As everyone at the table starts looking at the information I’ve supplied, I press send on my text to Daisy. But before she replies to me, the glass door to the conference room opens, and a staffer in a black-and-blue Mastodons polo shirt steps into the room, trailed by the team’s new owner, Ginny Williams.
“Hey, Coach Parker,” the staffer says. “Most of the players are here and checked in. We’re waiting on a few stragglers, but we’re basically ready for you.”
“Perfect timing. We’re just wrapping up here.” Dad smiles at the elegant, white-haired woman who hired him. “Good morning, Ginny. Happy Training Camp Day.”
“Happy Training Camp Day to you,” she replies, her excitement evident. The kickoff to a new season is always an exciting day for any team, for its fans, players, and personnel alike. But in the case of a longtime, beat-up loser like the Mastodons—let’s just say it’s fitting their team colors are those of a bruise—today is an especially exciting occasion. To put it mildly, everyone’s got high hopes for this new era under legendary Coach Parker.
After exchanging warm greetings with everyone at the table, Ginny says to my father, “Some reporters are assembled in the media room for a quick presser before you head out tothe practice field. Do you have time to pop down there and give them a few sound bites?”
“Of course. Anything for you, Ginny. Always.”
“Before you get started, tell them not to ask any questions about Jacob Moriarty’s holdout,” Bellamy interjects. “We’ve got no comment on that.”
“The reporters can ask Coach Parker whatever they’d like, Walker,” Ginny says calmly. “I’m sure he’s fully capable of saying ‘no comment’ whenever the mood strikes him.”
I lock eyes with Dad, and we share the tiniest of smirks. When Dad described Ginny to me initially, he called her a “tough cookie” and an “iron fist inside a velvet glove.” If you ask me, the way she so subtly, but deftly, shut down her nephew proved my father’s impression in spades.
With an exhale, Dad rises from the conference table and begins following his boss’s boss out the door, so everyone else takes that as their cue to grab their stuff and follow suit. As people start filing out, I realize it’s the perfect opportunity for me to pull Bellamy aside and remind him about the presentation I sent him last week. He still hasn’t said a word about it, so I’m assuming he hasn’t gotten around to looking at it yet, and I think an in-person “poke” always lands better than an easy-to-misinterpret email.
“Excuse me, Mr. Bellamy,” I call out to him before he makes it to the door of the conference room. “Do you have a quick minute to chat?”
As everyone files past him, Bellamy stops and looks at me like I’m a fly buzzing around a pile of cow dung. But to his credit, he quickly plasters a polite smile on his face and says, “Sure, Chelsea. What’s on your mind?”
“My future. My job prospects, that is.”And certainly not a certain edge rusher who’s now officially prohibited from entering my brain for the rest of training camp.
CHAPTER 4
Luca
“IGET WHYyou’re bummed, Luca,” my big brother, Roman, says. “But this kind of thing happens a lot. Use it as fuel.”
“Nobody thinks badly of you for this,” my twin brother, Levi, adds.
It’s early morning, and I’m talking on the phone to my brothers while driving a rental car from the airport to my new team’s training facility. I had such high hopes when I got the call to attend the Admirals’ training camp. But unfortunately for me, when their superstar edge rusher accepted a new contract last night, they immediately cut me loose. Like my brothers have been saying during this call, it’s a common story in this league. One I’ve heard many times without thinking badly about the poor player who got the shaft. But now that it’s happened to me, I’m feeling deeply embarrassed and shameful about it—worried everyone is going to think I’m a total loser now.
“I’ve already told Cameron to find me another team,” I report to my brothers. “So hopefully he’ll have something for me soon.”
Cameron is Roman’s best friend from college who became his agent and now represents Levi and me, too. Obviously, I’m a charity case for him at this point—a favor to Roman. I washoping the Admirals would change that for me and finally make me worth his time.
“Wherever you end up this season,” Roman says, “just do your best. Get yourself onto a roster, Luca. Any roster.”
“With the worst team in the NFL? No, thanks.”
Roman pauses. And it’s in that silence that I realize my big brother thinks that’d be okay for me. Because that’s all I’m good for. Is this truly how low I’ve sunk?
“You never know what could happen in this league,” Roman says. “Change your attitude and make some lemonade out of these lemons, as best you can.”
I grumble something under my breath.
“Look, I know the situation isn’t optimal,” Roman retorts. “But I think the new owner’s got a few tricks up her sleeve. Rumor has it she’s the one who personally recruited Coach Parker. If that’s true, then she’s a badass, because Jack Parker is one of the best in the game.” Roman snickers. “Despite how badly I dog-walked his players in college.”
“Two seasons in a row,” Levi adds with a snicker of his own.
Both Roman and Levi played for Michigan, albeit years apart, since Levi and I are six years younger than Roman. Our parents went there, too. So, we were all raised as Wolverines, even though I eventually wound up playing for Nebraska.
Roman exhales. “This might be your last shot, Luca, so you need to bust your ass, stop acting like life is a sitcom all the time, and show these fuckers why they should keep you around even after Moriarty signs his new deal.”
I bristle at the sitcom remark. “Football is stressful. Fun is fuel.”
