Chapter 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.
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.
Rachel flinches, as if sensing I’m not as thrilled as I should be, then shakes her head. “Sorry, I forget how exhausted you must be after today. I’m really surprised I was even able to catch you. Some of the other guys I rep went right back to the hotel for room service.”
“This is our thing,” Dad reveals. “Back when he was a little guy, if he did good during a game, this was his treat.”
“That’s so precious. That’s the sort of thing you should remember to tell the media throughout all the press you’re gonna get after you’re drafted, which I think after today, is going to be a huge deal. You know I was talking to Ted Rocker with the Eagles and Morgan Kennley with the Chiefs and…”
Rachel gets into industry chatter, which always gets Dad going, but I zone out. As she discusses who could get their pick of me, I keep thinking how much nicer it feels to work with Troy in the shop. How nice it’d be not to be in Indianapolis, but back at the frat house with my Sigma Alpha crew.
Hell, I’m even missing heading to bed and getting shit from Marty.
Although, I’m sure if I were actually there, I’d realize how little I really want that, especially while Mr. Rule Follower is waiting for me to do something and fuck it all up.
He’ll probably wind up making something up, like this wild idea he got into his head that I was flirting with Angie.
Not that I made that any better by chatting with her after, but I’ll be damned if he thinks he gets to decide who I talk to just because he’s insecure.
“Anyway,” Rachel says, “I should get to bed because my work is only beginning. But you two have a great night, and, Ryan, I will definitely be reaching out with updates.”
Dad and I thank her, and after she leaves, I finish my pie and we return to the hotel.
As we’re settling into our queen beds—which really look more like fulls to me—Dad slides under the covers, whispering, “It’s the big time for you now, buddy.
” He pulls the covers over him, his face still locked in a smile because of how the day went, and I realize, if I were left on my own to make this call, and wasn’t thinking about Dad’s feelings at all, I wouldn’t want any of this.
I simply don’t want it anymore.
And I fucking hate myself for that.