Provoking the Punter

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

The Copperheads have traded punter Garrett Stevens for a fourth-round pick to the Austin Troopers, three days before the trade deadline. Officially, it’s because he failed to gel with the team in the way they’d hoped. So now the speculation about the real reason begins with the Troopers having two punters on their roster, with ten-year veteran Patrick James in his final year of contract. Whatever the real reason behind the trade, Stevens will need to do more than gel to avoid being cut. What do you guys think of Stevens, James, and the trade?

Kingsley Black—The Draft

You’ve been traded.

The words had been bouncing around Garrett’s head for the last thirty-four hours, turning his thoughts to jelly until there was nothing else. From the moment the team manager and head coach of the Copperheads called him to his office, he’d known he was cooked.

No. From the moment he’d walked into the motel room after a couple of drinks to celebrate his birthday, he’d been done.

It hadn’t mattered what happened after that. He’d been waiting for something to happen.

You’ve got forty-eight hours.

A year and a half of playing with the team meant nothing.

After the meeting, he’d crammed everything into his car and canceled the lease on his apartment, though he still owed a month’s rent. The furniture had come with the place, so at least he didn’t have to worry about moving anything but himself and his car. And getting to the new facility by three o’clock for a meeting with the head coach of the Troopers. No doubt there would be a bunch of other people there.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

He swallowed and blinked.

Coach had shaken his hand as if nothing had happened. Nothing had fucking happened.

All the best.

He had over twenty unread texts on his phone and a dozen missed calls. He’d deal with them soon. There was only one call he’d taken, and that was from his agent who’d relayed the Troopers’ schedule, as well as supplied him with all the necessary contact details for his new team.

He hoped the drive and listening to an audiobook filled with gay werewolves with unrealistic problems would be enough of a distraction. It wasn’t. His stomach was set on spin and had roped his mind in for the occasion.

Nearly six hours later, he was crossing the Austin city line. He’d left early because he didn’t want to be late. That was not the first impression he wanted to make. He glanced in the rearview mirror, but the view out the rear window was blocked by all of his things. He noted the time and breathed a sigh of relief. With an hour to spare, he went to the hotel. Unpacking would keep him busy, along with taking a shower and changing his shirt, because despite the air conditioning he was sweating worse than at summer training camp.

He glanced at the clock again.

If he didn’t stop to think, he could push through, maybe even convince himself it was a good thing because staying would have been awkward at best.

He kept his voice low as he checked in, but that didn’t stop him from wondering if people were watching him. If they recognized him. Usually, he went unnoticed. He doubted even hard-core Copperheads fans recognized him without his jersey on.

New jersey, new number.

Here he was a no one.

“Do you know how long you’ll be staying?” The woman behind the counter asked.

Garrett shook his head. He should look for another furnished apartment, but he had no idea how long he was going to be in Austin. They might decide to cut him in a couple of weeks. He might survive the rest of the season, only to be cut before the start of the next one.

His stomach bounced into his throat and his skin became hot and tight, as if he was about to be sick. He needed to keep it together for a little longer.

He needed to make it through the meeting and make a good impression.

“Do you have a long-term rate? Monthly?”

“I’ll have my manager contact you.” She confirmed his phone number.

He needed to start answering calls.

He’d avoided social media since the announcement. Now he was here, he’d have to face it sooner rather than later; make a statement about how excited he was to be joining the Troopers. He wasn’t excited.

Terrified was a better word for the twisting of his guts and churning of his thoughts.

His head hadn’t stopped spinning as if he’d been tackled and knocked flat on his back. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He was staring at the sky, wondering what the fuck had happened.

No fuck had happened, yet he was still in the shit.

No one gave a shit about a punter until he fucked up.

He had fucked up. But it was one of those one in a million things. Bad luck… bad timing… It wasn’t his fault. He’d watched enough film of his own bad kicks that at the end of the day it didn’t matter, because it was him.

It was always him.

Or as his father said, “Once a fuck up, always a fuck up.”

Which is why he’d ignored his father’s calls. Garrett knew what he’d say, and he refused to listen to it right now. He was not going back to Australia with his tail between his legs like a kicked dog.

He refused to prove his father right.

There were still options. If he got cut, he’d be a free agent. He could join a practice squad. There were always other options. He’d learned that the hard way.

He’d also learned to get back up and never give up.

“I’ve got a lot of luggage in my SUV.” He gave himself a mental pat on the back for buying the four-wheel-drive so he could travel in the off-season. He’d drive around the country and see different parts of it. He hadn’t thought about how it enabled him to pack up his whole life in a few hours.

“Not a problem, sir. I’ll have a valet come and take that for you. You’ll need parking?”

“Yes, thank you.”

