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“Two weeks! I’ll be stuck here for two weeks!” I holler, but he ignores my complaint.
“Be safe. And be nice to my cat! Bye!” He hangs up the phone before I can respond.
Two weeks.
What the hell am I supposed to do for two weeks? I scan the apartment. It has two bedrooms and two baths with an open layout for the kitchen and living room. The kitchen has a small L-shaped bar counter with four stools beneath it. The area where most people would have a kitchen table is set up as Jake’s office. A tall, wooden, hutch-style desk stands against the wall, complete with a computer, giant monitor, and an ergonomic chair.
The living room is bachelor chic. Two black leather couches—one a three-seater, the other a loveseat. A few soft throw pillows in a light gray tone are scattered along the surface. An afghan with a pattern in shades of black, gray, white, and light blue that looks like a Native American design rests across the back of the large couch. There’s a glass end table with chrome edges between the couches. A matching rectangular table sits in the center. A bright blue lamp with a white shade sits on the end table. A cigarette lamp stands tall and proud in the corner near a single large potted plant—though I’m not sure the plant is real. Will definitely have to check that out or that sucker will die a slow death during my two-week stay. Across from the couches is a state of the art media center. Fifty-five-inch TV, Xbox, stereo, DVD player…the whole nine.
Fuck. I hope it’s only two weeks that I need to be here. I mean how long can it take for doctors to figure this type of thing out? Jake said it landed in China last year and it’s now mid-March. Another thing to look into while I’m waiting to see if my entire career flushes right down the toilet.
Everything I’ve worked for—gone.
All it took was a well-timed photo delivered to the media and the subsequent search of my locker, and my head ended up on the chopping block.
Drugs and doping. After everything I’ve put into my career. All the blood, sweat, and tears tossed out the door like yesterday’s garbage. Worst part, I had no business being in that room or at that party in the first place. I don’t even know who took the picture and sold me out. Not really. The media refuses to release their source, but it sure as hell looks really bad.
Half the team believes the lies. And why wouldn’t they? I’m a player and partier in every sense of the word. At least I had been in the past. More recently, after turning twenty-nine, I started to re-evaluate my life. Made some long-needed changes. The first of which was to quit boozing and partying it up with women barely of age. The second, focus solely on the game.
I was in prime shape. Treated my body like a temple and I worshipped it in the gym six days a week, two hours a day, if not more. I’m in the best shape of my life. And career-wise, I’m the best and highest paid running back there is. My last contract was for a cool fourteen mil and until this broke I expected to make even more next year.
Who knows where I’ll be now?
One of the only rules in the brotherhood of football is you do not chemically enhance your body. We get there on sheer will and our own grit. Being suspected of not only doing drugs at a party, but doping before games? Sacrilege.
Being the fastest running back in the league last season was my claim to fame. Now it’s worthless. Even if I can prove my innocence, I may always be under the microscope. This is a guilty until proven innocent situation, not the other way around.
Not that I had any say in the matter. I remember drinking heavily that night. Sharing some laughs with the guys. The coach snuck off to get a little side action with one of the cheerleaders and I was trying to be the cool one, Levi and I hanging out with the other chicks he brought. We all partied hard together. Drank like fishes, played pool and cards, danced with some of the groupies. Nothing out of the ordinary. Eventually I was led to a bedroom by a hot chick. I don’t even remember her name. The last thing I remember was her straddling me on the bed. She offered me a glass filled with what I assumed was whiskey. I drank from it. Then it was lights out.
When I woke the next day, I found myself in a strange bed with a gnarly hangover. Unfortunately, that was not an uncommon occurrence in the past, even though I’d been staying pretty straightlaced most of the past year.
