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1
CARTER
“What the fuck am I even doing here, Steve?” I ask. “I came out here because you said you wanted me to play quarterback for your team.”
“And that hasn’t changed, Carter. I just?—”
“If that hasn’t changed, why is the fucking rookie getting all the reps?”
“Look, it’s early in camp and JB just wants to see what we have in him. That’s all. Don’t read too much into it.”
“It’s hard not to when he’s building chemistry with the team while I’m standing over here with my thumb up my ass,” I growl.
I’m standing off to the side of the field with Steve Boyer, the team’s General Manager. The desert sun is beating down on me, and even though I haven’t taken a single fucking snap with the team yet, sweat is streaming down my face. It’s hot and I’m pissed off. And with every snap the rookie takes with the team out there, I’m feeling more and more like I got sold a bill of goods. I feel like both Steve and the head coach, Jay Blankenship, made promises to me to get me here, and once I signed that fucking contract, those all went out the window.
After two championships and fifteen years in Los Angeles, I found myself without a team for the first time since I came out of college. LA thanked me for everything I did for the team and sent me packing. It was a stark reminder for me that football is a business, and all businesses have a cold bottom line side to them. It had been a decade since our last title, and though we’d been good every year I was under center, we were never able to get over that hump again.
Steve Boyer had been one of my coaches at UCLA. We developed a rapport that became a long, comfortable friendship. We always checked in with each other, even after I left school and was drafted by LA in what seems like another lifetime already. But when LA didn’t renew my contract, he was the first one to call me. He flew me out to Las Vegas to meet with him and coach Blankenship and because of my comfortability with Steve and Coach B’s system, I signed. I’m starting to think now that might have been a big fucking mistake.
“You guys never mentioned you were going to trade up to draft this kid,” I say. “If I’d known, I might not have signed. I feel like you fucked me here, Steve.”
“Come on, let’s not blow things out of proportion here, Carter. Training camp just opened and like I said, JB wants to see what we have in this kid. That’s all.”
“Exactly. Training camp just opened. I’m new to this squad, and this is the time I should be building rapport and chemistry with the team. You used to play, man. You know how important it is for a new QB1 to build those bonds with his team,” I press. “Coach B hasn’t even looked at me once during this session. So again I ask, what the fuck am I doing here, Steve?”
“Come on, Carter. Ryder Simmons is JB’s shiny new toy, and he just wants to play with him for a little while. I mean, you have to admit, the kid has some freakish athletic talent. Strong arm. Mobile. Decisive. Looks like he can change arm angles and make any throw. He reminds me of you when you came out of UCLA, actually.”
I scoff. “He’s arrogant. Cocky. Thinks he walks on water.”
“Like I said, he reminds me of you coming out of college,” Steve replies with a grin.
“Funny,” I say without a trace of humor.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re our quarterback of the present. But you’re thirty-seven, Carter. You’ve always been a realist, so you know how this goes. Your best days are behind you, but I still believe you’ve got something in the tank. I think you’ve still got a bit of good football in you,” he says. “But that kid out there—that’s our quarterback of the future. You know he’s got gifts and he’s got talent. I know you do. You’re right, he’s a cocky asshole. What we need is somebody to help hone and shape him, somebody who can teach him to be a professional. Somebody who can teach him to be a winner. We need somebody to teach him to be another Carter Cole.”
“Great. So, I’m a glorified babysitter,” I grumble.
“Is that what you heard, Carter? Because that’s not what I said.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to draft him? I mean, how many meetings and dinners did we have before I signed? Why didn’t you ever once tell me you were bringing this fucking kid in?”
“Because that plan didn’t come together until after we’d agreed to a deal. Things just fell into our lap, and we found ourselves with a chance to move up and take him—something we didn’t think we had when we were doing our deal with you,” he says. “We feel like he has a real opportunity to learn from you—the same way you learned from Castle when you first came into the league. You remember Castle, don’t you?”
“Of course, I remember Castle.”
Hank Castle was LA’s QB1 when I came into the league. He was in the same position I find myself in right now. But Castle took me under his wing and, if I’m being honest, helped shape me into the quarterback I would become. It wasn’t easy at first. He was as threatened by me as I am by Ryder Simmons right now. As a competitor, it’s not easy when a younger, more athletic guy comes in and is gunning for your job. I get that now. But that doesn’t make this suck any less.
“Relax. It’s going to be fine,” he tells me. “I’ll talk to JB and get us all on the same page here. Just chill, man. You’re good.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
Steve chuckles and pats me on the shoulder. “Same old Carter. Always uptight, seeing the worst in everything, and predicting the sky is falling.”
“Doesn’t mean I’m wrong,” I mutter.
He turns and walks off, still chuckling to himself. I stand on the sideline, watching the kid slinging balls all across the field. Throws he shouldn’t be able to make, he’s making. Steve is right about the kid’s talent. There’s no denying that. His problem is with his attitude. And maybe there’s a little truth to what Steve said about the parallels between us when I first came into the league. But it’s very little truth. My ego was nowhere near what this kid’s is.
I was never handed the keys to the kingdom like him. I wasn’t a highly touted or even a recruited prospect coming out of high school. I was a walk-on at UCLA for Christ’s sake. I had to fight, compete, and scrap for everything I got. I earned my way. This kid though, he’s been groomed for this. Told every fucking day just how special he is and had his ego stroked by anybody and everybody. It’s not surprising he turned out to be an entitled asshole.
