Savage,” Coach Rangall called from across the locker room, hovering in the doorway of his office. “Get in here. Now.”
Carson Savage buttoned his jeans and slipped on his boots before he threw his wet towel on the floor in front of his locker. Then he took a second look at the newspaper on his bench. He wondered if that’s what Coach wanted to see him about—the Mobile Tribune’s latest headlines.
Truth no longer mattered to the media. Whatever increased sales ended up on the front page, making the once respected newspaper read like a gossip rag. And that gossip usually featured Carson or one of his teammates. Today, they called Carson a playboy. He quickly read the small print: At 6′4″ and 235 pounds, Carson Savage lives up to his name on and off the field. Local fans call the blond behemoth Apollo, the sun god, with his tan skin and perfect physique. We know what naughty gods like to do best…and we’re not talking about completing passes or avoiding sacks on the field. As long as she’s wearing a skirt and heels, Apollo will go down willingly…
A photo of him climbing out of the swimming pool at his friend’s party last weekend was also featured. The next shot showed his arms draped across the shoulders of two French supermodels. What the journalist failed to mention was Carson made an appearance at the party to help raise money for an international cancer nonprofit.
He crumpled up the paper and threw it in the garbage can. His teammates on either side of him laughed and looked away. That didn’t make Carson feel any better. The dressing room was supposed to serve as a haven away from the media and crazy-ass fans—but over the last couple of years it seemed everyone was disposable. Veterans were traded or retired to make room for new talent. And that new talent usually liked to start trouble. Carson shot a suspicious look at the rookie getting dressed next to him. Trust and respect was earned. The Warriors jersey hanging over Jag Patera’s locker didn’t qualify him as a superhero. In Carson’s eyes, that jersey should motivate the twenty-year-old jock to work that much harder.
The team had been plagued with problems last season and, of course, since Carson was a captain, it didn’t matter who screwed up or why—he had to answer for it. And the shit-eating grin on Patera’s face told Carson everything he needed to know.
“What the hell, Jag?” Carson asked.
“What?”
“Did you do something I should know about? Preferably before I end up on the hot seat with Coach?”
Patera lifted his arm and applied his deodorant, ignoring Carson’s questions. Sonofabitch.
“Baxley?” Maybe his best friend would shine some light on what exactly they were so entertained by.
“Nothing, bro. Can’t blame me for the Apollo tag. That’s something you’re gonna have to live with.”
Carson smirked. “Any idea what they call you in private?”
“Big.”
Carson rolled his eyes. Was Baxley referring to a certain body part or his stats? With 1,865 total yards, twenty touchdowns, and forty-eight receptions during the regular season last year, Tyrone Baxley was definitely big—larger than life, really. And he didn’t have a problem letting the world know it.
“Save it for the ladies.”
Tyrone laughed. “Is that what you think I do? Recite my personal stats while I’m…”
“Pretty sure I don’t want to know.”
“Carson. Now,” Coach growled.
Carson did a quick check in the mirror hanging in his locker. Nothing looked out of place; his hair was damp and his face freshly shaven.
They had just kicked the shit out of the Florida Heat in a special exhibition game, 28-7. But that wouldn’t save him from Coach. Not even a championship ring could do that. Coach Rangall expected the best from his players, even during the off season. “Nice passing today,” Sam said as Carson walked past.
“Thanks, man. We still on for Sullivan’s tonight? A couple beers and steaks?”
“Sure.” Sam glanced in the direction of the coach’s office. “If you don’t get sent to bed without dinner.”
Yeah…
Coach Rangall stepped aside as Carson entered his office and then slammed the door shut. “It’s days like this I wish I was still a college coach.”
Carson claimed one of the leather guest chairs in front of Coach’s desk and waited for him to sit down.
“While you ladies are busy primping and scratching your asses, I had to deal with the front office about this crap…”
Coach shoved a stack of photocopied images in front of Carson.
“Take a look, sweetheart.”
Almost afraid to, Carson stared down at the first paper. What the…definitely someone’s lily-white ass. He gazed at the second photo, recognizing his own muscular posterior. But…how? He flipped the papers over so he didn’t have to see more, then met Rangall’s angry eyes.
