Now these guys are going to hate me.
Yeah, I know what you’re going to say.
I’m going to say ‘I’m Colt fucking Stackford and I can handle anything’ or some shit like that.
Because you're tired by now of what an arrogant fucking prick I am.
Fucking Christ, you’re not going to be far off.
I don’t say anything to DeShawn as he looks at me, and I’m not going to say anything to you either.
Because you’re fucking right. You’re absolutely 100% right.
I deserve whatever is going to happen to me.
What, they’re going to kick the shit out of me. I mean, Ethan’s the one that got the fucking handjob. I’m the one that gave it out.
I’m not ashamed. If given the opportunity I’d do it all over again. It unlocked something in me - something that I think I knew for the longest time - but still something that needed to be let go.
But these guys?
The ones that watch me strut and swagger and preen every fucking day.
The ones that read about how I fuck super models and actresses and see me with a different girl at each fucking event.
They’re going to fucking tear me to shreds.
Starting with DeShawn.
I sigh and get up off the chair that I was sitting on and sigh out loud.
“Look, DeShawn,” I begin. I don’t know where to fucking start, to be absolutely honest. For once in my entire life, I have nothing to say and don’t know what to do.
I’ve been hit with media blows before. Hell, you don’t become the most motherfucking badass payer in the NFL without some scandals.
But I always knew those scandals were making my rep in a way, you know?
Like fucking look at me, I just banged this hot piece of ass. Now another. Now another.
It didn't really matter to me what was happening to them because I was just doing whatever I wanted to. I was going for a ride and they were each getting their 15 minutes of fame.
At least that’s what I thought until the tables turned and now I’m being trampled on by the same fucking press.
I sigh again as DeShawn looks at me, waiting for me to complete my sentence.
“I don’t have any excuse for my actions man,” I say loud enough that the people around me can hear.
Every fucking eye is on me. I can fucking tell I’m under the microscope.
Add to that, Coach Karl comes out and he’s standing on the far end of the room.
It’s like the entire group now is using DeShawn to speak for them.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I deserve whatever the fuck happens to me,” I say. Then I sign and run my hands through my hair. Those golden fucking locks that used to get the panties wet. “I’m a total fucking jackass, man.”
If you’re wondering why I’m apologizing man, then let me break it down for you.
These are my brothers.