Down By Contact (Wilmington Breakers Book 1) Page 2

  “Sorry, but the league is pretty set on giving the fans a glimpse into the off-field lives of our players,” Coach said, sounding sincere. “If possible, I’d suggest trying to get the bulk of the work done this weekend. If that’s not possible, let me know and I’ll see if we can get some of the other guys to help out. Hell, the network would probably eat that shit up, getting footage of a bunch of football players lifting heavy furniture.” He paused, shaking his head. “Sorry, it’s unprofessional of me to vent to you like that. Believe me, none of us are thrilled to be the chosen team for the year. The only bright side is we’ll get through this and have at least two years off before we’re eligible again. And I don’t know about anyone else, but I intend to do everything in my power to make sure we win our conference every year so we’re exempt from going through this again.”

  It made me feel a bit better knowing I wasn’t the only person who loved the concept of the show as long as it was another team under the microscope. More than once, players had been anonymously cited in online stories, talking about how they regretted ever doing the show, because it took time away from not only their practice and training routine, but also their personal lives. From this point forward, everything I did, everywhere I went, would be dependent on whether people in my life were willing to sign waivers so they could be on television.

  It pissed me off knowing that doing the show meant I wasn’t going to see Nate and PJ for a while, because I wasn’t about to ask PJ to subject himself to any unwanted attention. He was busy trying to finish out his own career so he and Nate could get on with their lives. Coach dismissed me soon after, telling me to try and take it easy while I could. That wasn’t going to happen. Now, not only did I have to get settled into my sanctuary on the beach, but I also had to mentally prepare myself for having every waking moment recorded by the cameras.

  Two

  (Griffin)

  The lecture hall we’d been directed to meet in looked more like a police station war room than a college classroom. One whiteboard at the front of the room was littered with pictures of the Wilmington Breakers in action, while the other held six headshots. According to Liam Jennings, my mentor on this new assignment, those were the players who’d be featured on this season of Out of the Pocket.

  I tripped over my feet, nearly spilling my scalding coffee all over Liam’s back when my eyes locked on the last picture. The dimples at the corners of his mouth. The way his left front tooth was just the slightest bit crooked. The steel blue eyes that made you wonder what he was thinking. I’d seen plenty of pictures of Zach Kendricks over the years, but seeing his face on that board, just a few feet away from me, had me debating whether I’d been an idiot to take this job. In my defense, when I’d signed the contract, the announcement of which team had been selected for this year’s show hadn’t been made. There were thirty-one teams we could’ve been following that would’ve been just another job for me. Of course, the universe had a way of conspiring against me, and here we were.

  Was it possible for the two of us to see one another again without me betraying his confidence? From what I’d seen, Zach was even deeper in the closet than he’d been in college. As much as I wanted to hate him for insisting on denying who he was, I couldn’t. This was his ultimate dream and because of the choices he’d made, he was living it. Time had forced me to realize I’d been the one who was foolish to think he could’ve been himself and still gotten to where he was. The last man who’d tried to be open with his teammates and the rest of the world had burned out before the start of the regular season in his rookie year.

  “You okay?” Liam asked as we shuffled down the row of seats. Had I been left to my own devices, I would’ve sat near the back of the room, hoping to fly under the producer’s radar. From the little I’d seen since joining the crew on the East Coast, he was a ballbuster who loved to make examples of the guys who hadn’t been with the show for at least two or three seasons. It was my mission in life to stay in the shadows, do my job, collect my paycheck, and move on to the next project. I nodded, not trusting my voice. “I know it’s a bit surreal the first day you walk in here and actually see the storyboards. Just remember, these guys all shit just the same as you and me. There’s nothing to freak out about.”

  Oh, if only Liam knew how wrong he was. I didn’t really care about being surrounded by a bunch of athletes who could probably snap me in half. Every ounce of my sudden anxiety was because of one particular man and the number of skeletons in his closet. I was likely one he’d prefer to hide away and never see again.

  “I know that,” I scoffed. The chairs screeched as we folded down our seats. “I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re thinking. This isn’t my first gig. I’m used to dealing with temperamental starlets who think they’re the next Angelina Jolie. This will be a piece of cake by comparison.”

  My last assignment had been on one of those reality talent competitions. Most of the contestants were sweet, but damn, the ones who weren’t more than made up for the lack of attitude in their competitors. Truth be told, I had been looking forward to being around guys, because I’d foolishly thought they’d bring less drama to the screen. That’s what I got for not doing my homework before accepting the assignment. Over the past few weeks, I’d binge watched previous seasons of the show to get a feeling for what we’d be doing, and holy hell had I learned my lesson. The time seemed split pretty evenly between on field and off. Until I’d walked in this morning, I’d convinced myself it’d be easy to keep my distance from Zach so I wouldn’t upset his precious training. Yes, I knew he’d be here, but so were a hundred other guys all vying for a position on the official team roster. It shouldn’t have been that hard to avoid him. Now, I just had to hope my rookie status would keep me from being anywhere near showcased talent for this season. There were plenty of cameramen more experienced than I was, so there was a good chance I’d be relegated to stock shots that’d never see the light of day.

