Chelsea curls her hands into tight fists as her chest rises and falls sharply, time and again. “Let’s get you onto the roster and we’ll revisit this proposal of yours then. All we should be thinking about right now is getting you past the first round of cuts.”
Is this Chelsea managing more willpower than I can, or is this a sign she doesn’t want me the way I want her?
“Go,” she whispers hoarsely. “Please, Luca. I won’t let myself be the reason you get cut. I’d never forgive myself.”
Her intensity feels immovable. Not to mention, she’s made some good points. On a sigh, I drag my ass toward the door. But before I open it, Chelsea touches my shoulder from behind, sending goose bumps skating across my skin.
“Don’t ever come to my door again. It’s way too risky. Promise me, Luca.”
Another sigh. “I promise I won’t come to your door again, Chelsea.”
“Thank you.” She exhales behind me. “Now get some good sleep. They’re making the first round of cuts tomorrow night after the all-team practice, so they’ll be watching everyone through a microscope before then. You need to do everything you can to prepare your body and mind to kick some epic ass in the morning.”
CHAPTER 19
Chelsea
“WHO’S NEXT?” Dad asks, looking down at his iPad, and everyone at the large table follows suit.
For the first time ever, I’m sitting at the large conference table with the bigwigs—right next to Coach Martinez—instead of in a corner. And I wasn’t asked to take notes on my laptop or be an extra pair of eyes or ears for my father. Nope, I’m here solely as an accepted member of Raul’s linebackers staff. It’s a turn of events that would have enthralled me, if only the purpose of this meeting wasn’t so damned gut-wrenching.
We’re making ten cuts total tonight. That’s what Dad said at the top of the meeting. At the time, it sounded fairly reasonable, and certainly necessary, but the way things have been going so far, that number has started to feel increasingly unreasonable. Brutal, even.
“Jeremy Calhoun,” Raul supplies on a sigh, looking down at his iPad. He’s the one to read the name, since we’re talking about the linebackers. He adds, “Fourth year, middle.”
With a somber expression, Dad asks the same question he’s been asking regarding every other player we’ve considered this evening thus far: “Keep him or cut him?”
Under current NFL rules, we’re not required to cut anyone at this stage, unlike in years past. In theory, we could keep ourfull ninety-man roster till the bitter end of preseason and cut the necessary players right before the regular season kicks off. But that’d be a lot of people to continue carrying and assessing for three more weeks, and if we already know for sure a player on the bubble isn’t going to make it onto the active roster of fifty-three, it’s much better to cut him now. For him, too. That way, he’s still got a chance of getting picked up by another organization. As we all know, at this stage, one team’s heartbreaking cut might be another team’s gleeful pickup.
“Jeremy Calhoun,” Raul repeats softly. He rubs the back of his neck and releases an audible exhale. “It pains me to say it, since I like this guy so damned much, but my honest vote is to cut him.” Raul explains his thinking, which unfortunately aligns with mine. I’ve come to adore Calhoun these past two weeks and change, the same as Raul and everyone else, but a winning personality and a fervent desire to make the cut aren’t enough in this league, sadly. Not when we’ve got this much depth at Jeremy’s position.
Dad acknowledges Raul’s comments before addressing me. “Chelsea? Do you agree with Raul? Keep or cut Calhoun?”
I’ve got everyone’s full attention, even Bellamy’s. As my stomach somersaults, I take a deep breath and quietly offer, “I agree with Raul. Let’s give Jeremy the chance to get picked up somewhere else.”
Everyone at the table agrees, including my father, and since Dad’s the top dog here and his word is final, Jeremy Calhoun’s fate has now been sealed: His time with the Mastodons is done.
“Who’s next?” Dad asks solemnly, looking down at his iPad again. “Ah, yes. Mr. Personality.”
I jolt at the mention of Luca, while everyone else at the table exhales or smiles ruefully. We all know that nickname refers to Number Ninety-Five. Ever since Luca’s showstopping singing performance at the beginning of camp, that’swhat everyone’s been calling him. Sometimes to razz him. But mostly, especially as camp’s worn on, with great affection.
“Raul?” Dad asks once again, since Luca’s one of his.
I bow my head, feeling physically ill with anticipation. I came here ready to fight tooth and nail for Luca’s football life—to argue that we should at least let the man play in our first preseason game on Sunday night against the Admirals so we can properly assess him. But, really, how much sway do I have? Surely if someone else at this table, pretty much anyone else, is adamantly opposed to keeping Luca around—and God forbid if that person is my father—then Luca will follow Calhoun straight out the door.
“Luca Maguire,” Raul mutters, rubbing his forehead, and my stomach performs another, even bigger, somersault than it did earlier in relation to Calhoun. “Luca’s a tough call for me, honestly.”
What?I thought Raul loved Luca! Is he playing it cool to gain credibility for when he ultimately votes to keep Luca around, or is he sincerely unsure about his vote?
Before Raul can say another word, Bellamy’s phone on the table rings. It’s an odd thing to happen at an important meeting like this, since people always turn off their phones out of respect for the gravity of the proceedings.
“Oh, I need to take this,” Bellamy murmurs after glancing at his screen.
Everyone perks up. We all know Bellamy is this close to sealing a new deal with our star edge rusher. So, what else could this be about?
“Tell me,” Bellamy says into his phone. “Uh-huh.” He smiles broadly. “Fantastic. Tell him we’ll see him tomorrow morning. Seven thirty sharp, unless he wants to come earlier to have breakfast with his teammates.” Bellamy punches a button on his phone and fist-pumps the air. “The Moriarty deal is done!”
A cheer rises up around me. That’s a wonderful thing for the team. Not so much for Luca, though, since he plays the same position as Moriarty, and there’s only one opening for his backup.
