Page 47 of Good Guy Gabe

When Keenan nods at me and casually says, “Shaunessy, got time for a quick chat in my office?” I nearly jut my hands out for him to arrest me.

I give him my biggest, dumbest smile in the hopes that he doesn’t sense my fear. “Sure thing, coach!”

Everyone watches from the locker room — most attempt subtlety, but Blaise peeks out, bug-eyed, until Merrick grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him back — as I follow Keenan past the locker room and into his office. He motions for me to take a seat and closes the door behind me, and I feel like my heart is going to leap out of my chest.

The way Keenan leans back in his chair should be of some comfort. He’s casual. Relaxed. Like someone about to have an easy conversation. But now I’m thinking he’s hated me this whole time and he’s relaxed because he knows he’s never going to talk to me again.

I have to be green. He has to see that I’ve turned green. His grin proves that he wants to be rid of me and he’s going to laugh when I barf all over everything.

“Good season so far, yeah?” he asks as he reaches under his desk.

Irrationally, absurdly irrationally, I think he’s about to pull a gun on me. I really need to get some sleep. I’m a mess. “Six and two,” I reply, my tone lacking the depth that would convey any sort of joy.

Keenan doesn’t seem to notice this. “Yeah, that’s great. We’re already a shoo-in for the play-offs. And you’re a big part of that. You know that, yeah?”

“Thank you, sir,” I reply mechanically.

“I hope Sinclair appreciates how much of his load you take on. ESPN’s talking about how he’s finally matured enough for the Super Bowl, but I don’t think they see that you’re the reason for that.”

“It’s an honor, sir.” I taste bile. There are only two ways I can imagine this conversation going, and that’s him handing over acontract for the next three seasons or him saying that’s why he’s so mad at me that he has to fire me for being a criminal and then letting the cops in.

And that contract doesn’t come from him.

“You know I’ve been doing this a long time. Both pro and college. I never felt I was coaching children when I was at SC. But it’s different when you’ve got a team that’s just out of high school and no longer in their parents’ houses, living on their own for the first time and figuring themselves out. Someone said something they shouldn’t have. Someone got drunk and broke someone else’s Xbox. Someone slept with someone else’s girlfriend. You got me?”

I nod, wondering if these are universals or if he knows my life that well. I did have a habit of saying things the wrong way, and I did break my buddy’s Xbox on accident and it was my girlfriend that half the team slept with.

“I had to deal with those issues. That’s part of life with college kids. But I don’t usually deal with stuff like this at the pro level. You guys are adults. You’ve got families, mortgages, your own group of friends instead of just your teammates.”

I’ve got none of those things. He has to know that.

“So I’m going to make this simple. When things are going this well, it doesn’t make too much sense for me to rock the boat. This is not a rocking of the boat.”

That sounds like I’m not getting fired or going to jail. People in jail don’t get to play pro football. That’s not how The Longest Yard worked out.

“But I’m concerned about this thing between you and Allore.”

Shit.

“I wasn’t at first. You two are never on the field together. I was happy you guys were buddies, and then you weren’t, and it didn’t matter too much. But I’m now starting to think there’s beef between you and Morales, too, and—”

“There isn’t!” I blurt out. “Absolutely not. Morales is great. I promise I will do just as well if he has to step in for Blaise.”

“I’m sure.” Keenan nods, but his smile is weak. “But Morales and Allore are friends. You were part of that group. And it seems like you’re the one who’s not willing to work with Allore anymore, and since Allore and Morales have so much in common—”

“Dom is a decade older than Evan.”

“And their babies practically share a crib.”

Now his tone has a bite to it. That’s my fault. I shouldn’t have thrown that at him like that.

“I’ve had Pruitt working with Morales to be his center. I can pull you when I pull Sinclair. Do you want that?”

I’d noticed Pruitt was going over a playbook with Morales recently but didn’t think anything of it. Of course I can’t be the only center. I’m as prone to injury as anyone else. More so, in fact. I take bad hits in every game because of the position I’m in when I hike the ball. But I’m not Blaise’s center, I’m the Jugs’ center, and I can’t rely on Blaise to carry me. He’s incredible, but at the end of the day, he was expendable enough for the Colts to donate him to the expansion even with me in tow. “No, absolutely not.”

“That’s not a threat, it’s an offer. I need to know how to keep this team running this smoothly.”

“You do not need to worry about this,” I insist.

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