Page 33 of Final Down

“Hon, I can’t lie to your dad. And you know he can’t say no to your mom. It was a well-oiled machine. I’m afraid today isn’t just a Fourth of July celebration. It’s a baby shower.”

And as I glance around the patio, taking in my aunt’s gloating grin as she claps, my Uncle Jason’s belly laugh, Rosie’s teary eyes, my sister’s hand over her mouth, and my dad’s raised beer as he stands in the back and tries not to cry himself, I realize I’m not in this alone. I rush to my dad and am swallowed up in the world’s best hug. This massive Johnson family that only seems to keep getting bigger is all a baby needs in this world.

Chapter Thirteen

I’m starting to think I’m the oldest guy on the team. Our backup center, Cisco, looks like he’s in his late thirties, but it turns out beards can be deceiving. That fucker’s twenty-six. That new information has me second-guessing my assumptions about most of the O-line. I think the only guys I’ve got beat out here for sure are Phillips, Elgin, and Jerry. And I’m not so sure about Phillips.

It was hard to leave for camp. I’m glad Peyton is with family, though. And she’s busy with tryouts for the upcoming cheer season. She seems genuinely excited about our future, and since I’m nervous as hell about it, it’s good that one of us has a steady head on our shoulders.

Hell, I’m just hoping to keep my head attached to my body during camp. The hits are coming for real now. It’s time to shine for every guy out here, not just me, and I’ve felt every single ounce of effort in that pass rush.

“Tackling is discouraged,my ass,” I grumble to Whiskey as we undress after another grueling day.

“You know how it is, man. We all want a job.” Whiskey chuckles as he pulls his pads off and plops down on the bench.

“You’re getting a job, Whisk. You’re killing it out there. I’m proud of you.” I pat him on the back, and he groans as he tilts to one side to pull his layers of socks and tape from one leg.

“I don’t know why you think you’re not starting with me. Chance can’t hit the cross pattern for shit. He’s too green.”

“Thanks,” I say with a nod, holding in the fact I’m pretty green myself. It’s not like I’ve stepped foot on a pro field before.

There’s a clear line forming on the team, and I don’t want to be the guy drawing it, but I think I am. The grinders out here, like Cisco and Drey, have bought into my style. We’re always out on the field first, off it last, talking up everyone, celebrating the small wins. Most of the young guys, the two- or three-year players, along with the rookies, are into Chance’s hype. My dad used to call itmeball. Funny that the last time I saw players hotdogging and getting away with it was when I was a kid. Maybe they’ve got it figured out, though. I’ve watched Chance out there, and he’s full of so much raw talent it isn’t even funny. He simply lacks discipline.

“Oh, fuck that guy atAthletico!”Speaking of the immature punk.

Chance busts out of the showers with his entourage behind him.What kind of man can’t shower on his own?I swear, those guys follow him everywhere. Half of them won’t even make the final squad.

“Did you know he was covering the MLB before they gave him the Cyclones beat? I bet he doesn’t even like football,” one of the guys laughs out, slapping hands with Chance as he flings open his cubby and lays out his after-camp clothes. I’m putting on jeans and my Arizona hoodie. He’s rolling out of this place in a suit.

“Man, that Trujillo guy writes shit. I bet he thinks the old rickety man over there should start the first game. No offense,” Chance says over his shoulder, as if I’m an afterthought. I’m not stupid. I know this entire conversation is about me. If I weren’t in here, he wouldn’t be having it.

I read the article he’s talking about. It points out a lot of Chance’s weaknesses, things that will likely result in embarrassing turnovers on the field if he’s not careful. And Trujillo isn’t wrong. He’s usually not. Sure, he was covering baseball last season. That’s after a decade covering the ins and outs of the NFL, though—for pretty much every outlet in the country.But yeah. What does he know?

Once I’m dressed, I fire off a quick text to Peyton letting her know that I’ll give her a call when I get to the room. If she were here for camp, I might drive the hour back to our apartment. But since she’s not, I may as well stay in the hotel with the rest of the guys. Maybe I’ll spend some time in the bar and win a few of them over. I can be charming.I think.

“You coming out with us, old man? Or . . . you have a curfew with the old lady?” The few guys still lingering in the locker room with Chance snicker at his stupid joke.

Ten years ago, I would have knocked his teeth out by now. Sometimes, being professional isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.

I force out a friendly-sounding chuckle and shake my head.

“Yeah, you got me. She’s got me wrapped around her finger, I guess. Hey, but good work out there today. Keep it up,” I say with exaggerated enthusiasm, then pat his shoulder as I walk past him. He lets out a snort-laugh.

“Yeah, you too. Keep it up.”

At least he and his buddies wait for me to almost clear the doorway before they burst into laughter. I don’t like to wish for quarterbacks to eat turf; it feels like bad karma. But damn would I revel in seeing Chance get knocked on his ass a few times.

His time will come.

It’s a five-minute walk to the hotel from the facilities we’re using at the university. I’m not used to summer air feeling so chilly. I kind of like it rather than the oven-burn that comes along with living in Arizona. Late afternoons here drop below eighty, and there’s this perpetual breeze that I could get used to.

I call Peyton the second I step off the elevator.

“Hi, Daddy.”

She’s been calling me that for the last week, and at first, I thought it was cute. But then Whiskey brought up Reed, and how funny it is that he’s her daddy, and now I don’t think it’s cute at all. All I see in my head is Reed’s wild eyes staring at me and telling me to watch myself.

“You’re still sticking with that, huh?” I hold my keycard against the lock pad, and when it clicks, I push the door open and head straight for the bed.

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