Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95019 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I’d growl if he wouldn’t hear me, but instead I fall onto my mattress and bash my fist against it a few times.
One slipup. That’s all I need. And then.
He.
Is.
Out.
5
Ryan
“This is it, big guy,” Dad says as he sits across from me in the Waffle House booth. “This is what we’ve been waiting for.”
We flew into Indianapolis for the Combine, and today was my big day. Physically, mentally, and emotionally draining, since this didn’t only test my physical abilities. The whole thing’s a spectacle, equipped with film crews, press, so you’re putting on a show and then also interviewing with the different teams. It definitely felt like one of the moments I’d been training for my entire life.
And it couldn’t have gone better. I crushed my 40-yard dash, benched like a champ, and looked like I was soaring through the agility drills. It was the sort of success I could read all over the coaches’ faces. I knew I was good, but now they knew it too. I should be thrilled.
So why aren’t I?
Fortunately, the way Dad’s glowing, his eyes practically glistening under the overhead fluorescents, it’s clear he’s basking in the victory, so at least one of us is thoroughly enjoying it. Although, that also twists at something in me—that conversation I had with Troy, the thing that’s been eating at me for some time.
On the one hand, all through the day, it was evident how good I fucking am at this stuff. I was built to do this and have been training for it for over half my life. On the other hand, what may be in my body isn’t in my heart. Not the way it was when I first set out to make this my dream at ten years old. And the biggest problem is, it’s Dad’s dream too, and I hate the thought of tearing this from him.
Yet if anything, today, seeing all the flashing lights and glitz of the Combine only reminded me of what a production it all is. It’s not just hanging with my buddies on the team and having a good time. It’s an empire.
Dad sneaks a peek at his phone and smirks.
“That Mom?” I ask.
We already called her when we finished at the stadium, caught her up on my success, but I figure they might be texting.
“What?” He cringes. “No, it’s Rachel.”
Rachel’s my agent, who linked up with me sophomore year after seeing my stats and coming to one of Peach State’s games. She called today her Super Bowl, and she acted like it as she made the rounds for her clients. She gave me the heads-up on coaches and gave me pointers for conversations during interviews.
“She’s nearby and asked if she could drop in,” Dad adds.
“On our Waffle House time?”
Not that I don’t enjoy Rachel, but this is our thing. When I was a kid, we’d go to a Waffle House every time I won a game, and eventually we used it to incentivize me with training and career milestones, hence why we’re here tonight. It’s a Dad-and-me thing…not Dad, me, and my agent.
“This is the last time you’ll see her before we head back,” he says. “Come on. She just wants to sing your praises, so let her. Besides, she’ll have all the gossip about how the coaches are raving about you.”
I can tell he really wants this, so I shrug. “Yeah, sure.”
He doesn’t text her back, so I assume he already told her she could come.
As much as I’m trying to keep the questions about my future at bay, it’s hard to see Dad looking like a kid at his birthday party with everything weighing on my mind. Dad played football in high school but didn’t make the cut for a college career. And it’s always meant a lot to him that I did.
When I finish my chili, I move on to the pecan pie with a scoop of ice cream—the kind of stuff I haven’t been able to eat while gearing up for the Combine. I lose myself in my pie, and Rachel arrives not ten minutes later—I figure because this place isn’t far from the hotel.
She looks as eager as Dad. “How are you two feeling after the big day?” she asks as Dad makes room for her on his side of the booth.
“Hungry,” I say, but I take a break from devouring my pie since I don’t want to be rude.
“I thought I would come over and tell you in person how everyone’s chatting about you. You didn’t just come in and perform. You came in and sold. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen anyone charm these guys like you, Ryan Lorde.”
I try to keep from cringing as I’m reminded why Rachel is so enthusiastic. Because this will earn her a good chunk of money if and when I sign with one of these teams. That never really bothered me before, but now, while I’m running back through this all in my head, I just don’t feel it.