Sophie Oak - Siren in Waiting

Trevor McNamara looked around the office. It was a pristinely kept work space. It was neat and pin perfect, like the man who sat behind the opulent deska man Trev was sure had to be joking. Im sorry. What did you say?

The general manager of the San Antonio Bandits leaned forward. There was a slightly sympathetic look on Curt Goffs face as he steepled his hands together. Youre fired, Trevor.

You cant fire me. Trev said the words, but his brain was still trying to process those two words that threatened to end his football career.

The words didnt end your career, idiot. You did that when you started in on the coke. The booze wasnt enough, was it? You just had to go for more.

I think youll find I can. In your contract, theres a clause that states plainly if you flunk three drug tests in a row, I can fire you.

Trevs head pounded. How had he flunked the last drug test? Hed paid the tech off to switch the results. Panic threatened to swamp him. He couldnt get fired. He had bills to pay. Lots of fucking bills. Ill call my union rep.

Curt Goff nodded as though this move of Trevs had been anticipated and potentially already blocked. Once upon a time, Goff had been the San Antonio Bandits quarterback, but hed retired a few years back and now ran the front office. He was known as a shark. I assumed as much. I think youll find the contract is ironclad. Its possible that the union will sue, but I intend to hold the line. I wont settle. Ive talked to Frank, and weve decided that well spend what it takes in order to enforce your contract.

His stomach turned over a couple of times, and Trev wondered if the contents of his last meal werent about to come back up. Frank Boyle was the owner of the team. He owed Trev ten million dollars on the last year of his contract. A protracted legal fight could cost Frank much more. Why would he do that? How could this be happening?

Its happening because you cant control yourself, Trevor. Curts eyes pinned him.

Damn, he was far gone. He hadnt even realized hed said the words out loud.

Im going to call my agent. Trev pulled out his phone. He glanced down. Fifteen messages. He hadnt heard them. Youre going to have to deal with my agent. He wont put up with this shit. You cant treat me this way.

Curts face hardened. Trev had heard rumors about the man. He was into some strange shit. Supposedly he tied up his wife and spanked her on a regular basis. Of course, there were other rumors about his perpetual houseguests. Two of the veterans on the team lived at Curt and Tess Goffs multimillion dollar compound and had for years. Pervert.

I think youre going to find out that your agent quit after this mornings headlines. Curts words fell in the silence with all the subtlety of a buzz saw.

Bile crept into Trevs throat. Headlines? He didnt remember much about the night before. Hed gone out with some friends. Friends. He didnt have friends. He had people who hung around because Trev paid for shit. Trev had woken up in bed next to some bleach blonde with fake tits this morning. He didnt remember her name. She could definitely be a stripper. Shit. What had he done?

He hadnt gotten arrested. He would remember that. Fuck, when had he started to think a night when he didnt get caught was a win? Bullshit. Marty wouldnt dump me.

No. Not bullshit. Marty has moved on to greener pastures. I informed him this morning that we would be using the clause in your contract to release you. The papers are running a story today on your night at the strip club. They have pictures of you doing lines of cocaine off strippers bodies. Its not the image this club wants or needs. You tested positive for cocaine and marijuana. We didnt run a test for alcohol, or you might have broken the equipment. Can you honestly tell me youre not drunk right now?

Hed only had a couple. Or three. It was the only way to deal with the hangover. It didnt matter. He hadnt driven himself anyway. He had a driver. Yeah, he wasnt going to be able to pay the driver anymore. Ill go to rehab. I can be out in three weeks and ready for the season.

He hated the whine in his voice. He hated rehab. It didnt work. Hed be fine for a week or two, and then the need for a drink would call to him again. The pressure would build, and he would just have to have that first drink. It never ended with one. It ended in bottles, and when the alcohol stopped working, he moved on to the harder stuff. Just last night, hed thought about sticking a needle in his arm just to see how high he could get.

God, he was going to kill himself.

Youve been three times, and it hasnt worked. I dont think conventional rehab works on someone like you. Curts voice had softened slightly.

He didnt have any money. Hed spent it all on the house, the cars, and the parties. The drugs. Hed spent so much on drugs. He owed more than he had. How had it all gone to shit?

Trev, I have an offer to make you. You know my wife is a therapist, right?

Curts wife was a pretty blonde named Tess. Shed run a few team-building exercises in the three years Trev had played for the Bandits. She was some sort of best-selling author. He remembered how Curts eyes had lit up when she walked in and started talking. Of course, Mike Cabrerras and Kevin Bests eyes had lit up, too. How did that work?

Trev had never looked at a woman the way those three men looked at Tess. What would it feel like to love a woman so much he was willing to share her?

Yeah. You think she can fix me? He laughed as he asked the question.

Trev doubted it. A strange sense of fatalism fell over him. It was done. His career was over, and now he could find a bottle and never stop. It was where hed been headed since that first beer. Hed been on a path, and now he could follow it without the pesky frustrations of having a career. He could focus on what was important. Liquor had always been more important than football or family or any girl. His so-called friends would just put beer after beer in his hands. In college hed discovered whiskey. When hed gotten to the pros, hed found even harder stuff.

For some strange reason, he remembered an old friend from high school named Bo OMalley. Bo had been a freshman when Trev was a senior. Bo had been a scrawny kid at the time. Bo had tried so hard to make the football team that Trev had taken the kid under his wing. For a brief period of time, hed felt like someone needed him for something other than his throwing arm. Trev remembered Bo was funny, and when hed hung out with Bo, he hadnt felt the need to drink.

Hed dumped Bo when he went off to college. Trev hadnt needed a puppy-like high school kid hanging around no matter how much he behaved like a brother.

Trev hoped Bo was doing better than he was.

Curts voice drew Trev back to reality. She doesnt do this type of work, but shes come up with a plan. You might think its a bit radical. Heres the deal. I hired a psychologist. Hes worked with men with impulse-control issues. He works in a very odd place, though. Its a BDSM club.

Trev threw back his head and laughed. That is a brilliant plan. Put the addict in a club.

Curts expression could have been cut from granite. I assure you, you wont be allowed to drink in this club. The owner has agreed to take you under his wing and teach you a thing or two about control. His methods are far from standard, but I believe they will work for you.

Im not going to go to some club and let some asshole I dont know talk me to death. There was no way. He was going to fight this. Marty hadnt really dropped him. There was still time. His QB rating had tanked toward the end of last year, but he was still young. Everyone needed a quarterback.