Presley stands there in team gear, arms folded, eyes on the field. Her hair is pulled back, face serious, stance all business.
But her gaze catches mine, and she smiles. Just enough that I can see it.
“Let’s go, Saint!” Aston shouts from behind me.
I turn and line up again.
Third and eight.
Their quarterback calls the snap, and this time, the guard stands firm, expecting a bull rush. I give him power for a second,then spin off his outside shoulder. It’s clean and too fast for him to recover.
The quarterback sees me coming and panics, throwing the ball to the ground.
Our punt team comes in, and I jog off the field. I’m met with helmet slaps and shouted insults disguised as affection.
Presley waits near the bench with a water bottle, even though that’s not her job. “You look thirsty.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from her.
“Looking good out there, old man.”
“Old man.” I spit out my water.
She smiles sweetly. “Drink the water, Grandpa. Can’t have you cramping out there.”
I lower the bottle and point it at her. “I think you’re enjoying this too much for someone older than me.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Touché.”
Her eyes move down my body quickly, but clinically. “Knee holding up okay?”
“Yep.”
Coach yells my name, interrupting our teasing.
The rest of the first half is clean football. Controlled, but enough contact to sharpen our skills. I hold another run, collapse the pocket twice, and knock down a pass that their quarterback made the mistake of trying to get over my head.
By halftime, my jersey is just dirty enough, my body warm, and my day is done.
When we get into the locker room, I take a quick shower and change into team sweats and a clean jersey without pads.
The rookies take over in the second half.
I stand on the sideline, watching the young guys try to prove they belong here.
Aston is a rookie, too, but he’s already proven himself. He was drafted early in the first round and is already one of the best defensive players in the league.
He drops beside me and leans into me. “Ready to retire?”
“Fuck off.”
“But you’re, like, a veteran now.”
“Veteran, my ass. I can still put you through this bench, Griff.”
He grins. “You flirting with me, Saint.”
“You’re such a dick,” I say, laughing.
