CHAPTER 28 Dex Bradley
Phone Calls
It’s my first night at training camp, and I’m about to call Ainsley when my phone starts to ring.
It’s my mother.
My mother rarely calls. If ever.
“Mom?” I answer. I’m in a hotel room that I’m sharing with Nick Ryan, another defensive end, at the vineyard where we travel for the first two weeks of training camp. My roommate is currently in the shower. I might not have picked up this call if he were out here in the room.
“What’s this about a grandson?” she demands.
Freaking Ivy. That little brat.
I’m not shocked she spilled the news, but I’m sort of shocked it took my mom this long to call me. Ivy’s flight must’ve gotten in late.
I blow out a breath. “Ivy has a big mouth.”
“Maybe yours is too small,” she hisses.
I laugh. I can’t help it. I often laugh when I’m in trouble, which usually gets me into even more trouble.
“Can we have this conversation later? I just got back from my first day of training camp, and I don’t have the energy for this.”
“No. We will have this conversation right now.”
“Fine. What do you want to know?”
“When can I meet him?” she asks.
“He’s at my place now. Head on over and introduce yourself.”
“Who’s he with?”
“Ivy didn’t tell you that part? Her best friend Ainsley. She’s nannying for me.” And she’s the best lay I’ve ever had, so don’t get on my case about her.
I leave that part out, obviously. I’ll leave it out for my sister as well until Ainsley is ready to say something.
“I’m disappointed you didn’t feel you could let your family in on this part of your life. He is part of the legacy, you know,” she scolds.
“Now you sound like Dad,” I mutter, but I don’t really address her sentiment. “I get back in two weeks. We can arrange a meeting then.”
I can picture her pursing her lips, but it’s not having its desired effect due to the abundance of Botox and fillers.
“Fine. We’d like to welcome Ainsley to the family, too. Do well at camp,” she says, and we end the call.
We don’t end with an I love you, as some parents do with their adult children. We never have, even when I wasn’t an adult.
It just drives home exactly how powerful my feelings for Ainsley are since I’ve rarely said or heard those words my entire life.
Not to mention how powerful my feelings for my son are. I feel the love for him, too, like my heart is expanding from the shriveled black rock it was before into something new and different that’s allowing in not just one person, but two in very different ways.
Day two at camp is more intense than day one, which was really more about getting our bearings at the vineyard and having some meetings.
Today we’re installing new plays, and it’s just as important for me to be out there defending against plays as it is for the offense to be out there learning how to run them.
Our defensive coordinator, Andy Glen, always asks for our feedback so he can bring it to the offensive coordinator and our head coach when they discuss new plays.
I show Coach Andy where the mistakes or gaps are on offense, and he makes me feel like a valued part of the team.
My position coach runs us through some drills before we’re dismissed for lunch, and we’re back at it all afternoon in the sweltering afternoon sun until dinnertime, when we finally have a little piece of freedom.
I video call Ainsley after dinner, hoping to get a glimpse of Jack even though she sent me pictures of him throughout the day.
I can’t have my phone on me while I’m out on the field, but I do check it when we get breaks, and seeing their smiling faces gives me the energy I need to get through the next set of plays.
So when she answers and the camera is pointed at the two of them, I can’t help my wide smile.
“How was your day, Daddy?” she asks.
“You know I love it when you call me that,” I say, thankful that Nick is once again in the shower. The dude takes long showers, and truthfully I don’t care to know what he’s doing in there, but I’m grateful for the quiet time to myself.
She giggles, and Jack babbles.
“What’s on your neck?” I ask.
Her hand immediately moves to the spot I was indicating, and her cheeks redden a little. “That’s from you,” she whispers.
My brows dip together. “From me?”
“Yeah. You…kind of bit me a little when you were, well, you know.” She clears her throat. “Finishing.”
“I bit you?” I remember some gentle kissing, maybe baring my teeth a little, but it looks like she has a bruise.
“Yeah.” She squirms a little. “And it was hot.”
I can’t help my laugh. “We can talk more about that later, and we will, but first I want to know how your day was.”
She launches into a story about everything the two of them did together, and honestly…
this feels like the best part of my day.
It’s mundane, and the details don’t really matter, but it’s listening to her talk and seeing the two of them that’s making me feel that little slice of home that’s always missing at camp.
“How about you? How was your day?” she asks.
“Fine.” I give her some details about what we did, and then I say, “My mother called right when I got back to my room last night asking about her grandchild.”
“Ivy,” she hisses.
“Ivy,” I agree.
We both laugh.
Jack starts to fuss, and she says she better go. I feel good after talking to her, but then I always do.
The next conversation I have takes me down a notch.
I see my brother Ford is calling, and I pick up expecting to shoot the shit with him about camp in our respective cities, but that’s not what I get.
“How’s Tampa Bay?” I answer.
“Did you hear about Coach Murph?”
My blood runs cold for a second. “No. What happened?”
“He was in an accident last night. They’re not sure he’s going to make it.”
“Fuck,” I mutter. Coach Murph was the high school varsity coach starting my junior year.
Madden had already graduated, and he took over the program and revolutionized it.
He was only at the school seven years, but he led the team to a state championship every year.
He went on to coach college, where he still coaches today.
He was more than a coach to us. He pushed us to work smarter, to find our motivation, and to cultivate bonds with our teammates. He steered me in a smarter direction when I started getting into some heavy shit my junior year, and I wouldn’t be the player I am today if not for him.
I might not be here at all if not for him.
But I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do with this information Ford is feeding me.
I’m at training camp. Murph would want us working our asses off, getting to know the team dynamic, and securing our starting position for the season.
He wouldn’t want us to worry about him. He’d want us to put our focus on the game.
His words at every practice come back to me.
Show up or make excuses.
He always told us those were our two choices.
But what does that mean now? Do I show up for him, or do I show up for my team?
“Where is he?” I ask.
“Northwestern Memorial,” he says, naming a hospital in Chicago.
“Are you doing anything?”
“I’m not sure. I want to say goodbye, but I’m sure the other hundreds of players he coached over the years would all feel the same,” he says.
I hadn’t thought of that. “What if he doesn’t make it?” I ask quietly. “Would you leave camp to attend the funeral?”
“If I need to.”
“You had him four years. I only had him two,” I say. It sounds like an excuse. The truth is that I only needed him one year for him to change my entire life.
Ford knows that, too. “Excuse.”
“I know.” I let out a heavy sigh. “He was there for us when we needed him. What if he needs us now?”
“He has a team of doctors doing everything they can. He doesn’t need us, but his family might. They might need to see how we’re all pulling for him.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “Thanks for letting me know. If you hear anything…”
“Yeah. I know. You too.”
I hang up with Ford, and Nick emerges from his shower a few minutes later.
“You want to go grab some food?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I need a few minutes. I have some calls to make.”
“Everything okay?”
I lift a shoulder. “Don’t know. One of my high school coaches was in an accident, and it’s not looking good.”
“Shit, man. I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
“That’s what I’m wondering myself.” And I feel like I know just the person to call.