2. Boring Life
BORING LIFE
“ W ho do you think they are going to draft?” his sister Stephanie asked him.
She’d been with Warren for every draft since he’d gone pro fourteen years ago. He’d never forget being drafted first and having to walk out on stage.
Scared shitless was what he felt, but he’d never let on.
Everything he’d been working years for was going to come true and it only added more stress on his shoulders to make sure he didn’t blow it.
His mother and both his sisters were by his side that day in the best dresses that he could afford to buy them. He would have spent more, but his credit card at the time was maxed with those purchases and what he’d accumulated in college for years.
Of course, once he signed his first contract those worries were gone. Just more added that he might have a harder time controlling.
“There is talk they want a quarterback,” he said. “But not in the first round. We need a running back. I’d like to see some bigger guys on the O-line.”
He had no hopes that his contract would be extended past the remaining two seasons. He’d be thirty-six and by then, no team was offering much more than one or two years at a time.
Warren was here for one purpose and he didn’t achieve that last year through no fault of his own.
This coming year was the time for them to build the team around him as they’d promised to do.
But they would need to plan for the future and drafting a quarterback would give him time to help train the newbie to be his replacement.
“They need to give you better protection,” Stephanie said. “How come there isn’t anything chocolate in your house?”
“You should have put that request in,” he argued. “Marcia makes whatever I ask, and if I don’t ask, she makes what is part of my nutritional meal plan.”
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Do you ever just let go and have a big BLT with a side of cheesy fries?”
“There will be plenty of time to eat like that when I’m retired,” he said. “Until then, nutrition is part of my regimen.”
He didn’t get to where he was by taking shortcuts.
When he was told to do something, he researched it to make sure it’d be a good fit for him and tailored it to work the best in his life.
Having a personal chef come in a few times a week and make his meals to store in the fridge for him to warm up was better than having someone underfoot all the time.
Sometimes he had to do a little prep with them, but nothing major, or anything he couldn’t handle. He’d been doing enough on his own for years.
He found having it all in-house and ready to go was more efficient and was willing to pay for it. Maybe one of those splurges with all his money. He didn’t spend nearly what he had or what other players did.
He couldn’t be some fancy showoff no matter how many zeroes were behind his name.
“Your boring life,” Stephanie said. She was opening cabinets looking for snacks.
“To the right,” he said. “It’s all for you.”
Stephanie went to the cabinet he was pointing to, opened it, and squealed. “You’re the best, Warren.”
He just hoped she ate all the chips, cookies, and fruit snacks she lived off of as a kid before she left. He might be tempted to have some if they were left here.
She was right—it wouldn’t kill him, especially in the off-season.
But having an alcoholic father, he worried that addiction ran in his blood too easily.
Being addicted to hard work never hurt anyone, but that meant sticking to it and not enjoying a midnight bag of Lays.
The better shape he stayed in now, the easier training season would be when all the other guys were coming back out of shape and swearing up a storm after an hour of weight lifting they should have continued doing.
“You’ve been telling me that since you were a kid.”
She was pushing things around and triumphantly held up the package of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. “You remembered. This is why you’re the best.”
She came over and hugged him. He pulled her close and held her tight.
He missed his family more than anything in the past decade, but they stayed in Upstate New York where he was from.
He wasn’t sure why they wanted to when he could move them anywhere else, but he understood he wasn’t exactly settled either and they wouldn’t want to keep picking up to move and follow him.
His mother had still been working as an LPN at the hospital where she started after graduating from high school.
He’d managed to talk her into going to a private office with easier clients and hours, so that was something.
She now lived for free in a ranch home he’d bought for her and his sisters the day after his first sum of money was deposited in his account.
Securing better housing for them was more important than him finding a place.
“Because it’s the truth,” Stephanie said. “Stacy wishes she could have come this year, but she’s studying.”
“As she should be,” he said. “We can call her later and put her on video.”
Stacy was in her last month of law school. She had the world ahead of her and he felt as if he could relax some now with all the women in his life set up for their futures.
Stephanie was a CPA and had a great job too. As much as he would have loved them to move, Stephanie stayed close to his mother. Who knew where Stacy would end up? The fact she was in law school an hour away at UMass helped ease his and his mother’s mind about the baby of the family.
Maybe that was why this offer with the Patriots held so much appeal—it got him close to everyone.
Not that Stacy liked it when he showed up on campus and caused a ruckus. His baby sister didn’t always want it known she was the War Show’s sister.
Warren honored that. He detested being known as Slick Shower’s son in their hometown.
Sure, they were different things, but attention was attention if you didn’t want it. Whether it was good or bad.
But Stacy was aware she could come to his house in Brookline anytime she wanted. He was still waiting for her to decide what she was going to do after graduation.
Knowing his sister, she’d be studying for a few months before she could take the bar in July, then she’d find a job.
“I’m sure she’ll answer,” Stephanie said. “I wish she could come, but I get it.”
“You did the same thing,” he said. “We’ve all got this drive to be the best we can be.”
“No one is like you,” Stephanie said, shaking her head.
“Thank you,” he said, smiling.
She closed one eye at him as she opened her peanut butter cups up. “It wasn’t a compliment.”
He frowned. “Why is that?”
“You’ve sacrificed enough for us. When are you going to slow down?”
“I’ll slow down when I’m retired. Maybe around forty.”
“Forty!” Stephanie shouted and started to cough on the bite of chocolate she’d eaten. “You told Mom you were done after this contract. You know how worried she is. Warren...”
He moved over and pulled her under his arm.
At six foot six, he was a solid foot taller than his sister. “It’s my plan,” he said. “I’m just yanking your chain.”
But the closer it came to telling himself he only had two years left, the harder it was for him to figure out what to do with his time.
He’d spent his whole life working hard to provide for everyone else.
He had more than enough money to do what he wanted for the rest of his life, but it wouldn’t give him the same thrill as sports. Or the satisfaction of a good day’s work.
Goals.
He needed something to strive for and he still was coming up with blanks.
His agent told him they already had some broadcasting gigs lined up. Sure, that was fine too, but nothing would be full-time or major. It’d be seasonal and more like a game day sideline correspondent. He didn’t think he’d want to do anything more than that.
He might perform well in front of a stadium of over sixty thousand people, but he was in the zone for that.
Even talking in front of a camera after the game, he was great there too. It was a minute or so.
Hours in front of the TV with all those expectations and every move he made watched? Did he want to work so hard at another career with so many eyes on him?
Did he have it in him?
He didn’t think so.
But he had two years to figure it out. Or take time off and do it at a slower pace.
If he even understood what a slow pace was.
“There is nothing to be worried about,” he said. “I take care of myself and follow all precautions.”
Stephanie narrowed her eyes at him. “You can’t prevent this until you don’t play.”
“Every player gets a concussion,” he said. “Whether they know it or not. You’ve probably had a few when I dropped you on your head as a kid. I just didn’t tell Mom.”
Stephanie gave him a shove. “That’s not funny.”
“I thought it was when you were little until you wouldn’t stop crying.”
His sister rolled her eyes. “Stop being cute.”
“I can’t help it. I was born looking like this,” he said, rubbing his knuckles on her head and messing up her hair.
She pushed out of his arms. “Your head is so big I’m surprised anything can hurt it.”
“There you go,” he said. “And I’m wearing extra padding this year. It’s going to be fine.”
At least that was what he told himself every night.