Page 33 of Catch
“Okay, let’s go.” I followed him out to the field where Grayson was propped up on the bench trying to down Gatorade. “Okay, stop trying to sober him up with that. That’s not going to work.” I looked around to ensure the press wasn’t on the field. “Let’s bring himinside.” Anthony and a third-string linebacker half-carried him into my office. I called Craig, one of the Cheetahs’ medical staff, and told him to bring IV fluids.
“Wow, Sutton. This is such a nice couch.” Grayson ran his fingers up and down the pattern in the fabric. He slid down and put his head on the armrest and tried to put his legs up on the cushions.
“Somebody take off his cleats, please,” I said. Once Grayson was settled, I told both players to get back on the field. We didn’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. They left as Craig was coming in with fluids. “Shut the door please.” Craig shut the door and immediately got to work hooking Grayson up. He protested only a bit before his eyes hooded and his breathing got heavy. “Don’t drool on my couch, Moats.” I grabbed a trash can and put it next to him. Craig took his vitals and sat on the chair opposite him.
“I’ll just hang around to make sure he doesn’t knock out his IV,” he said. I appreciated that he was here. Grayson was a big guy and I couldn’t manage him on my own. I debated texting Parker but decided to wait and see how Grayson was after the treatment. I turned my attention back to the video of the worst game I’d ever coached. The Bills were amazing. We were everything but. We looked sloppy. Grayson got sacked four times. He was sluggish, and for a brief moment, I thought maybe he was drunk during the game. We needed to have a serious heart-to-heart when he was sober.
The door opened and Jamal let himself in. “How’s he doing?” He quickly closed the door behind him. Nobody wanted this to get out.
“He’s sleeping it off right now. What’s the policy on this?” I asked.
“Therapy and detox. This hasn’t been a problem before. Maybe he got shit-faced last night and is still drunk this morning.”
“That might have happened in college, but not in the NFL.” I was so mad at him. Grayson had everything I wanted and he was blowing it.
“I guess I’ll run Archie through the drills and make sure he’s up on the play changes. Get him warmed up in case the penalty is Moats missing a game or two. I’ll gently bring it up to Bill.”
“Did he drive here? Is his car outside?” I hoped he was dropped off by a Lyft or a friend. I inwardly huffed. What kind of person let a friend drive or dropped them off knowing they were drunk?
“I’ll go check,” Jamal said.
Grayson went through an entire bag of fluids before his eyelids fluttered open. His throat was thick with phlegm as he tried to talk. “Where am I?”
Craig leaned over him to hook up another bag. “You’re in Coach McCoy’s office,” Craig said.
“How did I get here?” He was more coherent, but still out of it. He struggled to sit up. Craig offered him a hand.
“Why are you drunk at work?” I hissed.
He dropped his head into his hands and started sobbing. Craig excused himself, but I stopped him before he opened the door. “Craig, please keep this under wraps until we know more.”
“Yes, Coach.” He nodded and quickly disappeared.
I didn’t like being alone with Grayson, but I knew Jamal would be back soon. I didn’t know how to handle a grown man crying and I didn’t want to pry. “Look, whatever’s going on with you, we have people who can help you.” That only made him cry harder. When he started making a choking sound, I handed him the wastebasket just before he heaved. There wasn’t a lot, but enough to make me take a step back and pray he didn’t spew on my new couch.
“He didn’t drive here.” Jamal entered my office and was startled to find Grayson awake.
“Well, at least he didn’t endanger anyone.” I squatted so I could look into Grayson’s red-rimmed, teary eyes. “Grayson, how did you get here?”
He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I think Matt dropped me off.”
“Who’s Matt?”
He shrugged and tried standing but wobbled and fell back onto the couch.
“We need to get him out of here,” Jamal said. We stood in front of him with our hands on our hips, not knowing the proper protocol.
“It’s lunchtime. If we can get him into my car without drawing a lot of attention, I can take him home,” I said.
“That’s right. You’re friends with his wife.” He looked everywhere but at me. Apparently, he knew about our past, too. I was sure the entire team knew, but nobody said anything because there wasn’t anything to say.
“I’ll text her and let her know we’re coming.” We had to get him off campus before rumors got out about his state.
“How are we going to get him to your car?” Jamal asked.
“I’ll get it and drive it as close to the building as I can. Meet me by the side door. Give me ten minutes.” It was lunchtime so most of the players and staff were in the cafeteria which was in a different building. I drove up on the grass and parked about twenty feet from the door. Jamal was waiting there with Grayson’s arm draped over his shoulder.
“Watch Crowbar for me. I should be back in an hour,” I said.
