I head down to the training room to get my medical clearance, clean out my locker, and say my goodbyes.
I’m on my way home before lunchtime, and my heart thunders as I try to figure out what the hell to say to my wife when I get home.
As it turns out, I don’t have to say anything.
She's in her room, sitting at her desk and buried in some document on her laptop. She glances up when I walk in and has the kind of look on her face that tells me she could use some help. Stat.
I sit on the end of her bed. “What's wrong?"
“I have no idea what the hell I'm doing. But before we talk about me, tell me about your day.”
I shrug. “It's the end of a season, and it ended in a way different from what we were hoping for, but the meeting went better than I expected."
“Well, that's good. Isn’t it?” she asks. She narrows her eyes at me. “Why do you look like it isn’t?”
“They told me they want me to consider being a team captain next year.”
“Ford! That’s freaking amazing! Right?” She seems confused, and I chuckle a little.
“Yeah, it’s great. It’s an honor. But I can’t help but think I’m taking that position from someone else,” I admit. It’s the first time I’ve really even thought it, and the words slip out. I’m not sure why I felt a little melancholy when they asked me. Truly, it’s an honor.
But Tatum manages to pull it out of me.
“Who’s the captain now?”
“One of our wide receivers,” I say. I stare out the window.
“Is he staying on the team next year?”
I shake my head. “He’s retiring, so no. I guess it just feels like there are guys on the team more deserving than me.”
“Why wouldn't you deserve it?”
“I don't know.” I sigh. I don't really know what I'm getting at here. “It’s just…I've been here playing with this team for a long time, and I guess somewhere deep down I feel like I should've been asked years ago. Why now? Because I'm one of the most senior members on offense? Because I don't have as many years left as some of these younger guys? I don't know. It just feels like…” I trail off, not sure of the words.
“Too little, too late?” she guesses.
“Yeah. Kinda.”
That's the thing about Tatum. She just gets me. I don't have to say a word about the things that are bothering me because she can somehow easily assess them and put them into words, even if I can't.
“Ford. They wouldn’t have asked you if they didn’t think you deserved it. Now or back then. It’s your turn. Your time. If you want it, take it.”
She makes a good point.
“So what’s all this?” I ask.
She sighs heavily. “Everleigh sent me a questionnaire so we can get the branding stuff underway, and it’s, like, freakingdaunting. She said it’s okay if I don’t have answers to everything right now, and once I fill out the majority, we can schedule a Zoom to chat about the rest. It’s just like a million little decisions I have to make about this business. I’m going from a contractor in Vegas who plans weddings for fun to, like, thisbusiness. You know? With anasset. Withmore assetsdown the pike. It’s a lot, and I haven’t the first clue how to pull it all together into a brand.”
Her phone starts to ring as she finishes her explanation, and she glances at it. “It’s an eight-one-three number,” she says. “Probably another couple who wants to book Winston Manor. I need to take this.”
She answers the call, and I watch and listen as my mind runs wild with the things I can try to do to help her.
Sit with her while she fills out this form, for one—or figure out the way she might work best.
“Stand up,” I demand once she ends the call.
She lifts to her feet and bounces on her toes a little bit. I stand up with her, and I take her hands in mine as I stand across from her.
