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“Like the Ravens and the Eagles and the Falcons.”
All bird teams. Huh.
That’s kind of weird.
“Other teams too,” Coach adds.
I lean back in my chair, taken aback. “Seriously?”
A few of them chuckle. “Seriously,” Coach says. “I’ve reviewed your past tapes, looked over your stats, and compared to last year, you’re on fuckin’ fire.”
I nod, overcome by what they’re telling me. My head is spinning with all the possibilities.
NFL scouts? I never believed that was in the cards for me. I was an adequate quarterback in high school, but nothing spectacular. Even though it kills me to admit it, I’m no Jake Callahan. That fucker is an amazing quarterback. So was his father. Jake will go on to the NFL for sure, but me?
Nah.
“The office has fielded a few calls,” Coach Harris continues. “And there are people coming to watch you at this weekend’s game.”
Shit, shit, shit.
“We don’t want to put pressure on you, Eli,” says the offensive line coach. Todd Donovan’s been with us since my freshman year and I love this guy. He was a Bulldog back in his day too and he has a special love for the team that no one else on the coaching staff does. He gets us. “Just keep up what you’re doing and you’ll be fine.”
“May I ask you a question?” Harris says.
I sit up straighter at his formal tone. “Sure.”
“What’s gotten into you this season that has you playing so well?” He squints at me, as if he’s trying to figure me out.
Should I tell him the truth? I broke up with my girlfriend and now I’m out to crush anyone who gets in my way on the football field? Because that’s the truth. I’m channeling all of my anger into each game and it’s keeping me on point.
It’s kind of wild. I’ve always been an emotional player, and usually I let my emotions get the best of me. Last season was a shit show because of it.
This season, though? Once I’m on the field, I’m in complete control of my emotions, my throwing, my accuracy, hell, even my running game is b
etter than it’s ever been. I’m stronger, I’m tougher, I’m more focused…
Huh. Maybe having a girlfriend fucked with my head and made me a worse player over the last three years. Now there’s something to consider.
Though even I can admit to myself that sounds like a load of horse shit.
“Maturity,” is what Todd says, answering for me. His gaze meets mine. “Our boy is a senior. He knows what he’s doing out on that field and it shows.”
“Thanks,” I say, grateful for the compliment.
“You keep this up, I’m thinking you could get drafted,” Coach says.
We talk a little more about the possibilities and the potential. There are other teammates of mine mentioned in passing that have NFL interest too, including fucking Diego Garcia, which is unbelievable, but then again not. They’ve already talked to him about it. They saved me for last.
By the time I’m exiting the room, I’m still in shock, blown away by what the coaching staff told me. The NFL? Really? I can barely wrap my head around it.
And I have no one I can tell. No one to share my exciting news with and celebrate.
My first instinct is to call Ava, but…yeah. No. She’s not the first person I run to anymore, and I miss her like fucking crazy, but this is not the way I should approach her.
Not now.
Hmm. My dad? He never answers my calls. Barely responds to my texts. Why set myself up for disappointment?
