Provoking the Punter

Chapter 10

CHAPTER

TEN

“I can see what you’re doing,” James said as he dried off.

Garrett shot him a glance. “Dressing?”

“Trying to look as though you fit in.”

Garrett pulled on shorts and a T-shirt. For the last couple of days, it felt as though cocksucker was stamped across his forehead. He was sure everyone would find out. His vow of celibacy hadn’t lasted very long. Although did it count if he hadn’t come? He had later. And every day since.

It had been years since he’d gotten on his knees. It was one of the things he’d let go of because he didn’t need those kinds of rumors. Sure there were outliers, but they were bigger than he was. And they didn’t have any kind of drama attached to their name. There was far too much speculation, especially as he hadn’t taken a spot on the bench yet.

“Mate, I turn up and train the same as you. That’s what I’m paid to do. That’s what Oliviera brought me here to do.” It was the media who expected James to retire.

They were speculating on which one of them would be cut.

Which one of them would play next year?

If it all went to shit, neither of them would be playing for the Troopers next year. If it went to shit, he’d be putting his degree to use. Something he wasn’t ready to do.

At least James had enough years behind him to have a nice nest egg, so he never needed to work again. That’s what Garrett wanted. He wanted a big enough sum in his savings account so he could decide his next move. He wasn’t going to retire with tens of millions the way star quarterbacks did, but four million American dollars, yeah, he could live on that for the rest of his life if he returned home. He didn’t need to live the highlife.

But he was a good bit short of his goal.

He needed at least another five years of playing.

James took a couple of steps toward him. “You aren’t taking my place.”

“No one’s place is guaranteed, mate.” Didn’t matter how shit hot you were, everything was always up for negotiation.

“I’m not your mate, Gary.”

Garrett suppressed the wince. “Gary is my father. I’ve been playing football since I was five, so it’s Stevens or Stevo to my friends.” James was not his friend, and Americans didn’t shorten the name and attach an O at the end the way Aussies did. For a very brief period, his nickname had been Gazza… which he hated more than Gary. Most people called him Stevens, and he was happy with that.

“What kind of nickname is Steve-O, Gary?”

Garrett turned away. He tidied up his locker area and tossed his towel into the laundry hamper.

“I’m talking to you.”

“I told you, Gary is my father.” And he wasn’t fucking answering to the name.

“You think you’re funny? I’m going to find out what you did.”

Garrett nodded. “You can spend your time doing that, or you can improve your accuracy because, by my reckoning, I’ve got you beat.”

It was the wrong thing to say, but he was done with James’ bullshit. The jibes during training when no one was listening. It was like having his father on the sidelines of his games again. Always telling him what he was doing wrong.

He’d almost quit playing when he started high school.

It had been his mother who’d encouraged him to keep going. He could do with her advice now, but it had been so long, he didn’t know what she’d say.

“Were you driving the car that killed her?” James’s voice cut through his thoughts.

Garrett’s fingers curled. “What did you say?”

He’d heard perfectly well, but he needed a moment to force his fingers to relax. He drew in a breath, then exhaled slowly.

James grinned, realizing he’d hit the target. “Did you kill your mother?”

“Since you know she died in a car accident, you also know my father was driving.” It wasn’t something he ever discussed in the media. However, there would be news articles online. It had been a big deal at the time.

“Was he covering for you?”

Garrett clenched his teeth. His toes curled against the floor, and it took every fiber of self-control that he’d accumulated over a lifetime of putting up with his father’s bullshit, not to launch himself at James and smash his fist into his face. Repeatedly.

“I don’t know what age you can get your license here, but in Australia, it’s seventeen. I wasn’t driving. Next time, research better.” His father had wanted him to drive, even though he only had his learner’s license. Both his parents had been drinking, which meant he couldn’t get behind the wheel.

But maybe if he had been driving, his mother would still be alive.

“I am researching.”

Garrett glared at him. “And while you’re doing that, I’ll prove why I belong here, and you don’t. Snip. snip.” He mimed scissors with his fingers.

He knew better than to goad, but the words tumbled off his tongue. He was sick and tired of placating assholes. That’s why he liked Chester. Chester didn’t play by their rules. He made his own and didn’t give a shit. For a couple of heartbeats, Garrett let himself envy Chester and the way he was so comfortable in his skin that no one’s comments bothered him. He wanted that. He wanted another taste of that freedom.

But the cost was too high, and he’d already made his deal.

Laughter and voices filtered into the locker room, and then several other guys walked in. They paused as if realizing they walked into something. “Everything okay?”

Garrett smiled. “Yeah, just comparing stats.”

He shoved his shoes on and walked out before James could say anything.

By the time training finished on Friday, it was clear he would not be playing. Garrett forced himself to keep smiling when all he wanted to do was use James’ head as a football and see how far he could punt it.

He didn’t stay and do anything extra the way he’d planned.

Returning to the hotel room was just another reminder of how shit his life was. Some people would do anything to be in his shoes. Some people would call him lucky for getting as far as he did.

He raked his fingers through his hair and paced. Fuck, how long until James convinced everyone else on special teams, and the coaches, that there was something wrong with him. The thing was he was lying and keeping secrets.

James suspected he was hiding something.

He had two options. Either he waited to see if James found out what had happened at the Copperheads, or he spoke to Caitlin and Oliviera first.

Given that he’d already told them there was no PR disaster waiting to happen…

He’d be gone…

Which would leave him as a free agent for next year. Assuming anyone wanted him. His agent thought the Troopers contract was guaranteed; James wouldn’t make it to the end of the season.

“Fuck.” He needed to talk to someone smarter than himself and who wouldn’t bullshit him.

He rested his head against the window and stared out at the city without seeing it. He needed to vomit out all his secrets, so they didn’t tear him apart.

Unfortunately, the one person he used to talk to was dead, so for the last ten years, he’d kept his mouth shut. He gagged as bile raced up his throat.

This was ridiculous. He was winding himself up.

As his father would say. He needed to get a grip and harden up because this was all his fault.