pad, which I figured meant she’d send me a copy. That was a relief, so I just concentrated on absorbing everything Drake and Tristan said. At one point I saw them exchange a look that seemed like I’d passed some kind of first test. In another mood, I might have felt it was condescending, but I wasn’t in another mood. For an undrafted college kid who wants to be in the NFL, to be a fly on the wall when a Hall of Fame lock and a top agent are shooting the shit about your sport, your industry, and your particular career, to treat it as anything but a massive opportunity would have been total stupidity.
“The Bills have the inside track then.”
It was Tristan. Drake grimaced. I kept a poker face, which made them both grin. As good as I knew I was, I was not going to test the NFL by giving them a list of acceptable teams.
Tristan grinned. “Don’t worry, it’s way too early to predict who’s going to make what moves.”
Drake nodded.
I thought it was time I chimed in. “I know it’s what we’re all supposed to say. I’ll play anywhere. I’m just happy to be in the NFL. But in my case, that’s really true. I mean, I want the best opportunity I can get, coaches who really can teach me, the right organization, all that.”
“Do you have a list?” Tristan inquired.
I looked at Tristan. “A few. Just some coaches my wide receivers coach mentioned would be good for me. Some of the organizations that everyone says does it right.”
Drake nodded. “Let Tristan help you flesh that out a bit.”
“How’d you end up on your hometown team?”
He grinned. “Some of it was luck. I almost pissed a lot of people off until Tristan reined me in. He got me where I wanted to be a little more behind-the-scenes than how I’d have handled it.”
Tristan rolled his eyes, and Peyton giggled.
I felt comfortable. I felt like this was a group of people who had my back not just because they were getting paid, which Drake wasn’t, but because doing it right was important to them, and that mean giving me the best shot I could find.
“Honestly, I just wish I was able to get with my team and my coaches, and just start practicing.”
Drake laughed. “Good. That’s the way you should feel. But, look, trust me, without letting yourself go, this is a chance to put some things to bed before you have to work harder than you ever have before in your life. Parker, you had an outstanding college career. This party coming up is going to be a shindig you will never forget, guaranteed.”
That made both ladies and Tristan wince, which made me laugh. “I think I’m taking up a lot of time you guys need to be spending on other stuff.”
“No.”
It was Tristan. Drake looked at him in a way that made me feel more was going on.
“Parker, there are going to be times I’m so busy, or playing the waiting game for someone else to make a move in our direction, you’ll wonder if we’re really doing our jobs. Drake taught me that. Now, I may push back and tell you to let me do my job. I did that with Drake and I thought he was going to plant me in the ground.”
Mathison had the grace to look a little chagrined, but he nodded.
“But you’ve got to look out for yourself. If you feel like something’s wrong, then something probably is wrong. It may be with your agent or it may be who-the-hell-knows. Don’t clam up. Don’t ever think we don’t have time for you. If something’s pissing you off, tell us, even if you just need to blow off steam. We can take it. If I think you cross the line, I’ll let you know. Hell, everyone here makes a habit of crossing it, why not you?”
In the end, I left more excited than when I’d arrived. We all agreed to see each other next at the party and keep in touch about strategizing for the draft.
They offered to have Wentworth take me back to the hotel, but I wanted to walk the city some more. I gave the man a wave, and he picked his head up from his book long enough to nod back. Halfway down the block, I realized I’d forgotten to tell them Lily, the reporter that had just lit off a nuclear bomb in the media by roasting me in that article, was going to be my date for the annual Thorne Enterprises blowout bash.
I reminded myself to fire off a text to let them know. The only reason I didn’t do it right away was because everything had been so perfect, I just wanted to leave it there, not do a damn thing to disturb it.