She handed him the room key. “And this is your parking bay number and tag.”

By the time he unloaded the car onto the trolley for the valet, there were only a few minutes for him to freshen up and change his shirt, before driving to the training facility. Less time to dwell if he stayed busy.

He parked and took a moment to gather his thoughts, so he sounded as though he had his shit together when he fronted up to the coaches’ office.

They were waiting for him.

He’d been sent the schedule, dictating when and where he was supposed to be for the rest of the week. Uniform, medical, PR. The Troopers’ machine was making sure he slotted in. He appreciated that. It was the questions the coaches, the GM, and PR might ask that made him anxious.

He’d spent the time he wasn’t packing and prepping to move, reading about the Troopers and brushing up on their punter Patrick James. Those punters who had a career that lasted more than a couple of seasons… He wanted that.

He bit the inside of his lip, refusing to let it quiver.

His career wasn’t over yet.

Garrett opened his eyes to stare up at the building that would become his second home for the rest of the season, and if he was lucky, next season, and the one after. When he got out of the car, he wiped his palms on his slacks, dressed as though he was proud to be representing the team, not traveling here with his ass in his hands. He couldn’t fumble this.

Inhale. Exhale. Tune out the noise.

Everything he felt and thought was all noise.

If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to act and say the right things to stay out of trouble. He should’ve known better than to drink and look for some fun. Nothing good ever happened with alcohol.

By the time he reached the door, he was in the zone as if he’d stepped on the field at fourth down and it was up to him to put the opposition in the shittiest position possible.

Only this time, he was in the shit position.

He was in coffin corner.

Even though his stomach churned, and he wanted to puke, he went in because they were waiting for him. If he fucked this up, it would make getting signed next season that much harder. It didn’t matter how good his stats were. No one wanted a troublemaker on the team, and while he’d stayed away from the media, he was sure that’s what they assumed.

The only thing in his favor was that his old coach wouldn’t want word getting out. Although, a tiny part of him wouldn’t mind if it did. At least then everyone would know it had been a personal vendetta.

And if everyone learned he was gay, it was one less thing to worry about.

Yet, at the same time, he dreaded being outed. He would come out when he was good and ready. Most players waited until they retired, but there were a few who had taken that step forward; some were brave enough to do it in college. Others waited until they were established. Trouble was, there were only thirty-two punting places, while every other position had multiples and backups. Teams could be choosy.

There was a small part of him that wished he’d done something different. Tried a different position in college, but it had been expected of him to punt. That was the deal when he’d joined the program to go from playing Aussie rules to American football. He’d trained and became an expert in one thing, got a scholarship to college, and played.

He wasn’t the first Australian to fail at Aussie rules and tread this path. And he wouldn’t be the last. For him, it had been the path away from home.

Away from all the memories.

No matter what happened, he wasn’t going back.

Two women were chatting at the front counter. Both turned to look at him. One smiled as if she knew exactly who he was. That wasn’t a good sign. He enjoyed being the invisible team member.

“Mr. Stevens.” She extended her hand, her nails painted the team gold, and they shook hands. “I’m Caitlin Cole. It’s nice to finally meet you.” She smiled up at him, and for a moment, Garrett felt as if she meant it.

Maybe she did. All he had were a few emails between her and his agent, which Garrett had been included in, where his agent assured her he wasn’t a PR disaster about to happen. The only person who knew the truth was his agent, and that was how he wanted to keep it.

“I’m glad to be here.” And he meant it. Playing out the rest of the season with the Copperheads would’ve been a nightmare.

“I’m sure you are.” For a moment, her smile sharpened.

Fuck, he hoped his agent hadn’t blabbed. He did not want to be answering a hundred and one awkward questions about how he ended up in a motel room with the head coach of the Copperheads, with the coach’s wife screaming at them both. And not in pleasure.

He’d deleted the app. Deleted all of them.

He was never drinking or hooking up again.

“They’re waiting for you upstairs. Come on.” She led the way, and he followed.

He concentrated on where they were going, on the soft noise her ballet flats made as she walked. Up the stairs to the offices and meeting rooms.

One door was open, and that was, of course, the one they walked into.

Caitlin shut the door, leaving him to choose a seat at the meeting room table.

He recognized the Troopers’ head coach, Emilio Oliveira, and the special teams coach, Jaxon Ross. Usually, he saw them from the other side of the field, or watched them on the screen as they gave orders to their players.

Mr. Vasquez, the team owner, was thankfully not present.

Coach Oliveira fingered a printout of the team’s schedule. He didn’t look happy. Garrett suspected that if he was a new quarterback or someone else, Coach might’ve been a bit more excited.

Caitlin joined them at the table.

Garrett waited. He was good at that. Keep your focus. Be ready for the snap. Pin the opposition.

