Shit. What if she gets performance anxiety because of me?
Some fucking leader I am.
“Good,” Coach says, dragging me back to the present, apparently satisfied with my one-word answers. “I actually called you in to talk shop.”
My ears perk up, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Got a call from a scout in Chicago yesterday.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers together. My heart begins to pound. He’s got my full attention now. “You ever think about playing ball in the Windy City?”
Fuck yeah, I have. Like every day for the last two years. They’ve got a killer coaching staff and although the team is in a rebuilding phase, there’s a lot of potential there.
I shrug, not trusting myself to speak.
“They’ve got a good program in Chicago, despite their record. Coach Norris is a good man and a good coach. He could really help elevate your game as you transition into the NFL.”
I nod, tamping down my excitement. Coach doesn’t need to know I’m pissing myself at the prospect of attention from Chicago. “I appreciate the interest, sir, but I don’t think it’s in the cards. My family wants me to play ball in Pittsburgh.”
I’ve always known that wherever I go, all roads lead to the Steel City. It was all my parents ever talked about when I was a kid, seeing me wear the black and gold one day. Just like my old man. Hell, I’m wearing a tiny black and gold striped hat and matching blanket in my first baby picture.
No way I’m going to let them down when their—the dream is finally within reach.
“Pittsburgh.” Coach grunts. “I know it’s your old man’s team, but you could be part of something special in Chicago. Blaze your own trail, so to speak. Team’s got the makings of being great one day. They just need a solid QB to jump-start the program.”
He’s not wrong. Chicago’s always had a first-rate defense. If they could play both sides of the ball at the same caliber, they’d dominate the NFC North. But I’m hardly in a position to blaze my own trail, even if the prospect gets my blood thrumming.
Outwardly, the draft will decide my fate, but I’m not naive enough to think there won’t be a shit ton of wheeling and dealing behind the scenes. Chicago could very well end up with a top draft pick, but that doesn’t mean they’ll call my name. My father’s got friends in high places and I have no doubt he can make Pittsburgh a reality.
It wouldn’t be the first time a QB threatened not to sign if he didn’t like the draft team.
“Look, I know you’ve got history in Pittsburgh, but it couldn’t hurt to talk to the Chicago scout.” He levels me with his eyes, no doubt taking my measure. “You’re one of the top players in the country, Reid.” What he doesn’t say is that I’ll also be a top draft pick, but we both know it’s true. “And a good leader.” Except, apparently, when it comes to Carter. “There are going to be a lot of teams sniffing around this season, son. I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t encourage you to explore all your options and find the team that’s right for you. Not your family, you.”
I grunt noncommittally, ignoring the disappointment gnawing at my gut. No sense wasting the scout’s time or mine. And definitely no sense getting my hopes up for things that aren’t meant to be. I’ll be a franchise quarterback, but it won’t be in Chicago. My future was laid out years ago. Now all I have to do is walk the path.
“Anything else, sir?” I rise to my feet, the weight of expectation heavier than usual.
“No, you’re free to go,” Coach says, glancing over my shoulder.
I turn to leave and find Carter hovering at the door, toying with a wet rope of hair. I freeze, tension coiling in my chest at the sight of her. How much of our conversation did she hear?
She clears her throat, but doesn’t meet my eyes. Enough then. “Um, you wanted to see me, Coach?”
I shouldn’t be surprised by her presence. Coach probably just wants to talk to her about Saturday’s game. But football’s the last thing on my mind as I take in the guarded look in her eyes.
The look I put there.
My breath comes hard and fast. I want to apologize, tell her I’m sorry for being a colossal jackass, but this is hardly the time with Coach breathing down my neck. Besides, there’s so much shit between us right now, it takes a superhuman effort just to get my mask of control back in place.
The woman has a talent for slipping past my defenses, I’ll give her that much. Problem is, it can only lead to trouble. For both of us.
Kennedy
I stifle a yawn and check my reflection in the mirror, making sure my hair is somewhat presentable. It’s not something I typically worry about for practice—it’ll be a hot mess by the time we’re done—but with the home opener tomorrow and all the speculation surrounding little ol’ me, Coach thought it would be a good idea to let the media watch practice today.
Oh, and apparently I have to do an interview as well. Just the thought makes me twitchy. I’m not great with public speaking (okay, real talk—I suck at it), but Coach assured me it would just be one or two local reporters plus someone from The Collegian.
“It’s just a regular practice,” I remind myself, although the face in the mirror looks far from convinced. Or maybe it’s just lack of sleep making my eyes appear flat. With sixteen-hour days and hardly a moment to breathe, the football schedule makes soccer feel like a walk in the park. It also means I rarely see Becca despite the fact that we live together.
Clearly I should have
