"Hey, coach. What’s up?" I keep myself calm, repeating 'be cool, be cool, be cool'in my head, but it’s no use. He never calls me for no reason. There’s always a motive, and it’s usually never a good one.
"Get down to my office." He’s still yelling, with his tone hard to decipher as I spring from the couch, as if someone lit a match under my ass.
Scrambling, I put on my shoes while my ear is pressed to my shoulder, and I head out the door.
"On my way."
I pace the front of Coach Benson’s office for what feels like hours before he shouts my name, inviting me in.
"You wanted to see me?" I say to him as I knock on his door, wiping my clammy hands down the front of my dark blue jeans. I made it in record time, somehow out of breath, even though I drove here and parked directly in front of his office.
"Take a seat." He gestures to a seat across from him, and it’s only then that I realize there’s a man occupying the seat next to mine with his back to the door.
Shoving my shaking hands in my pockets, I take the empty spot next to the last person I expected to see.
"I believe you know my visitor," Coach says as he nods toward the man to my right. He sounded furious over the phone, which had me panicking, but I’ve played for him long enough to know when he’s actually pissed off.
Today isn’t one of those days. Though, I wish I realized it when he called me, or I wouldn’t have spent my entire car ride here imagining worst-case scenarios.
I instantly recognize the man next to me. He has a face I would never, ever, forget. Retired sporting legend, all-star quarterback, and my football hero, Max Anderson.
"Mr. Anderson," I say, reaching my hand out to shake his, doing my best to keep the handshake firm, all while trying to mask the fear in my voice.
"Hi, son. It’s been a long time," he replies with a smile.
Nodding, I turn my attention back to my coach.
"I’m a bit confused. Why am I here, exactly?" Squirming in my seat, I focus my attention solely on Coach, before Mr. Anderson requests it back on him.
"I’ll take it away, Alec. If you don’t mind?" He addresses my coach by his first name, making me even more anxious.
"Be my guest."
Taking a deep breath, Mr. Anderson turns in his chair to face me, my stomach feeling like it’s about to drop out of my ass.
“I’ll cut right to it.” He pauses before smirking at me, enjoying watching me panic. "I’ve been asked to let you know that you’re the number one draft pick. You’re going to the Charlotte Eagles."
Silence.
Nothing but silence fills the room while he stares at me, an awkward smile on his face, waiting for any sort of response.
Instead, he gets fucking nothing.
"Uh-sorry. I think I’ve misheard you," I say, stunned. I just need him to repeat the words one more time.
"You’re in the NFL, son." He clamps his hand down on my shoulder while I stare at him in disbelief.
"I-wow. Thank you, sir." I can’t find any other words to express how I feel, no matter how hard I try.
The fuckingEagles?
The team I followed my whole life and dreamed about playing for? How is this real life?
For the next half an hour, he goes over the details.
He tells me how the Eagles are expecting big things from me next year, and that my offer is the highest package offered to a rookie that the league has ever seen.
He tells me that the current QB for the Eagles is about to retire, and they want me to step up to the plate right away.
