Chapter 20
Fin
Wednesday afternoon, Vee was on the sideline during our afternoon practice in the indoor facility.
She had her hair pulled back and was wearing the same slacks and blouse she had on this morning.
I knew the plays were getting easier for her to understand.
Our strip-poker play calling wasn’t a sure thing anymore.
While the rest of the team was in pads, I was in a t-shirt and nylon shorts.
I’d spent most of the morning with the trainers working on strengthening my shoulder.
The best part about being out with the team now was that I was participating.
Coach Pratt had Dennison and Jackson running most of the practice plays, but then after they ran them in full tackle mode, he’d put me in.
I’d call the plays coming from my helmet and take the snap.
We lined up in shotgun formation. Being five to seven yards behind the center gave me time to read the defense. Spencer snapped the ball. I caught it with both hands. Stepping back, I watched my O-line, my backs, and receivers. Everything would be as it should until it came time to throw.
Instead of releasing the ball, I’d verbally call out who would have had the ball.
Coach said it was better than standing on the sideline. And it officially had me on our schedule as LP—limited practice. That looked better than DNP—did not participate.
If by Friday the trainers and medical staff okayed me to practice, it would go in the books as FP—full practice. The Bills would know that we had depth.
As for that depth, Coach Pratt had Josh Jackson taking more snaps. I still didn’t want to trust a playoff game to him, but he was catching on better than when we played Houston.
“You’re improving,” I told Jackson as we walked off the field toward the locker room.
“Glad it’s being noticed.”
“It is. Pratt’s putting you out there more.”
Jackson ran his fingers through his damp, sweaty hair. “I know the drill. Coach is resting Dennison. No sense risking an injury during practice. He’s going to get all the playing time on Saturday.”
“He might,” I admitted. “What’s important is that whoever we play knows that no matter which one of us plays, we’re not a weakness. Together, we’re strong.”
“Graham.”
I turned to see Coach Pratt. “Yeah, Coach.”
“Come in my office a minute.”
Carrying my helmet, I followed him.
“Have a seat.”
Taking a deep breath, I lowered myself to one of the metal chairs across from his desk. “Is this about my shoulder?”
“No.” He sat and leaned back in his chair. “It’s about what I heard you and Jackson talking about just now.”
I didn’t reply.
“He was upset when you said he wasn’t ready to go out in the Houston game.”
“He wasn’t.” I stood by my conviction. “He’s improving. There was too fucking much riding on that game.”
Pratt leaned forward, his forearms on his desk. “I don’t know if you know why Royce Beasley, Tilson, and I pulled for your signing over moving Jackson up from the practice squad.”
My lips curled into a grin. “Because I’m damn good.”
“You have experience. You’ve had good years and shitty years. There was chatter that your career was over after what happened in LA. We didn’t believe that. We also knew that Dennison was young. Talented as hell…”
“He is,” I agreed.
“We believed you’d be a good influence on him. A mentor.”
I sat forward. “And I fucked it up with Jackson?”
“No, you were honest. A mentor isn’t someone who only tells you that you’re great. They tell you when you screw up or when you’re not ready. Complimenting him today meant more to him because you laid it on the line in game seventeen.”
“No one told me.”
“I thought maybe Vee mentioned it.”
Her name made me smile. “I won’t say we don’t talk shop, but not that much.
Her plate has been overflowing since Mr. Hubbard…
” I inhaled. “I know I’m getting old. I’m thankful to whoever is responsible for offering me a contract.
I don’t have a lot of field time left in me, but that doesn’t mean I’ll go out quietly.
It’s hard to imagine not getting the adrenaline rush that comes with playing. ”
He nodded. “There’s a rush when you coach, but it’s not the same.”
“I have two more years here. I’m satisfied being behind Dennison, but as long as my body lets me play, I want to be out there. Anytime you call my name, I’ll be ready.”
“I called you in here,” Coach said, “to tell you that we were right about you. Now put the damn sling back on and do what the trainers tell you to do.”
On my drive to Vee’s condo, our condo, my mind was filled with everything Pratt and Tilson were drilling into us about the Bills’ defense.
Our throws would have to be quick and sharp.
The way their defense dismantled the Jaguars was textbook.
We couldn’t let the fact that they were a sixth seed give us a false sense of security.
My apartment was still mine. My lease wasn’t up until March.
Over the last four months, most of my personal belongings made their way to Vee’s.
The rest of the shit—furniture, cookware, and decorations weren’t mine.
All I needed to do was make a few phone calls and get them all turned back into the rental company.
To my surprise, when I pulled into the parking garage under the Vine, Vee’s car was in her parking spot. Opening the door to the condo, I was met with the delicious aroma of something garlicky and the stunning emerald stare of my official roommate.
“Hey,” she said.
After taking off my coat, I walked straight to her, wrapped both arms around her, and tugged her close. “You left early.”
She craned her neck to maintain eye contact. “No,” she said with a smile. “I left on time. I’m usually there late.”
I brought my lips to hers. As our kiss deepened, I felt her body relax, as if I was sucking the tension out of her. Her contented hum filled the air. Stepping back, I cupped her cheek. “Tough day?”
“I think it was two days and we missed the night part.” Vee opened her eyes wide. “It was great to see you out on the field.”
“It felt fantastic. I have to be cleared for pads and to throw by Friday.”
“Lacy will do what’s best.”
“What are you cooking?”
“Vegetable lasagna. This recipe calls for marinara sauce instead of the Alfredo sauce in yours.”
“Do you not like mine?”
Her smile was back. “I like everything about you and yours, Mr. Graham. I was in the mood for Italian.”
Wrapping her again in my arms, I asked, “Are you in the mood for anything else?” I cocked an eyebrow.
“I could be persuaded. I don’t want to have any extracurricular activity hurt your shoulder.” She furrowed her brow. “Shouldn’t you be wearing the sling?”
“Probably.” I moved my left shoulder. “I spent the entire morning working with the trainers doing strengthening exercises. I know I’d enjoy working out with you more.”
“I hope so.” Vee turned to the counter. “Is wine prohibited a few days before a postseason game?”
“As long as it’s not to excess, I think I’m good.”
Vee pulled a bottle from the wine rack.
“Here,” I said, “I can get that. How long have you been home?”
“I left right after practice.”
I took the bottle and found a wine opener.
Vee pulled two glasses from under the cupboard and sat at the island where we usually eat breakfast. The room filled with the sound of a pop.
After pouring the rich dark liquid into the glasses, I handed one to her.
“Tell me, Ms. Hubbard, why was your day long and what propelled you to come home and cook?”
She took the glass by the stem and swirled the liquid.
“Remember me telling you that Detective Oldson came by my office Monday?”
I nodded.
“Something about what he told me was bugging me.” She leaned forward, giving me a nice view of the tops of her breasts from her neckline.
“Fin, are you listening?”
“I can listen and stare at your breasts at the same time.”
Vee shook her head. “I’d pushed away all the things the detective said, but today my mind must have been more relaxed watching practice. And I figured out what was bothering me.”