Men start welcoming me, and when I pull out my gear, it’s all top-notch. Everything is to my standards and size, and this is my welcome by the team. I’ve met most of the men, but the captain and my former best friend has not come by. I guess he considers yesterday’s ambush his greeting.
“Hanley, my office.” Our coach calls through the open space. He’s a fair man. We’ve had many face-to-face meetings, but it has always been on my turf. Now, I’m on his turf, and when I enter his workspace, the bright eyes of the man who hates me threatens to burn a hole in the side of my head.
“Sit down,” the coach commands to the both of us. “I know there’s a rift between you—since this one has whined more than a girl at a sad movie when it was announced you would join the team.” He points to Crush. And, shit, he just called the leader of his team out. I don’t find joy in this. I care for Crush too much to think this is a victory for me.
“Yeah, I’ll admit it,” Crush begins. The pout on his lips at his admission is so adorable. And this is not what I should be thinking about as he’s eating crow. “But he’s here now, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. Or will do about it.”
“Good, glad to hear this, Colton.” The coach turns to me. “And you, Hanley? Do you feel the same way?”
I want Crush to forgive me. I want to play as we had in college together before I kissed him—wanting to be on even ground again. But I skip all this extra conjecture. “Yes, sir, I just want to play ball, and play ball in Nashville.”
The coach stands, his hands on his desk, leaning forward as though he was about to confess his deepest darkest secret. “Great, I better see it both on and off the field, gentlemen, or there will be hell to pay.” I assume he’s done but I don’t dare move. “Now, get the fuck out of my office.” His tone is even and neutral, but I vacate quickly, all the chatter dying in the locker room as we emerge together.
“Remember what I said, Hanley, stay the fuck out of my way and catch my fucking balls.”
He stops at his locker closet, and I lean into him to whisper, “We all know you can’t handle what I can do to your balls.” With the look on his face, I’m awarded a slight push, and I reply with a cackle as I walk away. I deserved it, but it had been worth the almost guilty whitewash expression he gave me at my words. I still affect him. This is all I need to know.
Everything is different, from the way they start training camp, to how the individual coaches work with us, and the facility itself is its own little world, with a cafeteria including the healthiest of foods anyone can imagine.
Many teams travel for training, but it’ll be nice finding footing in my new surroundings and not in a hotel room.
I’m in position the entire time; I’m on my game. Christopher Colton, not so much! He walks by me several times. “You have one job, asshole. Catch the fucking ball.”
Every single time I’m in position, but his throws are off today. “I’m doing my job, Mr. High and Mighty.” He has ignored my jabs because he knows I’m right.
The coach sees it, too. “Colton, can you kindly remove your head from your ass and get back into the fucking game?” Crush responds with a “sorry, Coach.” “Yeah, I’d appreciate it, along with everyone on the team.” The coach’s sarcasm drips through his lips, and it causes everyone else to laugh and snicker.
“Crush just got his ass handed to him.” Many call, just loud enough for Crush to hear them.
Again, my affection for this man is so high that I don’t relish in his embarrassment of doing something he’s so flawless at.
I approach him near the sideline as he takes a second to collect his thoughts. It’s how Crush has always worked. This is a mental block because it’s certainly not a lack of skill and talent. “Hey, man.” I’m met with a snarl leaving his lips. “What can I do to help you? We’re out of sync. Your game and mine have changed in the many years we’ve not played together.”
“I’m fine, asshole. Leave me alone, and I’ll figure it out.”
I know it’s cheesy, but I say it anyway. “Hey, dude, there’s no I in team. Let’s talk and fix what’s not working.”
His lips twist up into a slight grin, and I think I’ve gotten through to him. “Yeah, dude, it’s cheesy as fuck. As far as what’s not working for me, I’m looking at him.” He shoves past me. We continue the rest of the day with overthrown passes, and not just to me but also to the other wide receivers and running backs.
By the time we call it quits for the first day, and I hit the showers and change, I’m one of the last left in the locker room. But I’m not alone, and I can hear the coach chastising Crush up and down for his lack of focus.
“I’m not dumb. He’s not going anywhere. We need him.” The him I assume is me. “And I understand you’re hurt.” The coach is still loud, but he’s no longer yelling. “I don’t get it. Alison cheated on you, and the only reason for your devastation was simply because you wouldn’t be around your daughter as often. But now, this friend of yours returns, and you’re so off your game. If I was a new coach, I’d think you were not a fucking brilliant quarterback.”
This coach, as I suspected, is a hard ass, but the care for his players is apparent. I don’t want to overhear Crush’s thoughts. They’re private, and he’s yet to share them with me. I know with this asshole, he can’t be pushed. If I want to find a level playing field with him, I have to let him come to me.
For the entire week—the past five days—I’ve not been given a chance to shine since most of the passes are either short or long. By today, the end of the workweek for us, they bring in the second-string quarterback to give me a challenge.
Crush leaves the field in a fit of rage. This saddens me because Crush is still one of the most important people in my life. I had been the one to leave him, and he has every right to be upset with me, but I won’t push.
Before the coach follows Crush to the locker room, he thrusts himself into my face with an ultimatum. “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you two, but this lack of focus is solely a complication of both of y’alls’ past. It’s Friday, and you have this weekend to fix it. And when I say fix it, I mean, I want it fucking fixed by Monday.”
Coach leaves without giving me a chance to answer, and practice continues without our lead quarterback.
My heart doesn’t feel right even though I finally shine with the right throws as both the coach and Crush are absent for the rest of the day.
Shortly before six p.m., the offensive coordinator calls it quits. Crush is nowhere to be seen, and his locker closet is all cleaned up. I’m not sure how to fix this without any way to get ahold of him. It’s not like we’ve been buddies enough to swap cell numbers in the five days we’ve been back in contact.
The one bright spot of the week is the camaraderie of the rest of the team. They don’t squirm away from me in the locker room in fear I’m checking out their asses.
“Hanley,” someone calls out behind me. It’s one of the tight ends, Dallas Phillips. “We’re having a barbecue at my house tomorrow afternoon starting at three, want to come?”