Page 2 of Provoking the Punter
He’d avoided social media since the announcement. Now he was here, he’d have to face it sooner rather than later; make a statement about how excited he was to be joining the Troopers. He wasn’t excited.
Terrified was a better word for the twisting of his guts and churning of his thoughts.
His head hadn’t stopped spinning as if he’d been tackled and knocked flat on his back. He wasn’t even sure he was breathing. He was staring at the sky, wondering what the fuck had happened.
No fuck had happened, yet he was still in the shit.
No one gave a shit about a punter until he fucked up.
He had fucked up. But it was one of those one in a million things. Bad luck… bad timing… It wasn’t his fault. He’d watched enough film of his own bad kicks that at the end of the day it didn’t matter, because it was him.
It was always him.
Or as his father said, “Once a fuck up, always a fuck up.”
Which is why he’d ignored his father’s calls. Garrett knew what he’d say, and he refused to listen to it right now. He was not going back to Australia with his tail between his legs like a kicked dog.
He refused to prove his father right.
There were still options. If he got cut, he’d be a free agent. He could join a practice squad. There were always other options. He’d learned that the hard way.
He’d also learned to get back up and never give up.
“I’ve got a lot of luggage in my SUV.” He gave himself a mental pat on the back for buying the four-wheel-drive so he could travel in the off-season. He’d drive around the country and see different parts of it. He hadn’t thought about how it enabled him to pack up his whole life in a few hours.
“Not a problem, sir. I’ll have a valet come and take that for you. You’ll need parking?”
“Yes, thank you.”
She handed him the room key. “And this is your parking bay number and tag.”
By the time he unloaded the car onto the trolley for the valet, there were only a few minutes for him to freshen up and change his shirt, before driving to the training facility. Less time to dwell if he stayed busy.
He parked and took a moment to gather his thoughts, so he sounded as though he had his shit together when he fronted up to the coaches’ office.
They were waiting for him.
He’d been sent the schedule, dictating when and where he was supposed to be for the rest of the week. Uniform, medical, PR. The Troopers’ machine was making sure he slotted in. He appreciated that. It was the questions the coaches, the GM, and PR might ask that made him anxious.
He’d spent the time he wasn’t packing and prepping to move, reading about the Troopers and brushing up on their punter Patrick James. Those punters who had a career that lasted more than a couple of seasons… He wanted that.
He bit the inside of his lip, refusing to let it quiver.
His career wasn’t over yet.
Garrett opened his eyes to stare up at the building that would become his second home for the rest of the season, and if he was lucky, next season, and the one after. When he got out of the car, he wiped his palms on his slacks, dressed as though he was proud to be representing the team, not traveling here with his ass in his hands. He couldn’t fumble this.
Inhale. Exhale. Tune out the noise.
Everything he felt and thought was all noise.
If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was how to act and say the right things to stay out of trouble. He should’ve known better than to drink and look for some fun. Nothing good ever happened with alcohol.
By the time he reached the door, he was in the zone as if he’d stepped on the field at fourth down and it was up to him to put the opposition in the shittiest position possible.
Only this time, he was in the shit position.
He was in coffin corner.