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“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Carter. I just… I still believe you’ve got a few good years left too and the last thing I wanted to do was take a whack at your confidence like that.” Lane sighs. “I just think this is a good situation here and that you can have a bounce-back year. That's why I'm urging you to be patient. The kid has a ton of talent. But he's raw and isn't game-ready. It's just a matter of time before JB sees that. You just need to be patient and you’re going to get your shot.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know JB and I know he wants to win. I also know he’s never started a rookie in his career. Like ever. And he hasn’t because rookies aren’t used to the speed of the pro game,” Lane presses. “He wants to take the kid around the block a few times and see what he’s got. That’s why the reps are going to him right now. You just have to wait. You’re going to get your chance to show what you can do. I know you’ve still got some ball left in you, Carter. Just sit tight and wait for him to call your number. Because he will.”
“Like I said, you don’t know that.”
“Have faith, man. Have faith.”
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I’ve got a meeting, but I’ll touch base with you later. Just be ready. Your number is going to be called, and when that happens, you need to be ready to capitalize on that moment. They brought you here for a reason. Don’t forget that.”
Lane pats me on the shoulder then turns and walks away, leaving me to the myriad of thoughts swirling around in my head. It wasn’t until the moment those words came out of Lane’s mouth that the end of my career became truly real for me. Talking about being in the twilight of my career is a reality, but it's still an abstract idea. Knowing there aren’t many teams out there who think I have anything left to give makes it concrete for the very first time. And it isn’t a good feeling. Not at all.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself.
4
CAMI
“Where’s Ashley today?” Carter asks.
“Oh. She had a family thing, so it looks like you’re stuck with me taping up your ankles today.”
I hide my cringe. That sounds stupid even to my own ears. Carter nods as he leans back on the table, and I turn around and walk over to the cabinets. Mostly so he can’t see my face. My cheeks burn, and my heart races.
I fumble pulling the tape out of the cabinet, so I take a deep breath and try to slow myself down, silently telling myself to get a grip. Quickly composing myself, I clear my throat, turn back around, and offer him the most professional smile. God, I hope it doesn’t look as awkward as it feels on my face.
“You’re Cami, right?” Carter asks, his voice a deep, resonant rumble that washes over my body, making me shudder deliciously.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. And I wanted to thank you again for stepping in the other day when Ryder… well… Thank you for stepping in.”
“It looked like he was making you uncomfortable.”
“He was.”
“Was he trying to pressure you into a date?”
A rueful grin spreads across my lips. “I wish that’s all it was.”
“Oh,” he replies as if he understands. “I’m sorry he did that to you.”
“Thank you. And thank you again for getting me out of that mess.”
“You’re welcome.”
As I busy myself with the mundane task of taping up his ankles, I start to calm down. There is little more soothing than losing yourself in routine work you’re so familiar with that you could do it blindfolded. As I do, I notice the surgical scars—one on each of his knees.
“Tore my ACL in the left knee, my meniscus in the right,” he says, obviously noticing me looking at his scars.
“I know. You tore your ACL against Miami three years ago and your meniscus against Denver last year,” I reply without thinking.
“Wow. Some people keep up with how many touchdowns I throw, but you keep up with my surgeries. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or creeped out.” He chuckles.
