CHAPTER 37 Maverick Jennings
Slam
I slam the medicine ball as hard as I can at the ground. I pick up the twenty-pound ball, lift it over my head, and slam it at the ground again. And again. And again.
It’s great for working out frustration, and I’ll be recovered enough by Sunday to throw the football with the accuracy I’m known for.
She made her fucking choice.
I slam the ball at the ground again.
But we still have to work together.
I slam the ball once more.
Day in and day out.
Slam.
I have to live next door to her.
Slam.
Ride the elevator with her.
Slam.
See her in the bleachers. Slam. The owner’s suite. Slam. My dreams. Slam.
Fuck her. Fuck her for choosing her criminal father in this mess. We had something, something big. Something important. Something worth fighting for. And she still chose him.
Fuck that goddamn statement they released today, too. It’s clearly a statement meant to control damage to make it seem like there’s no story to investigate, but to me it just feels like lies.
Mr. Jennings was in attendance last night at a private event that was interrupted by law enforcement. He was not charged with a crime and has been fully cooperative. We have no further comment at this time.
I still haven’t been formally charged, though I didn’t escape unscathed. A citation is still an accusation that I was doing something wrong.
I was. I shouldn’t have been there, and I fully take the blame for that. I knew it was wrong, but I went anyway. I wanted to blow off steam. I wanted a night of mindless fun. I’ve been there plenty of times, so I thought I’d be safe to do it again.
There are a lot of perks to these underground places. The taxes, yes. But also the fact that there are only people like me there. Everleigh wanted me to give her names, and I could have. Ben Olson got out just in the nick of time, but as for the others?
Lots of executives in suits, plenty of actors and musicians, a local news anchor, a bunch of tech guys. There was even a judge there. A judge. The police have all their names, and that judge is certainly more fucked than an NFL star with a questionable reputation to begin with.
But I won’t give those names up. It’s not my gossip to share.
I thought Ellie told her not to let me out of her sight, but I haven’t seen her since before lunch. I wonder where she went. I wish I didn’t care.
“Jennings, Mr. Dalton wants to see you in his office. Now,” Coach Nash tells me as I slam the ball at the ground again.
I nod, pick up the ball and stick it on the rack, and I follow him up to Jack’s office.
Everleigh is sitting in it when I arrive.
Everyone looks serious, and a tingle of nervousness dances up my spine.
“Have a seat,” Jack says. He looks between Everleigh and me. “We have a problem.”
Just one? I want to ask it, but I know better than to be sarcastic to the team owner.
“Tell me what happened last night,” Jack says to me.
I press my lips together, and then I give a fairly bland recount of my night.
“I went to a casino I’ve frequented before after practice.
I headed down to a private basement section, and the police raided it about ten minutes after I walked in.
I was detained and questioned. I was issued a citation, and I was told the DA would be easier on me if I gave up the name of the person who owned the place. ”
“Did you?” Jack asks.
I glance at Everleigh, and then I look back at Jack. I shake my head.
“Ellie and I are working hard to bury the story,” Everleigh says.
Jack nods at her. “When a player is issued a citation by law enforcement, we have to report it to the league.”
“What if I got the citation dropped?” I ask quietly.
“It would have to be pretty quick in order for me not to report it.”
I glance over at Everleigh, and she’s staring straight ahead at Jack.
She’s not budging.
“The league may hand down their own punishment, or they may not. But you’ve violated a team rule, and that means suspension, Maverick.”
The word sends a shot of anger straight through me, but before I can protest, he continues as my stomach churns.
“I thought you’d be trying a little harder to keep your ass on the field considering you missed the first four games this season with your rib injury.
I’m disappointed in your behavior. We knew bringing you here was a risk, and I still fully believe in Ms. Bradley’s capability to help you turn this around.
But be aware that sponsors don’t want to take a risk on players like you.
Your opportunities are going to dry up, they’re going to drop you, and if you can’t straighten yourself out, we will drop you, too.
We can’t continue taking the hits to our team reputation because of you.
Little kids look up to you, man. Is this what you want them to see?
” He pulls up a photo of me, one from not so long ago when I drunkenly ranted about Dex.
It's a little embarrassing, sure. But I didn’t bother to feel embarrassment until Everleigh opened those doors to my emotions again. I didn’t give a single fuck what anyone thought about me.
I glance over at her again.
She could make whatever might come next much easier on me if she would just let me name her goddamn father.
But she won’t.
“Mr. Dalton, if I may,” she says. “I think a suspension will only draw more attention to Maverick’s behavior, and it’s just going to make it harder to bury the story.”
He lifts his shoulders. “Rules are rules. There’s nothing I can do.”
“Don’t you own the team?” I ask. I shouldn’t. I should keep my goddamn mouth shut, but I can’t. “You could bend the rules.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If I bent the rules for every player that came in here and asked me to, what good would a set of rules be?” He shakes his head.
“No. I can’t. You’ll serve your time. It’s a one-game suspension, and that means I’ll need your credentials through Sunday evening.
You can return to the Complex on Monday morning if you so choose to practice.
” He holds out his hand, and I hand over the little plastic card that lets me in and out of the building.
Fuck.
I blow out a breath, and then I storm out of the office without being dismissed.
I wonder if this means I won’t have to see her until Monday morning, either.
It doesn’t.
The media finds out I’m suspended, and for as hard as Everleigh tried to bury the story, they run with it. They tear the fuck into me, and a public fallout means more time with my brand strategist, of course.
Everleigh looks flustered as I open the door after hearing her bang on it later that same evening.
“What?” I hiss.
“May I remind you that you brought this on yourself, Mr. Jennings?” She storms into my place. She sits at my kitchen table—uninvited, mind you—and pulls out her laptop.
“And yet you hold the solution in your very hands,” I muse. I lean my backside against my kitchen counter and fold my arms over my chest rather than joining her at the table.
“This isn’t the time for jokes.”
“What is it the time for, then?” I ask.
“The media is tearing into you, Maverick. Don’t you care?
” She scrolls some headlines. “They love nothing more than to stir the pot with patterns. Look at this! Locker room rumors, previous suspensions, tantrums, interviews with your former teammates, many of whom have nothing good to say. Even gossip about your personal life.” She gestures wildly to the screen as if I have a single ounce of fucks left to give.
“No, I don’t care.” I shrug and shake my head. “Let them.”
“Let them?” she screeches. “I can’t! I’m being paid to not let them, and I can’t keep up with scandal after scandal with you!” She’s yelling at me, clearly overworked and stressed.
“I can’t help it that the media wants to dig up old dirt. You and I both know that things were turning around until the bust, and we both know that there’s one key that could unlock a way to make all of this much easier. You chose not to turn that key, and here we are.”
“You’re blaming me for this mess?” She slams her laptop lid shut as some throaty noise erupts from her.
I lift a shoulder. Blame is a strong word, but I’m also not not saying that.
“I never should have slept with you,” she hisses. “Hell, I never should have even moved to Vegas. I knew in my gut it was going to be a goddamn football player, and here we are. My career is about to go down the drain, and all you can do is sit there and blame me for your poor decisions.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have slept together. I should never have given in to the feelings I had for you. It was easier when we just hated each other.”
She presses her lips together and glances up at the ceiling as she clearly tries to ward off tears. I wish I could regret the words as they fall from my mouth, but the truth is that I’m trying hard to turn those emotions off again.
It was easier back when I didn’t feel anything at all than feeling like this.