30. Nolan
Nolan
T he adage that time passes when you’re having fun is proven true as the next five days pass before I’ve even managed to blink.
Katie and Carsen flew to Indiana on Wednesday, and Hannah flew to Connecticut.
Hadley and I spent the afternoon at Hudson’s dad’s house for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.
Hadley was still nervous about the swimming pool incident, but those nerves seemed to melt away before we sat down for dinner.
It wasn’t the same casual affair as our Brunch Thanksgiving, but still nice, filled with laughter and heaps of food.
We celebrated the night in Hadley’s room, a Christmas movie on in the background that I worked to distract her from watching by having my mouth and hands on her.
“Payne. With me,” Krueger says, passing me as I get dressed, ready to head home and have a rerun of last night.
Palmer raises his brow. We’ve been waiting for Peters’s wrath. Hints of it have been seen in practices with additional conditioning, but not to the full extent that any of us expected.
I give him a casual shrug and follow Krueger to his office. It’s still bare, almost as though he’s waiting to be canned and doesn’t want to have to come back here to empty the space.
He waits until I’m seated across from him before looking at me. “What do you want to do next year?” It’s the last question I was expecting to hear, also one of the last ones I want to answer.
“Sorry?”
“Are you considering entering the draft this spring? Do you want to wait another year? Are you planning to graduate first?”
I’ve been avoiding this question for the past three months.
Longer. I hate the idea of putting all my eggs in one basket.
I hate the idea of failing. Deciding to enter the draft lays me at the mercy of doing both.
I scratch along the underside of my jaw, feeling tension radiating through my shoulders and neck. “Does it matter?”
“What do you want to do with your future, Payne?”
“Not be a corn farmer.”
He tilts his head, making my joke fall flat.
“I have until January to decide.”
Krueger shakes his head and then scratches behind his ear, my answer clearly surprising him. “You’re good enough.”
“What?”
“I said you’re good enough.”
I stare at him, wishing he was Peters, berating me or screaming about last week’s trick play that gave us the win.
“You know how good your team is and how good your teammates are, but you grossly underestimate how good of a player you are. You could be drafted, save the risk of getting injured and land a decent contract.”
“Why’d you come work for Peters? Everyone knows he muzzles his offensive coordinators.”
“Same reason you came to play here. It had nothing to do with Peters but the program. Camden is going somewhere; Peters will have the choice to go along or step off the train.”
I scoff. “He won’t even step aside when needing a damn hip replacement.”
“Last week was proof that he has to be able to adapt. You guys proved that.”
“He’s still receiving the credit for last week’s game.” I hate acknowledging it, and hate even more to admit it. “No one even understands how he keeps us under his thumb. Half the damn team doesn’t even see it.”
“You’re always going to be at someone else’s mercy. If not Peters another coach or another boss if you decide you can’t accept being told what to do.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I jump through fucking hoops.” I’m on my feet, pacing the short distance of his office.
“I don’t see my family for Thanksgiving or Christmas.
I wake up and go to the gym, I get out of class and go to the gym, I finish classes, and go to the gym.
I memorize plays. He says jump, and I have to ask how damn high. ”
“But you gamble. You moved out of the dorms. You play your pranks on the goddamn soccer team. You encouraged Hudson to run that play Saturday.”
“I’m confused, Coach. Are you telling me I’m good enough or that I’m not cut out for this?”
“I’m saying you need to take smarter risks.”
“Risks that you approve of?”
“Risks that your future coaches will approve of.”
I’d like to flip his desk, instead, I move to the door. “Noted. Anything else?”
Krueger flexes his jaw. “You could be great.”
“I could also be a total asshole or a drunk or a degenerate. I guess we just be grateful I’m mediocre.”
“Don’t play the martyr role. Not here. Not in my office. Not to me. You have the drive and the skill and the brain to go far in this game. The question you need to ask yourself is if you want it.”
I pull his door open and leave without another word.
“Everything okay?” Corey asks as Krueger follows me out of his office, stopping at the bank of lockers near us.
I nod at Corey. “Yeah.”
“Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a fight,” Kruger says.
It’s another undefeated team, another high-stakes game that will likely require taking risks that include defying Peters to win.
The drive home feels a little longer tonight, my thoughts too damn loud.
Hadley’s in the living room, bundled in blankets as she types on her laptop, humming as she does except for when taking notes. “Hey,” she says, brushing her hair back. “You’re early.”
I shake my head. “It’s nearly nine.”
“Is it really?” She glances at the corner of her laptop. “I don’t know where the last two hours have gone.”
“What are you working on?”
“Water conservation.”
I set my bag down and sit in the chair across from her. “Water conservation? For a class?”
She shakes her head. “Scientists have been talking about water issues for years—my entire life—but I heard a news story on my way home this afternoon that was talking about how dire the situation is, specifically in the Southwest, and so I came home and was reading about it and sent off some things to Lanie, Geoff, and my parents about what we might be able to do or change.”
“What did they say?”
She closes her laptop. “Lanie hates change. She’s worried about costs and bottom lines, and my mom’s worried about losing clout as a luxury builder.
Geoff’s focused on the statistics because farmers use most of the water between feeding cattle and growing crops, so he doesn’t think it’s our problem to fix, but it seems like one of those issues where if everyone doesn’t help, it’s going to be too late.
