Page 60 of The Backup Plan

I laugh. “A little or so says my doctor.”

“She might know a thing or two. All that schooling ought to count for something.”

“That remains to be seen.” I wink and earn a laugh.

“For what it’s worth, I haven’t worked with Cole at all. From afar I see talent and love for the game, but there’s immaturity and ego. I mean, give a kid a ridiculous amount of money at a young age and . . . isn’t that expected?”

“He needs some humility. That part hasn’t caught up with the ego and talent, but it’s coming at one point or another.” I glance at her. “And that’s not a knock. He’s young. He’s been told he’s special for as long as he can remember. No doubt, I was probably the same way.”

Her brows lift. “You were?”

“At the time, if you would’ve called me on it, I would have told you that you were full of shit, but yes. I absolutely was.” I smirk at the memories. “I thought I knew everything. Thought I was untouchable. Didn’t have parents who cared enough to temper that arrogance with their wisdom.”

“No?” she asks, eyes searching.

Why did I feel comfortable enough to bring that up with her? To talk about the one truth I only talk with Brendan about?

“No,” I state. “They never chose to be involved. Then. Now. Ever. At this point, I prefer to keep it that way.” I appreciate the way she doesn’t ask. The way she nods like she understands and lets it go. “But you know what’s better than a parent putting you in your place?”

“What’s that?”

“This league. It has an efficient way of humbling you. Fans. Players. Coaches.”

“And the linemen keep getting bigger.”

“No shit.” I chuckle.

She studies me for a moment, lips pursed and head angled to the side. “Are you okay with that role? Being a mentor to him?”

I think about the contract I signed and its terms that kick in if I make the final roster. I recall the virtual meetings leading up to my arrival here, and then the way Coach said the word “mentor” like it was both a compliment and a leash.

All of them led me to here, another chance, and so who am I to bitch about that?

“I don’t have to like it to understand it.” I eat a chip. “And I do want him to succeed. The team to succeed. But some days . . .” I shake my head. “Some days it feels like I’m fighting my own shadow.”

“That sounds lonely,” she says softly, like she understands in her own way.

Her words hit harder than they should though, but I shrug them off. “Comes with the territory.”

But she doesn’t look convinced and for some reason, that matters.

She takes a sip of her drink and then asks, “So how did you get into football?”

I lean back in my chair and angle my head as I think back. “Honestly? Neglect and boredom.” At her narrowed brows, I grin. “Like I said, my parents were around for the home and school part, but just not invested or involved in sports. My brother and I lived in the front yard, regularly tossing a ball around, making up games, and trying to beat each other at everything. Turned out I was good at the tossing the ball thing.”

“That’s crazy to me that your parents weren’t involved.”

“It’s as confusing to you as it is me.” I purse my lips and think of my last conversation with them. There was no mention of my life playing football or my injury. Just complaints about medication and how my dad’s job is downsizing. I shake my head every time I hang up as if I just visited an alternate reality.

“So, you did this all on your own.”

“My brother, Brendan, was a big part of it, but it turns out if no one’s paying attention, you learn to push yourself.”

She nods like that makes perfect sense. Like she understands drive and determination in a way many don’t.

“And you certainly did just that and have definitely proven yourself,” she says, smile soft.

“I’ve learned every life lesson imaginable in between those hash marks. Football isn’t just what I do. It’s the place where I’m most myself. Where right and wrong comes with immediate—and sometimes bruising—feedback. It’s where everything has always made the most sense.”