Page 25 of Fair Catch
Thank God I had Gavin.
Dad must have noticed that I wasn’t convinced anything about being dyslexic was a good thing, because he stood, and commanded me to do the same.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the back door.
I had no choice but to follow, my feet dragging underneath me as I ambled outside after him. I snapped back to reality just in time to catch a football as it was lodged at my face.
“Nice catch,” he said, and then he held up his hands for me to toss it back. “Go long.”
I figured it was just a way to distract me, but I jogged out past the swing set I used to play on as a kid, turning just in time to leap up and grab the throw Dad had made.
The moment that ball was tucked into my chest, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Again!” Dad yelled, and Mom retrieved the ball from me only to toss it to Dad, who had me line up a fake play like I was a wide receiver.
He called out the route, one I’d played often on my team last year, and I juked like I was avoiding a safety before catching the ball and running it across the yard. Mom and Dad cheered, and then I ran back for another.
Again and again, over and over, Mom or Dad called out a drill and I executed. Before I knew it, I was panting, dripping sweat, and high off the adrenaline that only football provided me.
That test was the last thing on my mind.
Mom met me with a bottle of water after about an hour, and as I drank it, Dad laid a hand on my shoulder, leveling his eyes with mine.
“You are not stupid, son,” he said. “You are remarkable.”
My eyes fell to the ground.
“Do you think just any kid could run routes like you just did? That they could be that fast, that agile, that explosive? Do you think every kid is just born with that talent, with the ability to catch every ball without dropping a pass or even so much as bobbling?” He shook his head, poking his finger hard in my chest. “You are special.”
There was that word again, only this time…
It felt different.
“You know what you’re going to do, Zeke? You’re going to make it to the places other people only dream about. You’re going to play varsity football in high school. You’re going to get a scholarship to a D-1 college. And one day, you’re going to be picked in the first round of the NFL draft. Who cares if you can’t read a book in a day, or that you don’t have an A in history class?” Dad waved it off as Mom chuckled. “Neither of those things matter. Not to you. Not to us. Football, son,” he said again, patting his hand hard on my chest. “That’s your future.”
That was the moment where my parents’ belief in my dream began. They went from supporting me as a kid playing football for fun, to drilling me like the NFL player they already knew I would be one day.
It was love in the purest form.
But resting just below that layer of love was an even thicker, heavier layer of pressure.
“Just do what you have to do to be eligible to play,” Dad had told me when he dropped me off for summer term. Because he knew just as well as I did that there was no degree waiting for me here, no future career that would require anything of me other than performing on that field.
It was football or bust.
So, I took a deep breath and got back to reading only long enough to get the first chapter read, and then I climbed into bed to make sure I had a good night’s sleep.
Because tomorrow was the chapter that mattered most for me — the next one in my football career.
That’s where my focus needed to be.
Zeke
I woke up on the morning of our first game as if it were my last one.
I was up and showered before Riley had stirred, and I was happy to have my bag packed and be on my way to the stadium before she showed her face. I didn’t have to leave as early as I did, but I didn’t want to see her before the game.
Not after what she’d said.
It shouldn’t have gotten under my skin as much as it did, but she’d hit a soft spot whether she knew it or not. I was already at my wit’s end after a grueling week of class and practice, the fact that I was even thinking about studying last night was a miracle.
When she laughed at me, I decided I was just trying to fool myself.
I wasn’t the star student. I was the star athlete.
