Page 23 of Final Down

“Okay,” I answer, my voice obviously full of caution.

Jerry laughs softly and gestures toward a group of field assistants gathering empty water bottles and cleaning up discarded athletic tape.

“Hey, Ryan, right?”

A skinny guy in glasses who looks fresh out of college lifts his head to meet Jerry’s gaze, and swallows so hard his Adam’s apple dips under his shirt collar and pops back into place.

“Yes, sir?” The kid’s as nervous as I am. I’m not sure Jerry gets the power he wields out here.

“Take this in for Mr. Stone, if you don’t mind.” Jerry lifts my helmet from my head, leaving what feels like a deep crease along my forehead in its wake. He hands it to Ryan, who nods and dashes off to the locker room.

“That kid thinks you’re timing him. Look at him go.” The two of us look on as Ryan disappears through the tunnel a few seconds later.

“I am,” Jerry says, pulling his watch hand from his pocket and glancing at it before quirking up the side of his mouth and shifting his gaze my way. “Kidding.”

I shake with a light laugh, and my shoulders relax a hint as I walk alongside Jerry toward the first row of seats. He’s funny. And of everyone out here with a hand in my fate, he feels the most kindred. But the bubbling in my belly that’s shooting fire up my esophagus is still brewing, and I’m still not ready to let my guard down around anyone out here but Peyton.

I slide into the row and move down a few seats. Jerry takes the second one in, leaving two between us. I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knee pads as I nervously ball my fists. Jerry crosses one long leg over the other, his slacks lifting at the ankles enough to reveal a flashy pair of red and blue Cyclones socks. They match his coach-style polo.

“Mickey is going to want to go with Chance. You know that already, though,” he says.

I nod, because in most ways I did. But hearing it anchors that thought in concrete and drops it into my gut.

“I figured.”

My mouth feels dry, and I wish I still had a water bottle to drown my anxiety before it chokes me. I shut my mouth instead and swallow hard.

“He’s not ready now . . . Chance?” Jerry continues. “He will be. One day. But he’s too green. He needs a mentor.”

I feel his eyes on me before I turn to confirm they are. As much as I knew this was the case, that the expectation was for me to ease the pathway for a younger talent to come in, it still tastes bad.

“You’re ready now, Wyatt. Hell, you were probably ready years ago, but teams missed the boat. What I saw out there today? What you do naturally with the team . . . that’s not something kids come out of college with. That kind of leadership is either in you or it’s not. And if it’s not, it’s going to take a humbling experience to get you there.”

I breathe out a short laugh and look down at the concrete.

“Is that my role here? To be a humbling experience for Chance Hickory?”

I give him a sideways look and wait for his response. He uncrosses his legs and matches my posture, meeting my eyes.

“Initially? Yeah, Wyatt. You’re here to be the teacher. To be the motivating factor. To scare the shit out of a punk kid with raw talent and zero discipline.”

I nod, my stomach dropping with my gaze.

“I won’t lie to you, Wyatt. Ever. You have my word. You can ask your father-in-law what that’s worth, and I hope he’d tell you to take it to the bank. So, know when I say this?—”

I pop my head up and hold my breath as we lock gazes.

“I think that job is yours to lose. And that means I believe you’ll take it from him. I already saw the wheels turning today. I see the tells. The way the team so easily leaned into your leadership. The reactions you got from the sidelines, from the defense, from the other coaches—from the guy up in the box.”

“Now you’re bullshitting me,” I laugh out.

He shakes his head.

“I’ve been around this business a long time. And as stubborn of a son-of-a-bitch as Mickey may be, he’s still a businessman. With you at the helm, the Cyclones make money. Noteventually.Now. As soon as you play a televised game in front of fans. As soon as you step into the media room and answer questions. The moment you connect with Jax or whomever in the end zone. Dollar signs, Wyatt. You will win. Chance won’t. Not yet. And if you win, and win early, and keep winning? This gig is yours.”

I exhale loudly, allowing my lips to actually flap with my breath, and Jerry laughs at my physical reaction.

“It’s a lot,” he says.

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