2. Tyler
TWO
TYLER
It’s football season.
The absolute best season. The air has a slight chill to it in the early mornings, and the energy is buzzing. This entire school thrives off football. I thrive off football. It’s all I’ve ever known, and now, I’ve found myself in the perfect place.
La Vista University, home of the Bobcats.
The entire state of Nebraska runs on La Vista U football. It’s in their blood.
And now it’s in mine.
Besides my daughter, this football team is my biggest accomplishment. And that’s saying something because I had a healthy career in the NFL for over ten years.
My team has been working hard all summer, and they’re ready to play. My returning players are looking stronger than ever. Even my new recruits are killing it at practice. We have a solid team this year, and I’m expecting a great season.
Everyone is expecting a great season, so the pressure is on.
We made it to Nationals last season but couldn’t quite pull off a win. Eyes will be on us this season, me in particular. But I’m confident in my team and the work they’re doing.
This is our year. I can feel it.
I step onto the turf, relishing the crunching sound under my sneakers. The sun isn’t even up yet, but that doesn’t bother me. Morning workouts have always been my favorite. My players complain about getting up early, but I know they secretly like it because it starts their day off on the right foot. Football players love to play football. Workouts aren’t a chore. And even if they were, this is what these guys signed up for, so they really can’t complain.
“Hey, Coach.” I look to my left and see my star quarterback walking toward the field. I recruited him in my first year of coaching here, and I’ve never been more proud of a player. I push him hard, but he works his ass off. He wants to be in the NFL, and I’m going to help him get there.
“Morning, Hayes.” I fold my arms across my chest as I watch the rest of the team file onto the field.
“We doing sprints today?” he asks, bending down to retie his shoe.
“Yep.” The team’s strength and conditioning coach, Luke, comes up beside me on the field right as Hayes runs out to join the rest of the team.
“Morning, Coach. You here to watch?” Luke asks me.
“Yeah. For a minute. Want to make sure they’re looking good for this week.” School has been in session for a week, and we’ve been busy preparing for game day. Everything starts to move so fast once we hit September.
“They’re killing it. It’s going to be a great season.” I nod in agreement, not changing my cross-armed stance. He blows his whistle to get the boys’ attention before walking out on the field. I watch them stretch and start their warm-up run around the field.
I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, telling me I have a new email. The subject line reads, URGENT—Second follow-up: Interview with Coach Danvers.
Urgent? These people can be so dramatic. I have more important things to do than answer interview questions for the local newspaper.
Unfortunately, the school’s athletic director has been on my case about being more present in the community, along with being more personable. He claims that I’m the face of this program, and alumni and donors want to see me. His exact words were, “It’s all about appearance, Tyler.”
I should get an award for the eye roll I held back when he said that.
I get it. I do. But my attention needs to be focused on football and this team. We had a great season last year and made it to the college playoffs before losing by a field goal to Alabama. I want these boys to develop and be the best that they can be if they choose to make football a career. This sport is hard on the mind and the body, and I want my players to be strong enough—physically and mentally—to take it. If they aren’t, I’d rather them figure it out now than fail in the NFL.
I glance up at the field. The sun is just starting to rise as the guys all increase their pace. Watching them train will have to wait since, apparently, emails await.
I turn and head to my office inside the athletic center.
The door slamming against the wall when I push it open shows just how much I hate to be in here. I’d rather be out on the field, in the gym, or literally anywhere else other than sitting behind a desk. It’s boring and my least favorite part of being a coach. Probably why this interviewer needed to email me a second follow-up.
I sit in my chair and pull up my email on the computer. I spend the next half hour answering the same questions I’ve already answered a thousand times before. She could have just done a quick Google search to find the answers to most of these. And I hate that I have to elaborate on such banal questions. Are you excited for the season? Obviously. Are you going to win this season? We damn well better. Will the La Vista Bobcats make it to the College Football National Championship again this year? I sure fucking hope so.
But, since I’d rather not get an annoying email from my boss about my behavior, I answer the questions appropriately.
I do my due diligence with the interview questions and send the email off when I hear a giant clang from the weight room down the hall. Some of the boys must have started weight training. I slip out of my jeans and black La Vista Football polo and into some gym shorts and an old T-shirt.
I head to the gym and do my own workout alongside the guys already in there. I’m not lifting nearly as much as they are, but I hold my own. Even after my football injury, I’ve kept my workouts up. I like to be fit, and I want to be in shape for as long as my body will let me.
I join in on the deadlifts, busting out three-fifteen for reps when my defensive tackle, Quinn, calls out, “Damn, look at Coach go. Didn’t know an old guy could lift so much.” Everyone around us laughs, including me.
