I have a sister relying on me.
A team depending on me to bring them back from humiliation.
The respect of an entire city to regain.
So with one last deep breath, I step out of my car and into the summer heat. I run my hand through my newly trimmed hair a few times then scrape my knuckles over my clean-shaven jaw, checking my reflection in the driver’s side window.
I may look like my old self. But I feel like a shell.
A hollowed-out log on two legs.
Ignoring the few “fans” booing me from across the street, Ijog into the complex, keeping my head down because it’s easier to ignore strangers hating on me than it is the people I’ve worked with for the last seven years. But I can’t even retrieve my phone from my pocket to pretend I’m busy before I bump into Coach Roberts.
Tall and well-built, he has a way of making me feel like a kid again, especially when he frowns at me, like he’s doing now.
“Long,” he says in greeting, crossing his left arm over his torso, rubbing his right hand over his goatee.
“Hey, Coach.”
“I saw on the schedule you’re here to meet with Monica.”
Nodding, I assume he had this little hall meeting planned, and I’m proven correct when he nods. “Let’s have a chat in my office.”
I follow him down a couple of corridors in silence, the overhead lights reflecting off his bald head. Last year, I would’ve made a joke about it. He would’ve laughed. And then we would’ve had a relaxed conversation among the cluttered space he calls an office.
Now, I’d rather take a hit from Trey Daniels without any pads on than have to sit across from Coach, the whiteboard behind me, trophies and framed photos showing off his famed career, including the one he has front and center of him and President Obama, back when he won a Bowl ring, coaching with his last team.
He could’ve had another.
If it weren’t for me.
“So,” he starts once I finally slip into my seat. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” I answer automatically because there is no way I’m volunteering any weakness.
“I’m glad you’re back, but if you need more time?—”
“I’m fine, Coach. I’m good. I don’t need any more time.”
“What about your sister?”
Despite how last season ended, a lot of my teammatesshowed up at my parents’ services. A few dozen men standing like sentries in the back of the room because they couldn’t fit in the chairs the funeral home provided. My sister, on the other hand, didn’t have that kind of support. As far as I knew, she had her best friend, and that was it. We grew up in a small town, and she was the only deaf student in the entire school. Though she never told me, I assume it must have been a lonely experience for her. Now, even worse.
“Rivera’s sister is staying with her when I’m not home,” I say, shifting uncomfortably.
“Oh yeah. He’s got a whole bunch of sisters, huh?”
“Two,” I correct. “Three brothers. Nadine is a teacher and knows ASL, so it’s kind of a perfect fit.” Why I feel the need to overexplain my decision to hire Nadine, I don’t know. Or use the wordsperfect fit.
Coach leans his elbows on his desk, fingers steepled by his chin, his dark brown skin showing almost no sign of his near sixty years. Decades ago, he became one of the youngest head coaches in history when he signed on with Nashville. Since then, he has become known for remaking teams, which is why he was hired for the Founders a season before they signed Erik and me.
Coach Roberts is responsible for my career.
But I have yet to repay him.
“I don’t want to continue to rehash last season,” he eventually says, and I wipe off my slick palms on my shorts. “We’ve already had conversations about it, and we can’t live in the past.”
Conversations is a funny way to say he screamed at me, but…
