Outwardly, the draft will decide my fate, but I’m not naive enough to think there won’t be a shit ton of wheeling and dealing behind the scenes. Chicago could very well end up with a top draft pick, but that doesn’t mean they’ll call my name. My father’s got friends in high places and I have no doubt he can make Pittsburgh a reality.
It wouldn’t be the first time a QB threatened not to sign if he didn’t like the draft team.
“Look, I know you’ve got history in Pittsburgh, but it couldn’t hurt to talk to the Chicago scout.” He levels me with his eyes, no doubt taking my measure. “You’re one of the top players in the country, Reid.” What he doesn’t say is that I’ll also be a top draft pick, but we both know it’s true. “And a good leader.” Except, apparently, when it comes to Carter. “There are going to be a lot of teams sniffing around this season, son. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t encourage you to explore all your options and find the team that’s right for you. Not your family,you.”
I grunt noncommittally, ignoring the disappointment gnawing at my gut. No sense wasting the scout’s time or mine. And definitely no sense getting my hopes up for things that aren’t meant to be. I’ll be a franchise quarterback, but it won’t be in Chicago. My future was laid out years ago. Now all I have to do is walk the path.
“Anything else, sir?” I rise to my feet, the weight of expectation heavier than usual.
“No, you’re free to go,” Coach says, glancing over my shoulder.
I turn to leave and find Carter hovering at the door, toying with a wet rope of hair. I freeze, tension coiling in my chest at the sight of her. How much of our conversation did she hear?
She clears her throat, but doesn’t meet my eyes. Enough then. “Um, you wanted to see me, Coach?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her presence. Coach probably just wants to talk to her about Saturday’s game. But football’s the last thing on my mind as I take in the guarded look in her eyes.
The look I put there.
My breath comes hard and fast. I want to apologize, tell her I’m sorry for being a colossal jackass, but this is hardly the time with Coach breathing down my neck. Besides, there’s so much shit between us right now, it takes a superhuman effort just to get my mask of control back in place.
The woman has a talent for slipping past my defenses, I’ll give her that much. Problem is, it can only lead to trouble. For both of us.
12
KENNEDY
I stiflea yawn and check my reflection in the mirror, making sure my hair is somewhat presentable. It’s not something I typically worry about for practice—it’ll be a hot mess by the time we’re done—but with the home opener tomorrow and all the speculation surrounding little ol’ me, Coach thought it would be a good idea to let the media watch practice today.
Oh, and apparently I have to do an interview as well. Just the thought makes me twitchy. I’m not great with public speaking (okay, real talk—I suck at it), but Coach assured me it would just be one or two local reporters plus someone fromThe Collegian.
“It’s just a regular practice,” I remind myself, although the face in the mirror looks far from convinced. Or maybe it’s just lack of sleep making my eyes appear flat. With sixteen-hour days and hardly a moment to breathe, the football schedule makes soccer feel like a walk in the park. It also means I rarely see Becca despite the fact that we live together.
Clearly I should have asked more questions before saying yes, because I had no idea the team was expected to be in the weight room from six to eight every morning. Or that there would be morning meetings and afternoon game tape reviews, in addition to daily practices. Or that my day would start at six in the morning and end at nine at night. If I’m lucky enough to get all my schoolwork done in study hall.
And that if? It’s a biggie.
Stupid crazy-pants schedule.
My phone rings as I move to shut my locker, and I glance at the clock. I’ve got a few minutes before practice starts, so I grab my phone and swipe to accept the call.
“Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie.” Her words are cheerful, buoyant even. Someone’s in a good mood. The thought brings a smile to my face. “How’s your day going?”
“Good.” Because all things being relative, it is a good day. Despite the fact that I’m about to go perform like a show pony for a bunch of reporters. “I’ve got practice in a few minutes, but I’m glad you called. You sound happy and…well rested,” I say, realizing that for the first time in ages her words aren’t tinged with fatigue.
Mom laughs, the sound carrying through the phone like the tinkling of a wind chime. “Well, that’s because the car’s running again, and I let my director know I’ll be cutting my hours back when the next schedule comes out.”
The light at the end of the tunnel.
Relief floods my veins, loosening the ever-present knot of worry in my chest. “Good. You always preach the value of self-care. It’s about time you indulge in a little.”
“I’ll certainly have plenty of free time.” She sounds excited by the prospect, reaffirming my decision to play football. I may be tired, but Mom’s been working her ass off, shouldering the financial burden of our little family for twenty-one years—alone. I can do it for one season. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll even take one of those Zumba classes that are all the rage at the community center.”
“Whoa, listen to you, wild woman,” I tease, a smile curving my lips. “Don’t get too carried away.”
We share a laugh, but her voice is wrought with concern when she speaks again. “Speaking of getting carried away, how’re things going with the team? You’re not gettinginvolvedwith those boys, are you?”
