At the time I went home, crashed, and slept it off. Woke up to a media shit storm—my half-naked body passed out on a bed with booze and drug paraphernalia all around me on the front page of the newspaper and the leading story on every media source from here to Timbuktu.
Coach called me into his office the next day. Ripped me a new one before taking the team risk assessment manager and security to search my locker. At the time I thought nothing of it. I didn’t have anything to hide. Until the security team pulled out a kit with syringes and some bottles filled with liquid I’d never seen before. The words anabolic-androgenic steroids caught my attention though. Not to mention Coach’s.
I promised that I wasn’t doing drugs and definitely not doping. The team doctor took tons of my blood to do his own tests. Though he did mention that steroids usually leave the system within twenty-four hours. However, he also took hair and urine. Those tests would prove more conclusive, but took some time. Didn’t matter.
The press was waiting for me when I left the arena.
And now here I am, sitting in my lifelong best friend’s apartment licking my wounds and staying out of sight.
The world is falling apart with the threat of a pandemic and I’m under quarantine in a city I’m not that familiar with. In a building I only visited when Jake was in town. With a neighbor on one side that plays their TV so loud I don’t even need to watch the daytime soaps to know what’s happening. And the other neighbor is currently doing…what the fuck is that? Yoga maybe? I look out the glass window to see a tall and curvy blonde facing the view, standing with one bare foot on the knee of the opposite leg with her hands in a prayer position over her head—all while balancing on one leg.
I can’t see her face at all, but her body is bangin’. Curves for days, in all the right places.
No, no, no, no! The last thing I need is another freakin’ blonde ruining my life. The girl I took to bed that night at the party was blonde too. Jesus, I sure have a type.
I grind my teeth as my phone rings. I glance down and find it’s my publicist. Thank God!
“Yeah, tell me you’ve got a plan,” I clip into the phone.
Polly aka Pauline Frederickson is the leading spin doctor for sports celebrities. When I started running the ball into the endzone multiple times a game and my pay kept increasing, she sought me out. Now she’s my ace in the hole.
“Well hello to you too, Evan.”
“Polly, cut to the chase, will ya? I’m stuck in San Francisco and the city just went on lockdown. I’m in no mood for niceties.” I open the sliding door to let in some fresh air and press my forehead to the cool glass. The breeze chills my overheated skin instantly.
“Well, I’ve got mostly bad news. Coach says it’s going to take some time to clear you of any wrongdoing. You’ll have to be willing to share the blood, urine, and hair analysis results with the media. The picture says a thousand words, but the steroids…”
“Excuse me!” All the Bay Area ocean winds in the world couldn’t cool down the blazing ire firing through my system.
“He says this makes the team and him look really bad. And they can’t afford these types of risks.”
“Are you kidding me! I make the team look bad? The coach is a cheating bastard! Parties like a rockstar. And yet he has an iron-clad contract! What about mine?”
“I understand you’re upset, but we’re going to figure this out. I promise.”
“This is insane! And half the team believes this shit?” I run my hands through my hair. “Those men are like brothers to me!”
“I’m sorry, Evan. These things happen. And unfortunately, with your recent past and the pictures of you sprawled on a bed with booze and drugs clearly visible, there’s not a lot we can say without proof.”
“Jesus, I don’t know what to do. Someone is setting me up! What do you think?” I suck in a huge breath, trying my damndest to calm my racing heart and ease the dread filling my mind.
“Right now? Lay low. Let a little bit of this blow over. This coronavirus thing everyone is talking about is taking center stage in the media. It’s going crazy here in New York. You know how these things go. Wait a bit and let another jacked-up story take the front page. Then if we’re lucky and you stay out of the press, this will all fade, and we can work it out directly with your agent and team.”
“I’ll do whatever you say. Maybe you’re right. A little time away from it all will do some good. Though I’m not sure what the hell I’m going to do all day in a small apartment in downtown San Francisco with a stay-in-home order from the governor.”