“Not for me,” Levi deadpans, and Roman and I chuckle at his dry delivery.
“Well, yeah, because you’re evil,” I reply. Our family always calls Levi the evil twin, simply because he’s naturally morestoic and reserved than me. Plus, with “evil” being an anagram for Levi, it was a natural fit for a lifelong nickname.
I pull into the parking lot of the Mastodons’ training facility and turn off the engine. “Hopefully, Cameron will find me another team before today is over, and this conversation will be a moot point.”
“Or maybe you should bust your ass there,” Roman mutters. “Hey, Coach Hardy is just about to give his opening remarks, so I need to go. Have a good one, men.”
All of a sudden, the momentousness of the occasion for my big brother hits me like a ton of bricks. After more than a decade with the Crusaders, Roman is about to walk into training camp as a Thunderbolt, and yet here he is, using his valuable time to give his loser of a little brother some encouragement and tough love.
“Have a great training camp, guys,” I say. “Both of you. And Roman? This is your year, man. That ring will finally be yours.”
Roman ignores my pep talk, which is totally on brand for him. He prefers to do his talking on the field. “Show them a new you, Luca,” Roman says. “No stand-up routines in the middle of practice. No spontaneous Olympic reenactments on the uprights. Just put your nose down and show them what you can do on the field, and the rest will take care of itself.”
CHAPTER 5
Chelsea
ITAKE Adeep breath to muster courage as Mr. Bellamy stands before me at the exit to the conference room. His body language isn’t warm or welcoming. Indeed, he’s got his arms folded over his chest in a way that makes it clear hanging back to chat with Coach Parker’s daughter, even for a moment, is the last thing in the world he wants to do with his precious time.
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Bellamy. I know you’re really busy, especially today. I was wondering if you’ve had a chance to take a look at my presentation—the one I sent you via email last week?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, in summary, I heard Peter will be leaving right before the regular season starts, and I’d love to slide into his position in your department before you post about the job opening.” He opens his mouth to speak, but I quickly add, “I’m sure you probably haven’t thought of me as the right person for that job, because you don’t know my background and I’ve been brought here to perform kind of loosely defined tasks for my father—but let me quickly give you my elevator pitch as to why I’m exactly the right person for that job.”
Bellamy looks down at his watch and returns to me with a look that says, “Make it fast.”
“I realize I don’t have any formal football experience on my résumé, but I’ve got the equivalent of probably five years’ coaching experience, thanks to all the years I assisted my father with his players at Ohio State, and also all the years I helped put my two brothers through their drills. I’m also a whiz with helping players learn their playbooks and study film, too. So much so, Coach Martinez let me help him with his linebackers when I was in high school. Even after I went away to college and then to MIT, Coach Martinez and my father both always invited me to assist them during preseason camp before it was time for me to head back to school. So, I’ve amassed quite a bit of experience with—”
“Look, Chelsea, I admire your drive and ambition. It’s commendable. But the position requires actual, formal football experience, along with some operational and business knowledge, too, so—”
“Sir, I’ve got a graduate degree in statistics from MIT, and before that, I majored in math and minored in business at Northwestern. Combine that education with my lifetime of being immersed in all aspects of football at the highest levels—”
“No, not at the highest levels,” he snaps. “You’re the daughter of a college head coach, Chelsea, and you’ve got two older brothers who play in the NFL. That’s not the same thing as you yourself having professional football experience. And even if it were, you’d still have zero experience in the NFL, which you must realize is a very different animal than college ball. If you don’t realize that, then you’ve only proven my point that you’re not up to the task, despite your fancy degrees and family connections.”
Wow. That was rough. He’s got a point, though. Ask anyone, even me, and they’ll tell you the NFL is a major, jarring step up from college in countless ways, hence the reason so many superstar college athletes flame out when they get to the big leagues. But still, there’s not a doubt in my mind Bellamy is vastly underestimating what I could do, if only he’d give me the chance.
“Yes, I fully agree the NFL is very different than college ball. I’m just saying I’ve got the exact skill set you’re looking for, a unique ability to understand the operational side of things as well as the football side, too, and I’m very eager and willing to learn.”
Bellamy stares at me for a long, impassive moment, his lips firmly pressed together, and it’s clear he’s feeling deeply unmoved by my attempts at persuasion. But hey, since he’s not expressly telling me to stop talking, and this is almost certainly my last chance to get him to at least consider me for the upcoming position, I forge ahead with another attempt.
“Here’s an idea,” I say. “How about I try to prove my football chops to you during training camp in a measurable way? Peter’s not leaving till the end of preseason, right?”
“That’s right. He was kind enough to give me that much time before he leaves.”
“Okay, so that gives me three weeks of camp and three weeks of preseason to show you what I’ve got before you’ll need to find his replacement.”
Bellamy exhales. “What do you have in mind?”
Before this very moment, I didn’t have this idea. It certainly wasn’t part of the presentation I sent Bellamy last week. But clearly, everything I’ve already said isn’t moving the needle, so I’m now improvising.
“There’s a middle linebacker coming to camp from the Knights’ practice squad, a guy named Jeremy Calhoun, who’s by all accounts a really great guy to have around. I’ve watched film on him and read the scouting reports, and I know I could make a meaningful difference with him in terms of his stats and metrics, if only he’d agree to let me run him through daily drills before his official schedule starts each day.”
Given that Calhoun’s a linebacker, and one who played at Nebraska with Luca, this idea of mine is pretty risky. If Calhoun were to mention he’s working with me to his oldcollege teammate, that could draw Luca’s attention to me, when he’d otherwise not know I’m alive. For that reason, I’d certainly need to work with Calhoun on the side and at weird hours to ensure my efforts don’t unintentionally make me cross paths with Luca somehow. At least, until Luca’s gone, which shouldn’t take too long to happen. But I’m sure I could swing it and make this work for me, given what’s at stake. Where there’s a will, there’s always a way.
“I don’t follow your logic,” Bellamy says dryly.
“Well, if I could convince Calhoun to let me personally coach him like that—that’s a big if, I admit—then you’d keep track of his progress and stats and we’d know any upward trend was at least in part attributable to my coaching.”
