6. Jason Kingsley
Chapter six
Jason Kingsley
If I clench my jaw any tighter I might chip a tooth.
“No, I don’t anticipate having any issues at Jamal’s birthday party. I think it’ll be a great time celebrating one of my close friends,” I say, trying not to let my frustration seep into my tone.
I’ve sat down for yet another interview with the Road to the Playoffs crew, and they’re pushing my buttons extra today. I should be reviewing plays before practice–my usual ritual–but instead I’m being interrogated about a birthday party of all things. They seem to think that I’m going to turn into an alcoholic buffoon just by being in the mere presence of liquor.
In the past, I’ll admit I would have seen this party as a way to let loose. As a quarterback, there’s a lot of pressure on me. I used to think the way to relieve that was by partying until the early hours of the morning and drunkenly flirting with every woman in a five-foot radius. But over a year ago I realized that I was squandering a good thing. This job is a blessing, and my body won’t be able to do it forever. Brock was the one who finally got through to me. He might have smacked me on the back of the head while I had a raging hangover to get the message across, but that’s neither here nor there.
“In the past, you were the life of the party. Do you miss that?” one of the producers, Nancy, asks.
I can’t stop myself from frowning. What I want to say is that I still have fun at parties and enjoy time with my friends. I want to tell them that I’m not an alcoholic. I still drink now and again, but I have clear boundaries set for myself. I was just young and dumb with too much money and not enough sense before. When Brock reminded me that I was supposed to be a role model, specifically for my younger brother, Shepherd, I realized that I didn’t want my name– our name–to be associated with overindulgence and stupidity. We put together a plan for me to lay low, and I thought it was working, but now I’m convinced I’ll never be rid of my past.
“If I wanted to live that lifestyle, I would. I’m happy with my life now. I want to focus on my future, not my past.” I try to emphasize that last part in the hopes they’ll understand.
The producers look at each other and nod.
“I think that’s all for today. Thanks, Jason!” Nancy says, hopping up with a smile.
I muster up a smile in return, even though all I want to do is ask how she can be so chipper while trying to tear apart my career and personal life. Brock will kill me if I squander this opportunity though. I’d beat myself up as well. This is my chance to show the world that I’m more than the bad boy of football . There’s still a lot of the season left. Maybe by the end of it, I’ll have convinced this crew and everyone else that the past is just that: the past.
“Thanks.” I smile at the young guy handing out water bottles.
The cool water feels amazing after sweating during practice. I squirt some on my face and head before handing it back. Practice today wasn’t too bad, but my body temperature has always run hot. During winter games when we head up north, everyone else will be huddled around the heaters in between plays; meanwhile I’m smiling because I’m finally not sweating.
“We’ll see you at the party tomorrow, right?” Calvin asks as we start for the locker rooms.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Plus, I got Jamal a killer gift.”
“That makes one of us.” Calvin sighs. “What do you get a man who could buy anything he wants, whenever he wants?”
Something rare that he hasn’t been able to find. Like a signed rookie card of one of his favorite baseball players. Since my dear friend Emmett plays in the major leagues, he has some connections. When I asked him about the card, he gave me the number of a seller who had asked for his signature. That seller gave me the information for a collector who said he wouldn’t part ways with the card, but then he realized I wanted it and let me buy it. One of those times where it pays extra to be in the NFL. The card was the cost of a car–a very nice car–but it’ll be worth it to see the look on Jamal’s face.
“You could get him one of those old pinball machines for his game room,” I suggest.
“I think I heard three other guys say they were doing that,” Calvin says. “I’m just going to get him a dune buggy. He likes crashing into stuff.”
I laugh. “I’m sure Aaliyah will love that.”
“It’ll give her a new set of keys to hide,” he says with a chuckle.
Jamal’s wife has been known to throw away the keys to some of his toys. He always comes to practice complaining, but I know he secretly loves how much she cares about his safety. I wouldn’t mind having someone like that myself.
As we near the doors, I spy another post-practice sign. But Willow isn’t there holding it. Instead, Bianca smiles from behind her phone as our punter, Mateo, tells her how he’d be a chef if he weren’t a football player.
“No Willow today?” I ask Bianca once it’s my turn in front of the camera.
She shakes her head. “She had a family emergency last night and couldn’t come in today.”
My smile drops. “Is she okay?”
“I think so. She said she’d be back to work and ready to travel with the team for the game Sunday.”
“She didn’t say what happened?” I press, earning a curious look from Calvin. I’m probably showing my hand here, but I’m too worried for Willow to care. Should I be this worried about a woman who claims to hate me? Probably not. But somehow she’s made it onto the list of people I care about, and when I care for someone, I don’t do it in halves.
“She did, but I don’t think she’d want me to tell you.” Bianca gives me a pointed look. “Now, are you going to answer my question or not?”
My brain is zeroed in on Willow, but I try to give the question some thought. What would I do if I weren't a football player?
“It’s hard to say since I’ve wanted to be one my whole life,” I say, looking at the phone camera. “But if I had to choose, I’d probably raise and train horses.”
Bianca’s brows lift a little, whether in surprise or appreciation or something else, I don’t know. And I don’t stick around to find out. I shoot the camera one more smile before rushing off to shower and change. Maybe I shouldn’t care about Willow so much, but I do. So I’m going to do all that I can to brighten her day for when she comes back.
After a quick shower, I pull on a Lions hoodie and matching maroon sweatpants. Then I slide on my tennis shoes and grab my duffel from my locker area. I need to get to the store and back before the interns lock the office for the day. I could convince a maintenance worker to open it, but I’d rather avoid them going out of their way if I can.
The drive to the nearest grocery store is short, and I spend the entire time racking my brain for what Willow might like. Her favorite candy has been my gift to her for months now, but that doesn’t seem like enough. She loves her job and the team, so maybe I can snag some merch from the facility’s storage on my way back. It would be stuff that only the players have, which she might find cool.
We’ve had several interactions over the course of knowing her, but most are brief. Willow tends to be the one asking me questions. I wish I could go back in time and insist she answer them too.
An idea dawns on me as I park outside the store. Her social media. She posts on her own accounts all the time. I’ve avoided watching her content because it feels a little too stalker-like, but watching a few videos to see if she shares what she likes isn’t so bad. I rake a hand through my hair as I open TikTok.
A handful of videos later–probably more than necessary, but no one will ever know–I’ve learned that she loves movie nights, doing face masks, and when it’s cold out because being cozy is a top priority of hers. Oh, and she’s addicted to Diet Coke and lime, but I gathered that from the other night at the bar.
With that knowledge in hand, I head into the store to buy a gift for a woman who has a good chance of looking at all this and turning her nose up at it.