” She drums her fingers over the top of her laptop.
“Have you ever considered doing something besides going to work for your family?”
Hadley leans back, she doesn’t look offended, not even caught off guard. “Not really.”
“But you hate public speaking.”
“That’s only a small piece.”
“What about cooking?”
She lowers her brow with confusion. “What about cooking?”
“You love cooking. You love looking up recipes and reading through a hundred comments.”
“Sure, but I also love the idea of working with my family.”
“Loving the idea of something is different than actually loving something.”
She tilts her head, examining me. “Did something happen at practice or in class today?”
“You love trying new things, new experiences. I just don’t understand why you’re limiting yourself to one future.”
“I’m not limiting myself.” Defiance laces her words. “Where is this coming from?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I’m not trying to fight with you.”
“It doesn’t have to be a fight,” she says. “Arguments and disagreements are healthy and bound to happen. It’s avoiding them that’s not.”
“So you want to fight?”
She lowers her chin, a silent warning flashing in her eyes. “That’s not what I said.”
I pull in a breath, knowing that’s not what she said, not even what she insinuated. Still, the need to fight has followed me home. I fight every sarcastic retort, each shelling that could lead to our first fight because she’s not the one I’m mad at.
“Can we just go to bed?”
Hadley looks at me, a level of uncertainty and doubt in her gaze that I haven’t seen since we met. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”
“I just need some sleep.”
She nods, though she doesn’t appear at all convinced.
We get ready for bed separately, me in the basement where I consider staying and her upstairs.
When I make it to her room, she’s already under the covers, the overhead light off. I slide in beside her, my chest to her back. It’s how we sleep every night, but tonight I pull her closer. She doesn’t melt against me as she does most nights or place her feet on my legs.
“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” I tell her.
Her shoulders relax and she turns her head slightly. “We aren’t just together for sex. You can talk to me, confide in me.”
I hold her a little tighter though a part of me wants to push her away, feeling an undercurrent of resentment that she doesn’t realize how much I confide in her. I’ve told her shit I haven’t even told my closest friends.
She lies her head flat on the pillow, and we both lie there, neither of us speaking or sleeping for what feels like an eternity.
I wake up before my alarm goes off. I slip out of bed, careful not to disturb Hadley. I down a coffee, brush my teeth, grab dress clothes, and then head for the facility.
Today, I beat even Hudson. Only the nutritionists and chefs are here this early, preparing a protein-heavy diet for the game.
I pass them, heading into the weight room where I take a seat at a bench and hope the repetitive movement will silence the myriad of thoughts about the future and where I’ll be, and if it will include Hadley.
I’ve known her just shy of three months, and already it feels as though she’s a piece of me, even more than my ex had and we dated for five years.
I knew it from the beginning, even before we began sleeping together.
There’s something different about her, something different about the way I feel toward her, about us, that I can’t put into words.
Something beyond lust and attraction that makes my soul feel heavy when she’s gone.
“You’re here early,” Krueger says, stopping in the doorway, dressed in khakis and a blue Camden sweatshirt.
“Please tell me you don’t have more advice before today’s game.”
He laughs mirthlessly. “That wasn’t advice yesterday, Payne. It was a nudge.”
I scoff. “A nudge off of a cliff.”
He shakes his head. “What’s got you so scared?” he asks.
My head snaps to him. “I’m not scared.”
“Then why won’t you tell me how bad you want to play? Want to go pro.”
“Because I’ve seen what happens when someone’s dreams unravel.”
“Yours or someone else’s?”
“Without expectation, it’s a lot easier to stay content.”
He shakes his head again. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. If you want this, if you want to beat out every other asshole, you’re going to have to be clear and concise in exactly what you want.”
“And if they don’t want me?”
Krueger leans back on his heels. “Then they don’t deserve you. You play another year for Camden and when you close your contract you mail a copy of it to whatever idiot overlooked and underestimated you.” He stares at me. “But for the record, I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
I stare at him for a long minute, imagining what this season would have looked like if Peters hadn’t handcuffed him. Krueger has a player’s heart and a coach’s brain, allowing him to weave creativity into his plays.
Slowly, I nod.
He nods in return. “Let’s go get some breakfast.”
Peters hobbles in on his crutches before we can move. “I’m glad I found you both. There are going to be some changes to tonight’s game, and I wanted to give you the courtesy of hearing it from me. Payne, McKinley, and Palmer won’t be starting tonight. I’ll let them know as well.”
“That’s bullshit. This is my call and they’re starting,” Kreuger says, taking a single step closer to Peters.
Peters sneers. “It’s my team and it’s my call. If they can’t follow my rules, I’ll find someone who will. They nearly cost us the game last week.”
“We’re the only reason you won that game,” I say.
Peters glares at me. “Speak to me again that way, and you won’t start next week either.”
“I’m not—”
Krueger lifts his hand to silence me. “Let’s talk about this,” he says over me.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“I suggested the play,” I say. “Don’t penalize them.”
Peters moves his gaze back to me. “Maybe next time, they’ll remember who has gotten them this far.”
He turns and hobbles out of the room, taking whatever remains of my future of football with him.