“Hey, you better watch your mouth. Thirty-seven ain’t that old. You’ll be here one day.” He laughs, and I shove his shoulder playfully before moving onto the lat pulldown machine. I know they like to give me shit, but I truly don’t mind it. As long as they respect my leadership, they can clown on me for being a washed-up, old NFL player all they want.
We finish our workout right as most people are probably getting up for the day. The players head to their classes, and the coaches find available offices to prepare for the upcoming game.
A little while later, there’s a gentle knock on my door before it’s pushed open.
“Hey, Dad.” I look up, and my daughter is standing there with a bag of bagels from the campus coffee shop.
“Hey, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
“You were gone before I woke up. Thought I’d come say hi and bring you breakfast.” She grabs a bagel for herself and then hands me the bag.
“Thanks, Ky. You didn’t need to do that.”
She shrugs. “I know it’s a crazy time for you. Wanted to make sure you were eating.”
I chuckle. “I thought I was supposed to be the parent.”
“Yeah, but Mom warned me that football is your life during the season.”
I hum in agreement because that’s a nicer response than what I might say about her mother. She liked that I played football until realizing how demanding it was and how little attention I could give her during the season. She wanted me to choose between football and her. At the time, I was seventeen with a baby and didn’t know what else I could do besides try to go pro. So, I went off to college to play and then entered the draft as soon as I could. It definitely started a rift between Kylie’s mom and I. But I always made sure Kylie was taken care of. And I visited her every chance I could. Now, she’s living with me for her final two years of college, and it feels like a second chance for us.
“I was going to bring you coffee, but I figured you already had your one cup of the day.”
I smile. She’s only been living with me for a few weeks and is already picking up on my habits. “I did. Thank you, though.”
“Are you going to be home for dinner?”
I wince. “Probably not. I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
She shrugs it off. I know one of the reasons she moved up here was to get a little more independence. She’s certainly going to get that during football season.
“That’s ok. I’ll make something that you can heat up when you get home.”
There’s a knock on my office door, and I look up to see a girl standing in the doorway.
“Yes?”
Kylie turns her head and shoots out of her chair. “McKenzie? What are you doing here?”
McKenzie. That name sounds familiar. Am I supposed to know her?
She’s cute. Long blonde hair. Bright green eyes. But I’m certain I’ve never seen her before.
“I’m here to meet with Coach Danvers about my Television Sports Reporting class.” Her brows furrow in confusion. “Why are you here?”
“Oh, he’s my dad,” Kylie answers, hooking her thumb in my direction. McKenzie’s eyes almost pop out of her head. I have to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing at her shock.
“Coach Danvers is your dad?” McKenzie chokes out.
“Yeah, did I forget to mention that?” I’m sure she “forgot” to mention that on purpose. She’s never been one to throw my name around for perks. She’s had some experience with people using her to get to me when they learn her last name. It’s a sad reality in today’s world. She turns to me. “Dad, remember me telling you about McKenzie?”
“Vaguely,” I answer. I know the name must have come up at some point over the last week.
Kylie rolls her eyes. “Well, we have lunch together most days between classes.”
“Oh. Uh, well, it’s nice to meet you, McKenzie.” I guess I should be polite to my daughter’s friends.
“Nice to meet you, too. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you should’ve received an email from Professor Moore about meeting with me this morning.”
I sigh. Fucking emails. I’m sure I did, but I probably overlooked it because it’s not ringing any bells. The journalism department tries to assign a few students to me every year to shadow the team during the season. I try to get out of it and usually end up pawning the students off on my assistant coaches. Last year the kid showed up for two games and then never came back.
“Sorry, I don’t think I got that,” I lie.
This McKenzie sees right through my bullshit. She tilts her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Hmm. Did you also not get the three emails I sent confirming the time for today?”
“Yeah, not ringing any bells.”
She pastes an obviously fake smile on her face before saying, “Well, no worries. I’m here now, and I’ve been assigned to the football team for the semester.” Lovely. I look this girl up and down. Not to judge a book by its cover, but nothing about her screams athlete. She’s wearing black slacks and some sort of flowy blouse. She looks very professional, but I can’t say I’ve had any female students reporting on the football team.
“Oh, that’s so exciting!” Kylie says. I’m not sure I agree with that statement. “Dad, McKenzie is so sweet. You’ll love her. Please be nice? She’s my only friend here.”
I sigh again. I don’t want to have to worry about being nice or supervising what she’s doing or whatever the hell else I’m supposed to do for a student reporter.
But one look into McKenzie’s glaring eyes, knowing I don’t want to disappoint my daughter, and I hear myself agreeing before I can think better of it. “Yeah, I’ll be nice, Ky.”
“Good. Ok, I gotta run, but I’ll see you both later,” Kylie says as she grabs her bag.
“Text me later,” McKenzie says as Kylie leaves.
Then it’s just the two of us. Staring at each other in awkward silence.