“I never took steroids or any other drugs.”
“Whatever. Save it for the congressional hearings. I don’t care. As long as you don’t bring it in here.” He shook his head and spit into a can, the sound ringing through the small office. “And Callahan thinks you can be a role model? With that stunt? Not likely.” Finally, he swiveled in the chair and leaned across the desk, glaring at Jason. “What the hell am I supposed to do with you? I’d expect this from one of those stupid kids out there but not you.”
Good question. Jason wished he had the answer. The rage had boiled over so quickly, so immediate. He thought he had had it under control, like always. But one nasty comment and he blew like a kid. Was this how the rest of his season was going to go, anger, frustration? Was it worth it?
“I’m sorry, Skip. No excuse. It won’t happen again.”
“You bet your ass it won’t. Now, get the hell out of here. And Friar? Stay out of trouble for one night, please?” Sam turned away, muttering under his breath. “One freakin’ day back. One day and this is what we get? Jeezus.”
Jason stepped out of the small office and restrained the urge to slam the door. Called to the manager’s office like a kid in school. It was the second time that week that he felt like a failure, an idiot, a child. And he hated that feeling. It was just another sign of how far he had fallen. Two years ago, everyone would have rushed to his aid, excusing him, defending him, not assuming Jason was to blame. Now, he had no credit, no one to take his side.
God help him if Stacia ever found out.
*
Nice job with his new teammates. Nothing like making friends and influencing people. His thoughts were morose as he sipped a beer in the hotel bar. The bartender slid a steak under his arms.
“Water, please. Thanks.” He didn’t need any more alcohol dulling his senses. One beer was enough.
“Oh, my God! Jason Friar! It’s been years.” A shrill, female voice echoed through the bar.
A niggling recognition danced at the fringes of his brain. He slowly turned around just in time to catch the woman who threw herself at him, kissing him passionately.
Holy shit. Danielle. Or Debbie. Or Sue. What was her name?
Shit, that’s the last thing he should be worried about. He should be getting her away, not trying to remember her name. A flash caught his eye. Goddamn vultures. His old buddy, Stan, sat in a corner booth with members of the traveling press corps.
Stacia was going to kill him. Since when did he care?