“Care to tell me how your ass ended up on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, Google, Snapchat, and Tumblr within forty-five minutes after the game ended?”
Carson had to think about it, because he didn’t have any answers or excuses.
“I almost forgot.” Coach turned his laptop around so Carson could see the screen. “The first picture is also available on Shutterstock for four ninety-nine.”
Carson studied the crisp color image. Yep. No mistaking the partial view of the black and gold serpent tattoo that curled around his lower back. That confirmed it.
“If you think I’m taking selfies in the showers, Coach, and posting them…”
“What else am I supposed to think? It wouldn’t be the first time one of you narcissistic assholes sent lewd photos to someone.”
Carson had to admit his coach had every reason to be upset. NFL players weren’t exactly known as altar boys. Just last year, one of his former teammates had texted dick pics to his girlfriend. They broke up a week later and she plastered the X-rated shots everywhere. The media went crazy. Hell, the fans did, too.
But if Coach thought about it, he’d realize Carson wouldn’t do this. Sure, he maintained his bad boy image to keep the fans guessing, but the truth was, he preferred anonymity. Unlike most players, Carson spent most of his time out of town at the three-hundred-acre farm he purchased over a year ago.
He folded his hands on top of the desk, hoping Coach would believe him. “I’m not into this sort of trash, Coach. But I’m pretty sure I know who is.”
“Yeah?” William Rangall asked. “Who?”
Two names came to mind, but Carson wouldn’t expose them. He’d deal with Patera and Baxley his own way. “I can’t share that information.”
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Does it matter, sir?”
Coach rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “It does if you lose your starting position with this team. Do you think I want my daughter exposed to this kind of shit, Carson? What about your mother and sisters? This is Alabama, not New York. We’re in the Bible Belt.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Coach inclined his head. “I know you didn’t do it, Savage. But it’s your job to make sure this kind of thing doesn’t happen. You’ve got to separate yourself from the clowns. The commissioner already slapped us with a dozen fines for violations last year. We can’t afford another PR nightmare.”
“The game sold out today.”
Rangall chuckled. “To see you play great ball or to watch the circus freaks?”
That hurt, and Carson frowned. “Honestly? Probably a little bit of both.”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Carson leaned back, extending his long legs. “What do you want me to do? Accept responsibility for something I didn’t know about? Check my file, Coach. The worst thing I’ve ever done is get caught with a girl in the men’s bathroom at Sullivan’s.”
“Not one of your best moments.”
“No.” He was too drunk that night, his mind and heart twisted up in memories from the past that still haunted him. Memories of a girl he should have never let get away. “It never happened again. And won’t.”
Coach nodded, and his tense jaw relaxed some. “You know who the troublemakers are, Carson. I get the whole brotherhood thing, believe me. But it’s not going to work anymore. There are thousands of starry-eyed athletes salivating to get a chance to play pro ball here. The front office would rather pay off contracts and trade offenders to a new team than risk further damaging our reputation. The Alabama Warriors aren’t supposed to be the bad boys of the NFL.”
Carson wanted better for his team, he really did. But wanting and getting were two different things. He still partied occasionally, soaking up the attention and enjoying the women who chased after him. “Don’t you read the gossip rags? Reporters keep a solid record of who’s doing what.”
“Don’t need to. I have four teenage daughters. They give me daily updates.”
With his own sixteen-year-old sister to worry about surfing the web, Carson knew what Coach meant. “I’ll handle it.”
“Not good enough. Fix it. Now.”
“I’ll work on it, but while I’m here, most of the team wants to know why we’ve been called in early. Vacations were canceled. Plans changed at the last minute. It’s June, Coach. I know the game was for charity, but an extra camp? Why?”
Rangall rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re perceptive, Carson. Why do you think half the team has been ordered to camp early?”
“You want me to speculate?”
“I want you to use that good judgment I know you have.”
“All I know is the front office is staying hush-hush.”
“Yeah, they like staying employed,” Coach said.
“Garrett and Ness aren’t here anymore.” The offensive coordinator and his assistant hadn’t reported to camp as expected. And the rumors were flying in the locker room already. “The owner is cleaning house, isn’t he?”
