Page 8 of Presley's Christmas Catch
“Are you having fun still?” he asks.
I let out a short combo of a laugh and frustrated huff. “It’s hard when things are the way they are.”
He folds his arms, his contemplative expression showing me how seriously he takes my feelings on this. “Yeah. I can see the disconnect when you’re out there.” He lets out a sigh. “Having fun is important at any level, even with the pressure you’re under. You gotta figure out a way to find the enjoyment again.”
Easier said than done, and he knows it. I don’t have to point it out. I move back toward the kids to stretch out with them and help Tim instruct.
An hour later, as we’re starting to run some offensive plays with the team, Tim’s wife pulls up. I hide my smile as his eyes follow her when she hops out of her Tahoe and makes her way toward the field. Even after thirty-five years together, he can’t keep his eyes off her if she’s anywhere nearby. When I was in high school and spending a lot of time at their house with Chase and Derek, we used to tease them for how affectionate they were, but in truth, even then, their loving marriage was a comfort to me.
“You got the boys for a second while I see what Meg needs?” Tim doesn’t wait for my assent before he walks to meet her by the bleachers. He kisses her as soon as they greet, and the boys wolf whistle and holler until I call them back to order, grinning myself at two fifty-somethings acting like teenagers.
The workout is easier than my normal ones, but it’s a great distraction. It’s also a great reminder of what Tim’s talking about—having fun. I step in on more than a few plays to “instruct” the guys on stuff. And sure, it’s easy when I’m blocking kids half my size and all that’s on the line is bragging rights for who wins the scrimmage. (My team, of course.) But it reminds me of the love for the game I’ve had since I first put on a helmet. My friends like Lincoln and Jett McCombs are playing for good teams and havingthe time of their lives, by the looks of it. I can’t control the team I’m on, or even how the rest of the line behaves—whether they protect our quarterback with all their heart or are only looking out for their own career. But I can control how hard I work. And if I have anything to say about it, nobody is getting around me.
Presley:Yes! Done! Beat you!
Brock:Noooo. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to the football camp.
Presley:Camp? You guys still doing OTAs? Thought you’d get a break before training camp starts.
Brock:No, not with the Devils. I’m visiting my mom, and the high school coach here is a good friend. Hanging out with them.
Presley:I bet they love that.
Brock:They’re teenagers. If they love it, they don’t show it. Not most of them.
Presley:Did any of them fall out of their chairs when you started talking to them?
Brock:I thought that was because I knew about TOK.
Presley:I mean, it was. But my point remains.
Brock:The guys are cool. At least they act like it when I’m around. I’ve been coming to these camps for a while, so a lot of them know me and are used to me.
Presley:It sounds like fun. I bet the coach loves it too, being able to show you as an example of his success.
Brock:Tim’s proud of me, no doubt.
Brock:But I think he’s never going to be able to stop coaching me.
Presley:Tim sounds amazing. That’s how my dad is, even though I don’t play sports competitively anymore. He’s still always trying to give me tricks from the PTs he liked that were with the team back when he played.
Brock:Tim will text me after games with a compliment, something I can improve, and then another compliment.
Brock:Same way he always coached.
Presley:The compliment sandwich!
Brock:
Brock:Sometimes I think, in the long run, I was lucky my real dad left. Because I got Tim.
Presley:What about your real dad? Does he ever text you advice?
Brock:He’d have to know I grew up.
Presley:You don’t talk to him?
Presley:Sorry, if you don’t want to talk about him, that’s fine.
