Page 7 of Mr. Irrelevant
“Relax, Dimes,” he says, releasing me. “Don’t makeit a thing. We have too much work to do, and I need your help.”
Exhaling an annoyed huff, I cross my arms over my chest as I take in his cocky, yet somehow still charming expression. “Fine,” I relent. “But I’m making you do hip flip drills, and I don’t want to hear a single peep about it.”
He throws his hands out in surrender. “Whatever you say, Coach.”
SEVEN
MADDOX
I wakeup from a deep sleep, startled by my phone buzzing on the nightstand beside me. The early morning sun barely bleeds through the hotel blinds, and the clock on the TV tells me I still have about an hour before my alarm is set to go off. It’s gameday, so I try to squeeze every last minute of rest in, but I guess someone has other plans for me right now.
Reaching for the device, I wait for my tired eyes to focus, expecting to see my mom’s contact info flashing across the screen, since she’s the only psychopath who would be calling me this early on a Sunday. Instead, it’s not her name and photo staring back at me, but those of the one other woman who can get me to jump at the snap of her fingers.
“Morning, Dimes,” I say, the gravel in my voice a clear indication of what I was doing before she called.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. Did I wake you?” She’s breathing heavily, like she’s exercising or something,which would be weird at this hour for anyone else—but not her. I don’t think the girl ever stops.
“It’s five in the morning, Liv. I’m not a machine. Some of us require sleep.” There’s a teasing tone to my voice, which I’m glad she picks up on as she huffs a laugh in response.
“I forgot about the time difference. Go back to sleep.” I hear the phone ruffle as she pulls it from her ear, sending me into some kind of weird panic mode to keep her from ending the call.
“Wait!” I rush out, not wanting her to hang up. I don’t hate that her voice is the first thing I heard when I woke up, and as weird as it is, I want to keep her talking. “Did you need something?”
“No,” she replies. “I was just on the treadmill and wanted to wish you good luck before your morning got crazy. I should’ve just sent a text, since I don’t know your routine. Hopefully, I didn’t fuck you up.”
She’s cute. I get where she’s coming from, since a lot of athletes are superstitious and very set in their ways on game days. I’m not really like that, though. Sure, I do things a certain way out of familiarity, but I don’t blame my wins or losses on any of it.
“Well,” I say, standing from the bed and padding to the coffee maker to brew a fresh cup, “if it’s a one o’clock game like today, I get up around six. I’ll order breakfast, turn on NFL Network, and try to chill until about seven. After a quick shower, I throw on whatever outfit I brought, since our social media manager insists on doing a weeklyFit Checkpost. Then it’s down to the bus by eight.” I pick up the now-filled mug, take aquick sip of the hot liquid, and wince as it burns my tongue. “How about you?”
She’s silent for a moment, and if it weren’t for the sound of her feet pounding against the treadmill in the background, I’d think she hung up. “How about me,what?”
I chuckle, returning to the bed and settling back against the pillow with my coffee in hand. “What’s your gameday morning routine? I know you have one.”
“Actually, it’s kind of like yours,” she finally answers. “I get up, eat breakfast, watch Good Morning Football while I work out, set my fantasy lineup, and get ready for kickoff. I got an earlier start today because my sister and I are getting manicures before the game.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. “So, you have a fantasy team. Am I on it?” I’m fucking with her. My stats are laughable, and even though we’re working on my technique and confidence, I’m inconsistent. Nobody in their right mind would waste a roster spot on me right now.
“Of course you are,” she replies matter-of-factly, catching me off guard. I hear the machine power off beside her, and her breathing begins to even out as she continues. “Do you really think I’m going to sit back and let someone else enjoy the fruits of my labor? You may not be pulling in big numbers yet, but I’ve seen a huge difference already, and I just know it’s only a matter of time before it starts paying off on the field.”
My heart squeezes in my chest. All my life, I’ve had to prove myself more than everyone else. Even after turning my high school team around, it took twodivision championships to get scouts to look my way. College was no different, and that perpetual doubt from fans bled into my professional career. I’ve always been the underdog—good enough to be there, but always placed at the bottom of every list. I know that has everything to do with my own abilities and how I’ve showcased them, but I won’t lie…it feels good to be seen the way Livvy sees me. To the outside world, I’m just the backup—thrust into the starting lineup because the team didn’t have another option. But to her, I’m the guy who spends hours under the moonlight every week trying to become the quarterback his team and city deserve.
“Wow,” I rasp, doing everything I can to keep my voice from breaking with emotion. “Not a smart choice, Dimes. But I promise, by the end of this season, you’ll be happy you made it.”
“I know,” she says on a laugh. “I’m not a five-time champ for nothing. I know something special when I see it, Maddox. And that’s what you are.”
I swallow thickly, warmth flowing through my veins as gratitude washes over me. Not only is this girl teaching me things about myself that no other coach I’ve worked with has picked up on, but she’s putting all her faith in me before I’ve even won a game.
I just hope I don’t let her down.
EIGHT
MADDOX
“Looking good today, Dane,”our cornerback, Theo Calloway, says as we make our way from the locker room to the tunnel. We’re about to start the second half against the Nashville Copperheads, and we’re up by a field goal. It’s been a pretty even game, which makes sense, since they’ve had roughly the same luck we have with injuries over the last few weeks. The fact that their leading pass rusher is one of those losses is a big part of why I’m nine for eleven through the air, with over a hundred yards and a touchdown. The defense has gotten to me a few times, but all my work with Livvy is obviously paying off, because I’ve been able to elude them.
“Thanks, man,” I reply with a smirk. “I feel like I’m finding my footing here.” It feels weird keeping my midnight practice sessions from the guys, since I pride myself on being an open and honest teammate, but I know I can’t tell them that the owner’s daughter is the reason for my sudden improvement. Not only wouldshekick my ass, but I’m sure we’re breaking more rules than just being at the practice facility without permission every night. The last thing we need is to have any suspicious eyes looking our way.
He pulls his helmet over his head, slapping me on my shoulder pads. “Keep it up. Let’s get this dub.” I give him a tight nod, looking around the stadium as fans cheer for their respective teams. I was surprised to see some of them donning Renegades gear earlier, but that just goes to show the kind of support we have behind us. We have yet to give the city of Cleveland a win—not even in the preseason—yet they’ve driven hundreds of miles just to watch us play. I’ll do whatever I can to make them proud, even if that means sacrificing sleep to be bullied by Livvy every Monday through Friday.
