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SHAWN
“Curfew is midnight,”I say to the guys, and I stare at them from the front of the bus. “You are all grown men. I don’t want another call from the front desk complaining about people sliding ice cubes down the hallway and pretending like they’re bowling. Got it?”
“Yes, Coach,” the team says, and I smile.
“Good. Have fun today. Nothing illegal. Nothing that will knock you off your ass. Wear your sunscreen and drink your water. It’s warmer outside than it is at home, and I don’t want anyone to be dehydrated at practice tomorrow. I’ll see you all at ten in the morning. Last person on the field has to run five laps.”
Dallas stands and holds out his arm. The other guys mimic him, a makeshift huddle forming in the aisle of the rented motor coach.
“Titans on three,” he bellows. “One. Two. Three.”
“Titans,” they all yell, and they follow it up with a roar.
Some pound on the windows. A few others jump up and down and stomp their feet. A swell of pride rolls through me as I watch their enthusiasm.
There was a time when guys were ashamed to say they played for the Titans. They refused to wear their jerseys and got into heated arguments in the locker room. There’s a different culture in place now. It’s one of respect. Of unity. Of love for each other and knowing the guy next to them on the line of scrimmage is willing to go the extra inch with them.
I don’t give a shit about Super Bowls or how much money I make. At the end of the day, when my coaching career is over, I hope they don’t talk about how many games I’ve won and lost.
I hope they talk about how I helped these men fall in love with the sport that changed their lives. I hope they talk about how I was part of something bigger than me.
“What are you doing today, Shawn?” Jackson Swift, my head assistant coach and defensive coordinator, asks. He leans against the seat and rests his elbows on the vintage fabric. “Got any plans?”
“Not really. Might go to the pool and enjoy the fresh air.” I grab my bag and turn my phone off airplane mode, something I forgot to do when we touched down at LAX ninety minutes ago. “What are you all getting into?”
“We were thinking about going to Disneyland. Want to join?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to pass. My goddaughter would kill me if she found out I went to a theme park without her. Let me know if you’re back in time for a nightcap, and we can meet up.”
“Sounds good.” He reaches out his hand, and I shake it. “I’ll send you a text.”
The team files off the bus one by one. They clasp my shoulder and shake my hand. Ruffle my hair and call meDad. I’m giving them all shit—I know they’ll be in bed by ten, tired after a long day of travel and soaking up the west coast sunshine. I slide my sunglasses onto my face and step off the stairs. I’m greeted by palm trees, warm air, and a breeze laced with sunscreen.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I look down to see a stream of text messages come in. Three from Aiden. One from Maggie. Four from Maven asking what she should get her dad for Christmas. I fire off a quick response that, no, a walker isn’t a funny gag gift, and she should respect her elders. She sends back an emoji with its tongue out, and I chuckle. Lacey’s name pops up next, and I smile as I open our thread of messages.
Lace Face
Have a good flight!
I forgot you have a team plane and don’t have to fly commercial like us plebeians. What’s it like not having to deal with TSA and the general public who don’t know you can’t bring a liter of soda through airport security?
Another instance of NFL coaches: they’re just like us.
I should start a series.
I burst out laughing. Instead of answering her with eighteen different messages like she sent me, I decide to call her instead.
“It’s Malibu Shawn,” she says when she picks up on the second ring. “How’s the weather on the west coast?”
“I think I’m already getting a sunburn.” I look up at the sky and squint. “There’s not a cloud to be seen. Just a lot of blue.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you? It’s twenty-seven degrees here. Twenty-seven.”
“Bright side: you haven’t been shit on yet today, have you?” I ask.
“No. Small victories, I suppose,” she says.
“There’s that positive attitude.”
