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“Sure. But you owe me for this.”
Ashley squeals and pulls me into a tight embrace as she thanks me profusely. I let her. Although it’s not quite the altruistic act she seems to think it is. Being out on the field means being closer to Carter, and that’s where I kind of want to be. I’m not going to tell her that. I know it seems a little stalkery, but I want to figure out what's going on inside my head when it comes to Carter and the only way to do that is to be around him.
“You’re the best, Cami! I owe you.”
“Yeah, you do,” I reply with a laugh.
I walk back to my office and grab my field bag then bounce through the building with a spring in my step. The heat outside immediately makes me regret my decision. We've got an indoor practice field that's temperature-controlled, and the day is split between being in there and out here. My father likes to make the guys sweat. He says he doesn’t like anybody to ever be too comfortable. Says it toughens them up.
I pick a spot near the far end of the bench then go through my usual routine of taping ankles and treating small wounds for the guys who need my help. All the while, I subtly keep my eyes on Carter. He’s working with the presumptive first team and is looking the part of the QB1. His passes have some zip to them. His footwork is terrific, and he’s hitting his receivers in stride. He looks like a man with a little pep in his step, and I can’t help but wonder if our little session in the training room is fueling his performance.
It’s a silly thought, I know. He’s a professional athlete, and this is what he does. It’s probably ridiculous to think that fooling around with me is helping his performance on the field. Still, it’s a nice thought and I can’t help but wonder.
“I don’t know, dude. The old man’s lookin’ sharp today.”
I look up to see another of our rookie draft picks, Jalen Mills, standing with Ryder a few yards away from me. Judging by the glower on Ryder’s face, he’s less than thrilled with the receiver’s assessment of Carter’s performance. I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on their conversation, but I’m a naturally curious person and can’t keep myself from listening in.
“Anybody can have a good day, man,” Ryder says. “This clown’s time is over. It’s time for some new blood.”
“And I suppose you think that’s you?” Jalen teases.
"Damn right, it's me."
“Well, if the old man keeps playin’ like this, you may be ridin’ the pine for a while. You know how Coach B feels about playin’ rookie QBs.”
“Then I guess we’re just going to have to convince Coach B that the old man’s time is over and that he needs to rethink that position.”
"And how are we going to do that?"
“Us young guys need to stick together.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m going to talk to a few of the other young bucks, and we all need to do our part to take control of this team,” Ryder says. “We need to start working together to make the old man look bad. Make it look like he’s not throwing us good balls.”
Though tempted to intervene, I know there’s nothing I can do. Ryder’s plot to make Carter look bad and take the starting job from him is disgusting and infuriating. The best thing I can do right now is listen to the details and, from there, figure out how to handle it.
“Bro, that’s going to come back on me. I ain’t like you. I have to work to make the roster. I ain’t tryin’ to make myself look bad just to make sure you win your job.”
“Jay, eventually, they are going to hand me the keys to this team. Be it now or next season—there will come a time when this team is mine,” Ryder growls. “And when it is, who do you think I’m more likely going to throw the ball to—somebody who helped me get the job or somebody who turned their back on me when I needed help?”
“Dude, come on.”
Ryder shrugs. “You want to put up numbers? You want to get paid when your rookie deal runs out? You better help me then.”
“That’s fucked up.”
“That’s just how it is.”
“Yeah, whatever. Fine.”
With a disgusted look on his face, Jalen turns and stalks off, leaving Ryder looking after him with a satisfied smirk on his face. The rookie turns, looks at me, and tips me a wink.
“You change your mind yet?” he asks and mimes a blowjob.
Without a word, I get up and walk across the field, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. The guy makes my skin crawl. Once I’m on the other sideline, I see my father standing with a couple of his coaches. I walk over to them and stand patiently off to the side. When his little meeting breaks up, I step forward.
"Coach," I call. "Can I have a word?"
