“Officials called the play clean.”
I nodded.
It was Troy who spoke. “I don’t blame Cody for wanting the call reversed. But man, things would be different if he just set his damn foot.”
We spent the next forty-five minutes dissecting specific plays from yesterday’s game. After three weeks of listening to Garcia and Dennison, it was nice to be back in the conversation.
Approaching the end of a career was a weird thing. One day as I soaked in bath salts, I was ready to hang up the pads, cleats, and stop the abuse my body endured. The next day, I was told to get out on the field, and all my reservations disappeared. I was where I wanted to be—on the field, in the spotlight, and doing what I always loved.
We all turned as there was a knock on Coach Garcia’s door.
“Come in,” he called.
Joshua Jackson entered.
I’d done my research. He was younger than me by eight years. At the same time, he was five years older than Troy. I remembered when Jackson was drafted. It was after I left the Bucs. While making the draft was an honor, sixth round and getting signed as a third string behind the likes of Brady wasn’t exactly where anyone wanted to land.
The small lines near Josh’s gold eyes told of experience. He wasn’t a rookie by any means. His wide shoulders and ripped forearms showed that he maintained his body even after his injury while at New Orleans. This was his second season on the Coopers’ practice squad.
Troy and I stood, each offering to shake his hand.
“Welcome aboard,” I said.
Josh’s smile was ear to ear. “I know I’m down the totem pole, but at least I’m on it now. I won’t let any of you down.”
Garcia responded. “Beasley and Coach Tilson have faith. That means we all do. You have some serious cramming to do.” He lifted a playbook similar to the ones he’d given Vee and me. “I’m here to help.” Garcia looked at Troy and me. “These two are your go-to. They’ll help you understand the plays. By Friday morning, I want to see you running any of the first fifty plays in that book.”
Josh looked down at the binder and back to Garcia. “I’ll be ready.”
“Hey,” Troy said, “Fin and I meet here every Tuesday morning, lift weights, and talk plays. We’ll be here at nine. You’re welcome to join us.”
Josh’s nostrils flared. “I’ll have questions ready for you.”
We both grinned.
“We’ll have answers,” Troy said.
Later as we were leaving Maker’s Mark, Troy slapped my shoulder. “Don’t get all caveman on me. I’m just thinking. You and I helped Ms. Maeve learn these plays. I’m sure we can teach Josh.”
“I’m not all caveman,” I said with a smile. “Vee told me how much you helped her. She and I weren’t actually speaking much at the beginning of the season.”
“You weren’t?” His voice fluctuated with surprise. “That changed.”
“For the better. Like I said, we met each other in college. We had some shit to work out. So, during those first weeks, you helped her more than I could.”
“Naw. She didn’t need help. I was just there to reinforce what she figured out.”
My cheeks rose. “She’s like that. She’s fucking brilliant and beautiful and sometimes doesn’t know it.”
“Keep reminding her. And remind her that the players see all that she’s doing. We’re behind her.”
My heart did a little squeeze thing. I wouldn’t admit it, but it did. Vee was spectacular in so many ways. I liked hearing that the players were in her corner. I’d been on enough teams to know that admiration wasn’t given out by dedicated athletes like participation medals. A person had to earn that respect. The same rule was true of each coach, player, and executive. Vee was held in esteem by the Coopers’ players, in some ways, even more so than Reid had been.
Reid Hubbard was revered as owner.
Vee was different. She made herself real and accessible. She wasn’t a person in the big office who watched weekly from a suite high above. That was only part of the reasons they respected her.
Thursday morning, I woke to my usual morning erection probing Vee’s lower back. She moaned as I wrapped her soft body in my arms and whispered near her ear. “This is your last chance to bail on Thanksgiving dinner at my parents.
