“Welcome to the building.” I smile, walking away.
I’ve only seen Demi in passing around the facility a couple of times since last weekend. She’s been busy and so have I.
“Look at that fancy new watch,” I call out to Alex Farr, one of my teammates. “Someone’s using their extension money wisely.” I wink.
“Almost bought a boat, but ended up with a watch. I’d say that’s a smart financial decision.”
“I don’t know, man. I love my boat.”
“Exactly.” He chuckles, buttoning his shirt after practice. “Youhave a boat. Why spend my own money when my quarterback has one?”
“That’s my philosophy,” Ford chimes in as he strides up with a towel around his waist.
“Get dressed, no one else is walking around like this. What do you think this is?” I tease.
Ford flips me the finger, and Alex walks past me as he’s heading out.
“Mind if I leave a jersey for my niece?” he asks, motioning to the spare black chair next to mine.
I glance at it, noting another couple jerseys, a few hats, pictures, and an array of other objects scattered around.
“Go for it.”
“Thanks, man. She’s been bugging me. I figure I need some cool uncle points.”
I laugh. “I got you, big man.”
He palms my shoulder before he walks out, and I take my time changing while the rest of the team hurries out of the locker room. Today was our last practice before the regular season and in all the years I’ve been playing, I don’t think I’ve ever been hungrier to get into a game.
The adrenaline. The noise. The stadium and the fans. It rips through me in the best way possible. No matter what’s been going on in my life I’ve always felt the most alive under the lights and I’m ready for that feeling again.
I usually get bored during the offseason. I’d spend time going on meaningless dates, vacations for no reason other than to pass the time. But these last few months I haven’t wanted to do any of that.
It’s nearly five, and more than half of the guys are already gone, with the remaining few about to leave. Practice ended around three thirty, and between conversations, social media shenanigans, and outfit changes it usually takes the guys around an hour to clear out.
One afternoon last year, I had a teammate ask me to sign some hats for his kids, and I asked him to just put them on the empty chair near mine. Somehow that ended up becoming “the chair,” and now every so often I’ll have a teammate or a staff member leave something there they want signed for someone. I joke about it sometimes, but honestly? It kind of chokes me up thinking that I get to do this—I’m just a kid from Boulder who likes to play football.
I play hard and I work hard, and I’m fucking honored that anyone even wants my autograph, let alone enough people to have me set aside time every now and then to sign it all. I’m blessed, and I know that. But I also know I put in the work and I take a lot of pride in that.
No one outside this locker room knows I do this. Not my dad, not the media, no one. I don’t do it for any superficial attention or a pat on the back for signing autographs. It’s literally part of what I signed up for when I took this job, I don’t need a thank you for that.
I hit shuffle on my phone, letting the playlist shuffle through everything from blink-182 to Britney Spears. A song hums into the AirPod I have in one ear, and I pull the first thing that catches my eye to sign.
It’s one of my college football jerseys. Talk about a blast from the past. I hold it up in front of me as I stand, admiring the gold and green colors with the number twelve on the chest. Fuck, I loved playing college football. I think my time in college is what really solidified it for me. I got to play with a coach outside of my dad. Someone who truly made the game feel fun again.
Before I can spend too much time on nostalgia, I take a seat and grab the Sharpie from my duffle bag and sign it. I easily work my way through a handful of things from jerseys, photos, and a couple of hats, keeping myself focused on the task at hand.
“Oh god, I’m sorry.” Demi’s calming voice pulls my attention from the music, and I turn my head up to her. “I’m looking for Kelsea. I was told she was back here, I’m so sorry for intruding, they said all the players were gone,” she says.
Kelsea is the athletic trainer, but she left hours ago.
“Hey, Dem.” I grin. “Kelsea already left for the day, something I can help you with?” I position my entire body toward her as I stand.
Her dark brown curls cascading down both sides of her collarbone with the prettiest brown eyes I’ve ever seen popping as she stares at me.
“Why are you still here?” She seems to put two and two together as her eyes shift to the marker in my hand and the pile of items to my right. “Are you signing things?”
I nod, swaying my hand in the air like it’s nothing. “I stay late sometimes and do it for the guys. It’s no big deal.”
