Page 34 of For Emery

He glanced up. “How’d today feel?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, your game?”

I shrugged.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he said. “You know you played well. Probably the best I’ve seen you play.”

“I made some nice plays.”

He shook his head. I couldn’t tell if he was pissed or amused. “Listen. I wasn’t gonna say anything because, frankly, you aren’t the most…focused player on the team. But people have been asking about you.”

“What kind of people?”

“People who might be interested in taking a closer look at you.”

I flinched. “Seriously?”

“This doesn’t have to be the end of your football career,” Coach said.

I cocked my head. “You’re serious.”

“Teams need a guy like you.” Coach shook his head, almost amused. “I never thought those words would ever leave my lips. But, you might just have what it takes to be a leader. And, teams have begun to take notice.”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled.

“Have you considered what comes next for you?”

I half shrugged. “I just figured I’d try law school. If any of ’em will even take me.”

He scoffed. “Maybe you should reconsider. See how the season plays out.”

I sat speechless, never in a million years thinking any teams would be interested in me. I wasn’t a marquee player. Hell, I wasn’t even that likable. But maybe I actually had a chance of making it to the pros—if I didn’t fuck it up.

But one thing was for sure. I needed to have a killer season. And even that wouldn’t be enough. I’d still need to prepare for the pro scouting combine so teams could assess my abilities.

Making it to the pros wouldn’t be easy.

But then again, nothing worth having ever was.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Grady

I dropped my bag down by the door as soon as I stepped inside my house. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked into the living room, still kind of floating on cloud nine now that Coach had sent my future goals on their head—in a good way.

Abbott played a video game on the sofa. He glanced up. “What up?”

“You up for going out?”

“Dude. I’m always up for going out. Will there be girls?”

“Unless we’re going to a monastery, yeah, there’ll be girls. Let’s hit up the bar. If it’s lame, we can crash a party.”

He tossed down his controller and hopped off the sofa. “I’ll be ready in twenty.”

“Twenty minutes? Are you a girl?”

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