Page 17 of Worth the Trip

“Excellent decision.”

Malcolm stood and grabbed an equipment bag. “You watching film tonight?”

“Probably.”

“That means yes.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Gathering evidence.”

“Of what?”

“That you don’t know how to sit your big ass down.”

I laughed. “You giving lifestyle advice now?”

“I contain multitudes.”

“That sounded borrowed.”

“I improve material wherever I find it.”

He slung the bag over one shoulder and headed toward the equipment shed.

“Ramirez sending cut-ups later?” I asked.

“Probably. You watching those too?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“Lie.”

“Get outta here.”

He turned and walked backward. “See you tomorrow, Big Dawg.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Love you too, brother.”

I shook my head as he disappeared inside.

I answered two recruiting questions from one of the graduate assistants, talked through Monday’s practice adjustments with Ramirez, and finally headed toward the parking lot. My truck had been sitting in direct Texas sun for hours, so when I opened the driver’s door, heat came out with enough aggression to qualify as personal.

I stood there for a second. “Disrespectful.”

There was nobody around to care.

I left the door open long enough to release whatever part of hell had gotten trapped inside, slid behind the wheel, and wrapped the towel from my center console around the steering wheel. The air-conditioning started winning somewhere near the edge of campus, and I was beginning to feel human again when my phone rang through the speakers.

Mama.

I smiled and answered. “Hey, Ma.”

“Where you at?”

“Just left practice.”