Except they were supposed to be on the same team.

“Welcome to the Troopers. There are only a couple of days until the next game, so spend the rest of the week getting yourself sorted. Hit the ground hard next week, so we can see what you’ve got, because I gave up a defensive back’s place for you.”

Garrett nearly squirmed under Coach’s intense stare.

He’d seen the replay. Two weeks ago, a Trooper defensive back had been crushed making a tackle. He wouldn’t return this season. That was the place on the team he was taking. That guy’s bad luck was his good luck.

Garrett didn’t know what to say, so he went with the obvious platitude. “I’m looking forward to meeting the rest of the team.”

“What was the problem with the Copperheads? Your agent assured us that there wouldn’t be any pending assault charges or an inquiry.” Ross cut straight to the point.

“He was correct. I’d been out to celebrate my birthday. It was a verbal disagreement that happened off the field and had nothing to do with football.” The only thing he’d said was that he’d just arrived. He still had his fucking pants on.

He was being punished for something that hadn’t even happened.

While his former coach didn’t consider sleeping with men cheating on his wife, she’d had a different opinion. She thought they were having an affair.

He wasn’t that fucking stupid.

And he’d done his share of dumb shit…

Ross stroked his chin. “Yet it was enough for them to trade you when your stats for this season put you in the top half of punters.”

His ass was scraping into the top sixteen. One touchback, or too many yards returned, and he was in the bottom half. Again. That was where he spent last season. But people expected rookies to fumble under pressure. He didn’t have that grace any more. He should know what he was doing.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He could not tell them the real reason. If he told them he was gay, and that was the problem between him and the coach?

It would be a lie.

And it might also be a problem here.

Then he’d be cut. Oliveira could get his additional defensive back.

And Garrett would be lucky to get a contract because there was always someone else hungry for his job. Someone who didn’t have Trouble stamped on his forehead.

“Like I said, alcohol was involved, and it didn’t go down too well. I’ve given up drinking.” Did they think he’d turned up to training drunk? He wasn’t that stupid.

“You’re fast on your feet and not afraid to take a tackle,” Oliveira said, eyeing him up, as if he was some strange beast that needed closer inspection.

Garrett knew exactly which game Oliveira was referring to.

“I couldn’t let him get through with the ball.” Somehow the other team’s punt returner had slipped through. Garrett had acted on instinct from playing years of Aussie rules and run at him. “If I’d kicked better, he wouldn’t have got the ball.”

He re-watched that footage many times. There were at least three other places where that play had fallen apart. It wasn’t just him.

Coach Ross laughed. “It was raining so hard I’m surprised he caught the ball in the first place.”

The rain hadn’t helped.

“I played plenty of Australian football in the rain, sir.” They were bittersweet memories that he pushed aside to deal with later. He couldn’t. Not today.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Was anyone going to address the elephant in the room named Patrick James?

“While you are settling in this week,” Caitlin interjected, “I’ve scheduled a couple of PR opportunities. One is a simple intro video for our social media. And all of our new players attend a fundraising dinner. We find it’s a good first impression for players to make, and it gives fans the chance to meet you. I’ll confirm the date and time and let you know.”

“Thank you.” He hated PR, but it was part of the show. Personally, he’d much rather hand over a chunk of money and remain invisible.

“Do you have any questions?” Oliviera asked.

Garrett glanced at Ross, then swallowed. “Most teams don’t carry two punters. I know James is a ten-year veteran, and his contract is up for renewal at the end of this season.” He’d also spent a couple of weeks out injured last season and his stats were in the bottom half. Garrett hoped that meant his foot was in the door.

Ross nodded, his expression going cold. “Correct. I look forward to seeing you train.”

That was a non-answer if ever Garrett had heard one. He also knew there was no such thing as a guarantee. If he didn’t impress, he wouldn’t get the spot. If James didn’t impress, he wouldn’t have his contract renewed.

There was always someone younger and hungrier.

They all shook hands like they were new friends, and he was given a small tour of the facility by one of the coaching assistants and an ID card. His name was already on his locker.

Stevens 0.

There hadn’t been many numbers to choose from. He picked zero. New start. Clean slate and all that.

The coaching assistant introduced him to the equipment guys. They already had his sizes for pants and practice jerseys—his game day jerseys were already on order. He knew what padding he liked. They fitted the helmet. He picked gloves and tried on shoes.

They all acted as though he might dress for Sunday’s game.

He wouldn’t be.

He stood in front of the logos for some photos, recorded a couple of little videos while Caitlin supervised. When he watched them back, he looked happy, as though everything had worked out as planned.

It was only when he was back in the hotel room that he allowed himself the breakdown he’d been withholding.

He gave himself an hour.