  Liam leaned in to say something, but stopped short when Giles Perkins cleared his throat dramatically as he entered the room. Giles couldn’t have stood more than five foot five, but he made up for his lack of stature in pompous arrogance. If you looked up Napoleon Complex in the dictionary, his face would be a watermark across the entire page. There was no way to confirm my suspicions, but it seemed an awful lot like he was trying to play up the hardass angle in an effort to fit in with such a testosterone-rich production. “The last time I checked, the network didn’t include social hour in your contracts, so if it’s quite all right with everyone, some of us would like to get work done today.”

  There were a few grumbles from the back of the room, which were effectively silenced when Giles glared at them and made a slicing motion across the front of his neck. He started off by offering platitudes on how lovely it was to see everyone again before welcoming those of us who were new to the crew. The man didn’t even make an effort to sound sincere; this was likely the same speech he offered at the start of every season.

  “I will say this once and only once,” he warned, pushing the wire-rimmed glasses over the bridge of his nose with his index finger. It was a futile effort, because as soon as he whipped his head to the side to see who dared speak while he was talking, they slid back down to the ruddy ball at the end of his nose. The offending parties quieted immediately, allowing Giles to turn his attention back to the front of the room. “You have been hired to do a job. That job does not include socializing with any of the players or staff. There will be no warnings. If you’re found in violation of this simple rule, you will be dismissed. Have I made myself abundantly clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” a few of the crew members muttered. The rest of us understood it was only a rhetorical question.

  “Good. Now that we have that out of the way,” he continued, turning his attention to a stack of manila folders on the table at the front of the room. He waved them in the air as he turned back to the crew. “These are the dossiers on the featured athletes for this seaso
n. If I call your name, please step forward to accept your assignment.”

  My stomach churned as Liam’s name was called first. That wasn’t a shock, seeing as he’d been with the show since the third season. He was the most seasoned cameraman on staff, so no one was surprised he’d been given first dibs. From what he’d told me about this process, Giles preferred to let the cameramen choose who they’d be working with because there’d been issues in the past with personality conflicts. It might’ve been one of the few praises I’d heard from anyone about the show’s producer.

  “Who’d you pick?” I asked when he returned to his seat. He flipped open the folder, revealing a wide receiver who could’ve been gorgeous, if he hadn’t been trying so hard to come across as a hard-ass. “Seriously? You could’ve had any of them and you figured deShawn Dawson was the best there was?”

  “Well yeah,” Liam responded, rolling his eyes as he leaned in closer. “Look, I’ve been at this shit long enough I could get the shots Giles wants in my sleep. Now, it’s all about who’s going to have the most fun, and I’m laying odds it’s going to be this guy.”

  “So, you made your choice based on who was going to hit the most bars in town?” That seemed like one hell of a headache. I’d be freaking out that I’d catch something on film that the player would kick the shit out of me for if I didn’t hand over my camera. It’d happened before, from what I’d heard.

  “Yep,” Liam confirmed. “See, Giles needs me. He knows I know he’d be screwed without me. So, I’m gonna go with the guy who’ll take care of me as long as I accidentally forget to turn on the camera. I’ll guarantee he’s got deeper pockets and more expensive taste. It’ll be a good couple of months. And it’s not like it’ll be party central. From what I’ve heard, he likes to have a good time, but he’s old enough to know when to kick back and relax, too.”

  “But I thought—” Liam cut me off before I could even finish saying it. God, I sounded like the teacher’s pet, now.

  “You don’t seriously think he believes we stand back in the corner and never talk to the players, do you?” Liam quirked an eyebrow and shook his head slightly. He did that sometimes, usually when I asked a foolish question.

  I nearly told him that’s exactly what I’d thought, but I was starting to feel too stupid for this job.

  “Mr. Miller, are you through with your little heart-to-heart with Mr. Jennings?” My focus snapped to the front of the room and I noticed everyone else was looking at me. Fuck, I’d screwed up. Giles glared daggers at me, and I swore I could see the vein at his temple throbbing. I hooked my messenger bag with my foot, ready to grab it and run if I’d just lost my job before we officially started filming.

  “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again,” I assured him, sliding down in my seat.

  “See to it that it doesn’t.” Giles sneered, waving the one remaining folder in his hand. “Now, if you’re ready to do the job you agreed to, come here and take your assignment.”

  Everyone’s gaze once again landed on me, this time more pissed off than amused. There had to be a mistake. I was the new guy. No way was Giles giving me a showcase player. I should’ve been elated, but I knew how I’d feel if I was any of my coworkers, many of whom had been with the production company for several seasons. “Sometime this century, Miller.”

  I eased myself out of the seat, muttering apologies as I brushed against the knees of everyone in my row. I kept my head down as I approached Giles, figuring it was for the best if I didn’t make eye contact with anyone. There was no logical reason they’d all been passed over for this opportunity, but no one dared question the producer’s decision.

