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CARTER
I’m standing on the sidelines yet again, watching Ryder Simmons taking the reps as Coach B runs the team drills. It’s another hot day in the desert, but it’s the anger flowing through my veins that’s got me feeling more heated than the actual temperature. As I stand here, my agent, Lane Monahan, walks over and takes a spot beside me.
“I got your message last night,” Lane says.
“Did you know?”
“Know what?”
“That they were going to draft Simmons.”
“Of course, I didn’t,” he says.
“When we met with Steve and Coach B, they made it sound like I was their QB1. And yet, here I am standing off to the side, watching the rookie get all the reps. How did this happen, Lane?”
He runs a hand through his silver hair, his azure eyes hidden behind a pair of stylish, designer sunglasses. As always, he's neatly dressed in khakis, a dark green polo shirt, and expensive shoes. As he likes to say, he dresses for success. Lane is good at what he does, and he’s done right by me my entire career. I’ve never had a complaint with him. Not until now.
“I asked Steve about it before I came out here. He said they had an opportunity to draft this kid they didn’t think they were going to have. My understanding is Bruce is in love with the kid and pressured them to make the deal to move up in the draft to take him,” Lane says. “Steve insists you’re the QB1 of the present, but Simmons is the future. They want you to mentor him. Mold him. They think he can be the next Carter Cole?—”
“Don’t blow sunshine up my ass, Lane. It’s not a good look. What I want to know is if I’m the QB1 of the present, why am I standing here when I should be working with my team? It’s a new system and I need to learn it."
“I think JB is just trying to get a feel for this kid. I wouldn’t read too much into it, Carter.”
“I want out. Talk to Steve. Tell him to trade or release me. This isn’t going to work here. I’m sure there are plenty of other teams who can use me. Who will use me.”
“It’s not that easy, Carter.”
“How hard is it to get Steve to cut me?”
“It’s harder than you think, but I have a feeling you know that already.”
“Lane, if they’re going to make me sit on the goddamn bench behind this rookie, I don’t want to be here. I’d rather fucking retire.”
“Let’s not overreact here.”
"I'm not overreacting. They told me I was going to be the starter. But the way reps are being divvied up at the moment, it’s looking like the kid is going to be starting.”
“Camp just opened, Carter. I suggest exercising a little patience. I know it’s not your strong suit, but I suggest you just relax and let things play out,” he says with a grin.
I fall silent and watch as the kid zips another pass to a receiver across the middle. His footwork is solid, and his accuracy is on point. I’m not going to deny the kid’s talent. He’s got a cannon and can make plays with his legs too. But if the team was going to go with the rookie, they never should have brought me in. They never should have told me I was going to be the day one starter only to leave me sitting over here while they give the kid all the reps.
Cami, the trainer Ryder was harassing the other day, comes out of the facility. She’s dressed in black shorts that showcase those legs and that glorious little ass just perfectly. Her full, round tits strain against the fabric of her black polo shirt and bounce almost hypnotizingly as she walks across the field. I watch her and feel my cock stiffening. I shift on my feet, trying to tear my eyes away from her to keep me from getting a full hard-on out here. She’s such a sexy little thing, so it’s not easy to stop staring at her.
I finally manage to turn my attention back to Lane and refocus on the purpose of him being here in the first place.
“Look, man. I’ve got a few good years left in me,” I tell him. “I don’t want to spend those years rotting on a goddamn bench.”
Lane purses his lips and looks away. He and I have always had a very open and honest relationship. I trust him in all things. For the first time in our long run together, I get the feeling he’s not telling me something.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Look, Carter. I mean, you’re fifteen years into your career now. You’ve had multiple knee surgeries, and you haven’t been as effective over the last season and a half, maybe two seasons now,” Lane says. “I mean, I’ve always given it to you straight, so here it is. You’re in the twilight of your career, man.”
I look at him for a long moment then burst into laughter. “Do you think I don’t already know that? Are you kidding me with that shit, Lane? That’s not news. I know I’m on the downside of my career. It’s why I don’t want to spend the time I’ve got left rotting on a bench.”
He looks at the grass beneath our feet and frowns. “Carter, what I mean is that, because of all those things, there weren’t a lot of teams calling about you. Vegas is the only one who came to me with a reasonable offer. To be honest, most teams didn’t think you had much left, so I got you the best deal out there.”
His words hit me like a punch straight to the gut. It drives the air from my lungs and leaves me feeling a little sick to my stomach. To hear that no other team wanted me or think my skills have diminished that much is an absolute kick to the balls. Knowing I’m on the downside of my career is one thing. Knowing that other teams feel that way too is something else entirely.