Coach Rangall drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “Yep. And if you think the coaches and staff are the only ones being looked at, think again.”
Rangall motioned at the pictures. “Winning games isn’t good enough anymore. The fans expect more out of you, from the team, and from the league.”
“What happened to just playing ball?” Carson sighed. He hated the controversy and had never liked being in the spotlight. But if you wanted to stay in the NFL, you had to play the part of a superstar.
“That’s a great question. One you’ll never get an answer to. Here’s the facts. If you can’t accept the responsibility of a franchise quarterback, the owner will find someone who can.”
Carson’s jaw clenched. He’d never expected to hear those words. The Warriors had traded two draft picks, players, and cash to get Carson on the team. Would they be willing to part with him so easily? “Should I call my agent?” He eyed his coach. Maybe Rangall was making empty threats to get his attention.
“Call the damned commissioner if you think it will help keep you on the team.” Coach shot up from his chair and began pacing. “I’m on your side, Carson. I know who the culprits are.” Coach looked in the general direction of the locker room. “But the public doesn’t differentiate between players so easily. One bad choice translates into everyone suffering the consequences.”
“I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. And I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“Good. Now get out of my office.”
Carson stood, feeling very much like Atlas with the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. “How much time do I have?”
“Six weeks. Before team-wide camp starts. I want to see press coverage of you and whoever else it takes to convince the public you’ve suddenly found God. Public appearances at charitable events. Visit hospitals and schools. Go shovel horse shit at the animal shelter if that’s what turns you on.”
Carson already spent a substantial amount of time volunteering at the local hospitals and mentoring troubled teens during a weekend sports camp every month. “Got it. Anything else, Coach?”
“Yeah.” Rangall looked up. “We’re bringing in a professional to train you heathens on how to use social media to your advantage.”
“What?”
“You heard me, Carson.”
“I manage my own accounts just fine.”
“That may be,” Coach said. “But someone needs to rebrand all of the accounts.” He looked over Carson’s shoulder, staring out the big picture window into the locker room. “Damn internet is a blessing and a curse. Wouldn’t surprise me if the front office instructs us to scrub all your profiles.”
“But I have two million followers just on…”
“Save it for Monday, Savage.” He held his hand up.
Carson nodded. “Goodnight, Coach.”
“’Night.”
Carson exited Rangall’s office and headed back to the locker room.
“That bad?” Ty asked.
Carson slumped onto one of the benches and looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Did you have anything to do with that ass shot?”
“Me?” Ty smirked. “I see enough of that ass in here.”
“But you know who did it?”
“I might.”
Carson knew what his captain responsibilities were, and sacrificing his career to keep his teammates safe wasn’t part of it. Not when the stakes were so high. But he would protect Ty at all costs, their friendship ran that deep. “I need you to pass along a message for me.”
Ty crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m listening.”
“Tell the prick if he does anything like that again, his ass is mine first, then Coach’s.”
“What happened in there, Carson?”
“None of us are safe, Ty. The front office is bringing in a social media expert to rebrand us.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yeah. And if we don’t cooperate, there will be some big changes around here. Coach is talking trades and contract buyouts.”
“Jesus Christ.” Ty sat next to Carson, obviously taking the news seriously. “Did my name get mentioned?”
“No. But everyone who was called in for early camp is under the microscope. We have six weeks to get our shit together. I need your help.”
“Anything.”
“Nothing specific right now, but I’ll need you to back me up whenever I need it.”
Ty fist-bumped Carson. “I’ve got your back, bro.”
Carson nodded and stood. “I’m stopping by the house before I go to Sullivan’s.”
“OK, I’ll see you there.”
Carson watched his best friend walk out of the locker room. They’d been through some shit together. And if Carson had anything to say about where his team was headed, he and Ty would still be standing in the Warriors’ locker room this time next year.
He grabbed his duffel bag from his locker and started for the parking lot. Not the way he’d hoped to start the weekend, but at least Coach Rangall had given him fair warning of what to expect on Monday. And no matter what it took, Carson would make it work, because nothing or no one was going to take him away from this team or this town.