Chapter Twenty-Four
Bryan
The horn blows, ending the game while I sit on the bench. We got ahead by twenty-one points, and Coach insisted I sit out most of the fourth quarter. No amount of arguing changed his mind, and now he’s fucking furious at me. I’m sure it’s temporary, but I wish I didn’t give a shit. Wish I didn’t need to give a shit since he controls my playing time, and by default, my future. There’s always a chance the rumors about a scout watching are true.
The guys come off the field, and I join them in a scrum, then lead the move to lift Eldy in the air when a couple of guys try to do the same for me.
“Hey. You’re all crazy,”
Eldy shouts. He looks at me and shakes his head. “You fucker. You ran for almost two hundred yards and got three of the touchdowns with no help from me. You?—”
“Shut up and enjoy the ride,”
I say as a few other guys and I carry him along. A few cheerleaders come over and shake their pom-poms. Susie isn’t one of them. Liz is there, smiling at me. I give her a nod, and we finally drop Eldy after the photographers have a chance to pop a few shots of us.
Coach has us take a knee around him and tells us how proud he is. The usual bullshit, except I know he means it, especially when he meets my eyes and holds on a couple of seconds. I know he’s over his anger. He never holds a grudge. Another reason I respect him.
When he’s finished, he claps his hands and we jump to our feet surrounding Eldy, and he leads us in the “one-two-three Go Huskies!” chant.
The huddle busts open and some guys head in the direction of the field house like usual, but most of us stick around to meet with our families who’ve come down to the field.
I knew Coach Hammer was bringing Mom and Wally, and he’s escorted them down to the field into the middle of the melee of players, coaches, and sports reporters. They reach me, and Coach puts out a hand to shake mine, but I don’t squelch my instinct to give him a hug because I know he’ll welcome it. I give Mom and Wally equally enthusiastic hugs, and Mom has tears in her eyes. I’m not sure if it’s nerves from all the people because I know she hates crowds, or if she’s happy to see me.
“I’m glad you came,” I say.
“Wouldn’t miss it,”
Coach Hammer says. “I’m going to talk to a friend of mine for a minute,”
he says, and I nod as he leaves me with my family, or all the family that matters.
“You were so incredible,”
Wally says, jumping up and down. I tousle his hair and grin at him.
“Of course.”
I grin at him and then glance at my mother. She’s uncomfortable. When she called to let me know she was coming to the game, she told me she felt guilty coming without my old man, felt disloyal. I told her to stay home then, but she said she needed to bring Wally. I told her she could have let Wally come alone with Coach Hammer.
That’s when she finally confessed that she wanted to see me. I held it together, but I wanted to shout at her, to cry with relief that she recognized her son, the one who survived. My chest felt like it would burst. Like it does right now.
I haven’t been certain whose side she’d take if it came to a break between me and Dad. Now I know.
But I can see it’s hard for her. Before I can say something, not that I know what to say, a few reporters spot me and swarm, followed by a crowd of them including the girl from the Connecticut Daily Campus and Bainbridge from the Hartford Courant.
A reporter I don’t know confirms with me who Mom is. “And this must be your brother.”
I notice Mom visibly flinch and shrink back. Shit.
“Mrs. Granger, what do you think about your son being on the short list of a number of NFL recruiters?”
He puts his microphone for a tape recorder up to her face, and Mom’s eyes are deer-in-headlights confused and stunned. He’s exaggerating my status for drama. Maybe I probably should have prepared her for it. But I honest-to-god didn’t figure the reporters would be in such a frenzy or interested enough to talk to my family.
I was wrong.
I intervene, talking off the cuff, coming up with something outrageous to distract the reporter.
“I think I’ll go in the second, third round, the latest. How does that sound?”
The reporter laughs and gives me a follow-up question, but I’m only half paying attention because the Daily Campus reporter has her sights on Mom.
The girl says, “Mrs. Granger, what’s the secret to Bryan’s remarkable condition and endurance? What do you feed him at home?”
Another reporter jumps on the bandwagon, asking, “How often does he practice? What kind of workout regimen does Bryan do at home?”
A barrage of similar questions are fired at her until Wally springs out from her hold.
Luckily for us all, my little cousin speaks up because Mom seems catatonic.
“He works out all the time at home,”
Wally says. “I bet he’s the strongest one on the team. He can lift a bale of hay with one arm, two if they weren’t so darn big and clumsy to handle.”
The reporters laugh, and Mom reins Wally in with a hand on his shoulder and a tug.
“Are you going to follow in your big brother’s footsteps?”
