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"I'm sure he'll be here soon," I assured him. I wish I felt so confident. "He knows how important this is."
"Does he?" Carson asked.
I was wondering the same thing myself, to be honest. "I'm sure he does," I said. "No doubt he has a good explanation for missing the event."
From the expression on Carson's face, it would have to be the explanation to beat all explanations. Bam better have been saving someone's life, or dying in a fire while rescuing a basket of kittens.
Wait, if he was dead, he wouldn't be at practice. Well still, it better be really good.
"I don't know what could possibly be more important than his future on the team," Carson said. "If he's not dedicated enough…"
"He's as dedicated as any of the guys," I said quickly. I was sticking my neck out here.
Hopefully I wouldn't lose it because of Bam. I was attached to my neck. "Maybe even more so. He loves what he does. He worked his butt off to get here. He wouldn't just throw it away like a—" I frowned.
"Like a football?" Carson suggested.
"Yeah, that." I laughed softly. "He wants to keep playing as long as he can. He…" Why was I defending him anyway? I gave him a golden opportunity to put himself on track in the eyes of the boss, the team and the world, and he'd wasted it. Threw it away like an unbeatable lead during the game before the Down Under Bowl.
"That's all I ask of any of my guys," Carson said. "One hundred and twenty percent commitment. That's what I give them. I have great faith in each and every one of them. When they let me down, it's like one of my kids let me down."
"I understand, sir." I nodded. "Everything any of them does has an impact on everyone else."
"Exactly. Rising water lifts us all. One small hole and we'll all go down."
I thought that might be a little dramatic, but I nodded again anyway. "We don't want that."
"No, we don't." Carson nodded firmly. "But we won't let that happen. We'll get to the bottom of this and sort Bam out. By the time we've finished, he and the Rapids are going to look like the boy scouts’ better behaved big brothers."
I wanted to laugh, but I bit it down. Comparing pro football players to boy scouts was funny at the best of times. Guys like Bam made it downright ridiculous.
Worse than that, I had the feeling Carson expected me and the publicity team to work miracles.
"We'll certainly do our best to make that happen," I said.
"Of course you will," Carson said. "That's what I pay you for." He narrowed his eyes slightly.
I couldn't miss the veiled threat. If I didn't pull off all of these miracles, I could kiss my job goodbye.
No pressure.
I gave a nervous laugh. "I'll do my best not to let you down."
He sighed. "That brings me back to Bam Clinton." He glanced again at the door.
"Should I go and find him?" I offered.
"Yes, do that," Carson said after a moment. "I should have put a tracking collar on him."
I was almost certain he was joking this time, so I laughed. "He'd only take it off."
I pictured him peeling a strip of leather off his neck, which glistened with sweat from a long workout. He tossed the collar aside and grinned. He wasn't wearing anything else.
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