The guys around Ezra Thomas, our cocky quarterback, slap him on the back. I suppose I’d be cocky too if I’d taken my team to the championship game as a sophomore, which has ESPN calling him the next Trevor Lawrence.
Coach’s voice grows louder. “See yourself relying on your teammates and trusting your instincts.” His eyes meet mine briefly before he scans the team.
The insinuation is there—my instincts are shot to hell. It’s why my last two seasons at NTU were utter shit, which sent me scrambling to transfer to Lone Star and hopefully get one last shot at the NFL.
After Charlotte took off, Dakota and I eked out a few more months of misery, months that left me sleeping on the couch. Once my father remarried and barely bothered to talk to his four sons, I was bound and determined not to be that guy. I would stick around, come hell or high water.
Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found Dakota in bed with Troy, but it hit me like a Mac truck. I had the worst season of my career. Dakota took off for LA, dumping me with Asher full time while I juggled football and school. I was a mess.
I wish I could say I regrouped junior year, but it was only marginally better. It was hard to get my head on straight with that fuckwit Troy on our team. But I couldn’t exactly go around and explain to the media that our QB had fucked my baby mama behind my back and that’s why my stats were in the shitter.
It’s a miracle Lone Star State considered me, but it makes me that much more committed to doing whatever Coach Santos asks of me. That man has given me a lifeline, and I don’t intend to squander it.
Billy Babcock, our safety, quips, “Do I have to be alone in bed to do this vision quest, Coach?” He chuckles. “Because I might need some company to help me handle my balls.”
Idiot. You don’t joke with Coach like that. I’ve only been here since July for training camp, but even I know this.
Coach rolls his eyes as a few of the guys with a death wish laugh. When everyone quiets down, he leans forward. “For the love of God, please wear condoms. I don’t want to have to remind you—again—about the consequences when you’re irresponsible.”
I flinch, the reminder I fucked up always in the back of my mind. I didn’t realize the condom had busted until after we were done. Dakota waved it off like it wasn’t a big deal. She said she’d get the morning-after pill, patted me on the head, and took off. I didn’t think much about it again until she tracked me down one day after football practice and told me the pill hadn’t worked and she was pregnant.
There’s a five-percent failure rate with those pills.
Lucky me.
But Dakota is a beautiful woman. Smart. Ambitious. I figured we could make a go of things and try that whole “committed relationship” route, something I hadn’t really considered in my life up until that point. My family is devoutly Catholic and supported my decision even though they weren’t crazy about Dakota. Hell, my oldest brother David supported that more than he ever did my football career. In his mind, I should get my business degree and join him and our other brother Elijah at their garage.
I’d rather drink motor oil than live the rest of my life under the hood of a car. I’ve seen how our small town treats the men in my family, like the grease under their nails and our address near the train yard means we’re not worthy. I aim to prove them otherwise. If anyone deserves a nice house with a picket fence in a safe neighborhood, it’s my mother, who has dealt with her fair share of bullshit from me and my siblings.
After the divorce, my older brothers, David and Eli, tried to help Mom with her mountain of bills and two other boys to raise, but she still struggled.
That’s the main reason I couldn’t bail on Dakota, even if she treated me like shit. I saw what my mom went through, and there was no way I was doing that to another woman. It’s probably why I stayed with Dakota long after I thought it was a good idea.
The truth is we never should’ve gotten together. We would’ve been better off trying to co-parent. Maybe learn how to be friends. Learn how to work together. What is it they say? Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
Coach’s pep talk turns into a lecture about partying. After the team got busted for a naked swimming party last year, I don’t blame him for his concern. Some of the guys play fast and loose around here. If I didn’t have a son, I might have the same attitude, but my family’s future is on the line. I’m not here to fuck around.
When the meeting is over, he calls my name.
Praying I haven’t screwed up already, I gather my things and head to the podium. “What’s up, Coach?”
“How’s the new apartment? You settled in?”
“Yes, sir.” It’s in a shitty part of town, across the street from some run-down condos and college kids who party too much, but it’s not a terrible hike to campus, and I can afford it with my housing stipend.
Most of the guys live with teammates. I can’t exactly join them with a three-year-old kid tagging along. It sucks to miss out on a central part of the college experience, but Asher needs me to be my best self, and that doesn’t include living in a party house like the Stallion Station.
Coach lowers his voice. “And the babysitting situation is working out?”
Not so much, but there’s still time. “I’m hammering out the kinks.” My mom stayed with me during training camp so she could watch Asher, but she went back home, and I’ve been scrambling to make sure I get decent people to watch my son.
“Good. Did you receive the money from the student assistance fund to help you pay for childcare?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you. I really appreciate everything you did to make that happen.”
He nods solemnly. “No thanks necessary. It’s my job. Just want to make sure you’re equipped with what you need to be successful this year.”
NTU never gave me a penny to help pay for childcare. I sold my grandfather’s old coin collection so I could contribute to what we paid Charlie to watch Asher. Yes, the Darlings are flush, but I never wanted to be that guy who mooches off his girlfriend’s family. “It’s going to help tremendously.”
“I was already in the NFL when I had my daughter, but I remember what it was like to be a rookie and have a baby at home. And let me tell you, Roxanne was a handful. She still is.” He chuckles. “Having solid childcare will give you peace of mind so you can focus on the game. Have you called Michael Oliver yet? He knows what you’re going through.”
Oliver was last year’s star running back who had twins late last fall with his girlfriend. He was drafted to Chicago.
“Yes. He had some good advice.” Mostly to trust Coach, because he didn’t at first, and it bit him in the ass.
“And what about the girlfriend situation? Do we know what kind of show to expect? I want to brace myself for the worst.”
This was the hardest part—getting the call from my first-choice college and needing to tell them my ex might blast my shit on national TV. Because of course her new reality show kicks off in a few weeks.
Thankfully, Coach took it in stride.
“Ex-girlfriend.” He knows this, but I feel the need to remind him that whatever Dakota does on that show should not reflect on me. I swallow and nod slowly. “It’s called The Hot House.”