  “Don’t disappoint me,” Giles warned, holding on to the corner of the folder as I tried to take it from him. He lowered his voice so only I could hear his words. “You’re being given a shot many in this room would kill for. If you make a fool of me, I’ll see to it that your next job is flipping burgers in a fast-food restaurant. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” I responded meekly. He released the folder and I turned, not flipping it open until I was in my chair. Fuck my life.

  “What’s wrong?” Liam leaned in and asked while Giles gathered his sheaf of papers for the next portion of the meeting. I shook my head, not wanting to have to explain why I looked like someone had just kicked my puppy. To everyone else, being assigned to Zach Kendricks would be a dream. He was a rising star, he kept his nose clean, but that didn’t mean he was boring. To me, this was the ultimate punishment; being forced to follow the man who’d haunted my dreams since the last time I saw him. I couldn’t believe I’d done something so incredibly messed up in a former life that the universe was punishing me this way, but Liam was adamant that the cameramen were all in control of who they worked with. Could this really be a coincidence?

  When Giles dismissed those who weren’t trailing featured players, I realized I’d zoned out for a huge chunk of the meeting. Hopefully, Liam wouldn’t think I was a complete space cadet later when I asked him to recap everything between me opening the folder and now. My head spun, trying to figure out how in the hell I could get out of my assignment to dig into Zach’s personal life. He wasn’t the type to willingly thrust himself into the public eye, so I couldn’t figure out how they’d gotten him to agree to this. That part wasn’t my problem, but I was going to have to be extra cautious, because if anything went sideways, there was zero doubt in my mind he’d blame me for trying to sabotage him. That was the furthest thing from my mind.

  “Each of you will be following a player and his family through their preparations for training camp,” Giles informed us once the general crew had left the room. “Your job for the next two weeks will be to capture a more personal side of the athletes fans already feel as if they know. You will need to use discretion, as the public life isn’t one the spouses or children of the players asked for, but at the same time, you need to include them in the footage you gather. These men are opening their homes to you; don’t abuse the privilege. Any complaints will be dealt with swiftly and painfully, at least to your bank account. Am I clear on this point?”

  Everyone nodded. My stomach churned and I thought I might be sick. There was no way Zach was going to agree to having me in his home. None. That didn’t fare well for my future with the show. I briefly considered bowing out now, telling Giles something had come up that would keep me from fulfilling my contract, but I held back. I was here, and it was likely the only time I would get a chance to face Zach and say everything that I’d bottled up since that night.

  “Good. Someone will be in touch with your hotel accommodations once they’ve confirmed where the players will be leading up to the season,” he continued, nose still buried in the pile of notes in front of him. “If you need to fly, one of the travel assistants will arrange that as well. Let me stress this once again, your job isn’t to get a minute-by-minute itinerary from your players. We will handle all of that. You are to be as inconspicuous as possible. Now, if there’s nothing else, get out of here and enjoy your final days of freedom before the real work begins. I suggest you learn both the Patterson campus and the city so you won’t get lost over the next two months.”

  Giles walked out of the room without so much as a backwards glance. The meeting was over and there was nothing more for him to say. Some would see it as efficiency, but I was still convinced it was his way of showing his superiority, how he couldn’t be bothered by us minions. I tucked Zach’s dossier into my messenger bag and considered what to do for the rest of the weekend. I could navigate the campus in my sleep, probably had on more than one occasion, and this city had once been my home.

  As happy as I was for my parents that they’d sold my childhood home so they could travel, it stung knowing I couldn’t go hide away at their place until Monday morning. Mom would make me a sandwich and stare me down across the kitchen table until I explained to her why the job I’d been so excited about had turned into a complete nightmare. She’d have advice on how to make Zach see th
at I wasn’t here to ruin him, which I was certain he would assume. Damn, being a grown-up sucked sometimes.

  Three

  (Griffin)

  The following Monday sucked worse than most Mondays. I kept to myself in the last row of the van the production company had hired to take us from one side of the Patterson campus to the other. The Breakers were staying in the new dorms, but we were housed in one of the oldest buildings. I was pretty sure it was built shortly after the Civil War. There was no air-conditioning, nothing to give its residents a sense of home. It was more like a jail cell than a dorm room, with the exception of bars on the windows and doors.

  “There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Liam whispered. I’d confided in him that I wasn’t thrilled about my assignment, but had kept Zach’s secret so far. Part of me wanted to ask Liam what he thought I should do, because there had to be rules about us working together. Right? “If Giles didn’t have faith in you, he wouldn’t have given you a showcase. You’d be roaming around trying to find interesting shit for filler footage, stuck on the field filming drills, or camped out in the weight room for training sessions.”

  “Yeah, and don’t think I haven’t heard all about what a bunch of shit it is that the new kid doesn’t have to earn his spot,” I complained. Most of the time, I got along well with my coworkers, so this open animosity was new to me.