Wally nods and grins, and for once I don’t bother correcting the mistaken assumption that he’s my kid brother. I want to end this fiasco with the reporters. Coach Torino joins us, along with Eldy, as if he reads my mind, sweeping the attention away.
Bainbridge follows me and my family as we retreat from the field. He’s the one reporter I’ve developed an understanding with, if not trust, and he looks between me and Wally and says to me quietly, “I thought your brother was older and?—”
I hear Mom gasp. Shit.
“He was. This is my cousin. He’s like a brother. Don’t make a big deal.”
I stare at Bainbridge hard while my heart hammers until he understands my nuclear-arms-level of seriousness and nods.
He clears his throat and says, “I have one more quick question about the game if you don’t mind.”
He glances at Mom and smiles.
“We need to get going anyway,”
she says. Then she gives me a quick hug and drags Wally away before I can hug him. He shouts his parting comments, waving.
I turn to Bainbridge and put my helmet down on the bench. “Shoot.”
“I noticed you have a recruiter here watching you.”
“That’s not a question.”
He laughs. “I think he wants to talk to you. You going to talk to him?”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
“Okay, I get it. Have a fun celebration tonight. You deserve it.”
He reaches out to shake my hand, and I look at it for a split second, surprised, then shake it.
“Thanks.”
He joins the shrinking crowd of reporters talking to Coach, Eldy, and a couple of other guys. I pick up my helmet, ready to go—almost. Turning, I glance over to where the cheerleaders are still gathered. My eyes are first caught by Liz, but they almost immediately skip to find Susie.
Catching her eye, I start to move in her direction, but I’m stopped.
“Bryan, can I have a minute?”
The voice is unfamiliar, and when I turn, he looks familiar, but he’s a stranger.
He extends a hand and smiles. Maybe another reporter.
I shake his hand, saying, “Make it quick.”
“Great game. Impressive running skills. You might have broken a record if they didn’t take you out.”
I nod, waiting for the question.
“Let me cut to the chase. I’m a recruiter with the San Francisco 49ers.”
My heart climbs so high in my throat I can taste blood. My ears buzz, and my body clenches in fear. What the hell am I afraid of? I should be thrilled. Or at least happy.
But maybe my body has no idea what that is, and meeting the person who could be responsible for a dream I don’t dare to dream coming true is so intense that my only real response can be fear. The association is too close.
Holding onto my cool as if this were an extension of the game and I’m still facing down the threat of a tackle ready to pounce, I nod. It occurs to me that I’m not sure I’m supposed to be talking to him according to the rules, but if he doesn’t care, I don’t. I have little to lose.
Acknowledging the unlikelihood of dreams becoming reality eases my tension a notch.
I nod.
He ups his smile. “You open to the West Coast? I hear you have ties to a family farm.”
I shrug while my gut churns at the mention of the farm, and fresh sweat pops out, defying my cool demeanor.
“I want to play football.”
He nods. “Good to hear. I can tell by the way you run like your life depends on it.”
He eyes me, and if he expects a response of any kind to that, I disappoint him, keeping my cool stare in place, unwilling to chance a crack in my armor.
“Man of few words, I see.”
I automatically think of Susie and respond. “So I’ve been told.”
His mouth twitches in a smile. “I guess that’s okay. You’re living up to your reputation as a cool customer with a fierce game face.”
“My game face is who I am.”
He nods, and I know he has no idea what I’m talking about, that being fierce is how I survive, but at least he’s not asking.
Making a monumental effort to act like I care, to own up to the reality that I do care, I say, “Anything else you need to know?”
“Not now. You’ll have something to prove at camp—if we draft you.”
I nod, ready for this conversation to end as my guts churn and threaten to heave some Gatorade.
“One other thing—are you represented?”
“You should have led with that one.”
I don’t bother censoring my thought, and he grins.
“I’m tricky like that.”
“You already know the answer.”
If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be talking to me directly, but he asked the question to send me the message that I should get representation.
Maybe I should. I had no reason until now, and there’s no way I wanted to jump the gun. No way I wanted to admit to myself there was a possibility I’d need it. More sweat pops out, and I swipe my forehead, not caring if I look more uncomfortable than cool anymore, hoping I don’t heave in the next few seconds.
He nods. “If I were a betting man, I’d bet I’ll be talking to you again.”
He walks away with that cryptic statement.
The churning and twisting inside me doesn’t stop even with the end of my conversation with the devil of temptation himself. The temptation to hope cuts me up inside as I try to hold it back.
Fuck, I want to believe I have a shot. But my old man’s voice in my head is enough to dampen the urge to hope.
I take in a lungful of dirt- and sweat-scented air. My kind of air. The smell grounds me enough so I can walk away.