28. Connor
CONNOR
“Holeee sheeet, this is cool,” Rawley says for the fifth time this morning. “I can’t believe you might be on the Waves?”
“My mind is still blown,” Landon says, accompanied by a vigorous clap on my back.
“I’d just be on the practice squad.”
Despite the fact that it’s only nine, we’re all on Forever Field, the regulation-sized field in Johnson and Grace’s backyard.
They flew back after their away game last night, making this “group project” possible.
I’d texted Milo yesterday that I needed to use a personal day, and I wouldn’t be at work.
My brothers are “helpfully” huddled around me while Johnson changes, so they can assist with a “private” kicking session before my tryout later.
Private even with the three guys here, watching. And that’s not all, because Grace, Rori, and Avery are sitting on the deck, sipping coffee, observing. Avery’s in her off-season, while Rori’s season is winding down.
Awesome.
“Guys, a little space, please.” I need room to get myself gathered mentally. My brothers’ Energizer Bunny excitement is not setting the right tone.
“I’m glad we’re getting this practice in before your tryout this afternoon,” Landon says, bulldozing like he didn’t hear my request. I do notice the “we’re,” as if he’s key to this practice.
Finally, Johnson appears out the sliding door and jogs down the deck to us. “Let’s do this.” Glancing around once he’s in our group, he seems to clock that I’m getting hounded. “Hey, why don’t you two go stand by the sidelines for a bit?”
“Yeah, yeah, I could use more coffee,” Rawley says, throwing a wink my way. “C’mon, Landon, we can go watch with the ladies.”
“Hmph.” Landon clearly wants to be in the mix, but he retreats with Rawley.
Johnson turns back to me. “Alright. Walk me through how you like to do this. I haven’t played holder since high school, but I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”
“First, I’m going to take some easy kicks, from the twenty-five.” He nods, and I give him marching orders on how to mimic a count-off.
“You got it. Take your time, despite those eager beavers. Every kicker I know has their own routine, and I’m betting you’re the same.”
Grateful for his calmer energy, I take my standard steps back and to the left, and push the affirmations through my mind.
Just you, the ball, and the uprights. You’ve done this a million times.
When my body settles in a familiar centered place, I indicate to Johnson I’m ready.
He calls out a mock countdown, followed by a “hut,” and I let muscle memory take over.
Long step, long step, long step, plant, kick.
The ball makes contact with a familiar, welcome press on the top of my shoe, and I complete a clean follow-through motion while the ball goes flying…right through the center of the uprights, high above the crossbar.
“Beauty,” Johnson says, before a loud sound comes from the deck.
“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Rawley shouts, while the women start giggling at his antics. Landon, in turn, is clapping loudly with a serious expression on his face.
“I’m not sure coffee was what they needed,” I slip out.
Johnson huffs a laugh in response. “Accurate.”
“GREAT JOB HOLDING, HONEY!” Grace yells out a beat later.
“THANKS, GOLDIE!” he shouts in return, before swiveling back to me. “Sorry. What’s next?”
We repeat the same distance a few times, and to the delight of the peanut gallery, I nail them all. We follow that up with longer distance kicks, eventually pushing my starting place all the way to the fifty.
The crew on the deck has since broken up.
Grace, Avery, and Rori are running on the track Johnson had built around the field for my sister.
She’d smoke them in any race, but sometimes they train together at a pace that gives Rori and Avery the cardio they want, while stacking maintenance miles for Grace.
My brothers shout that they’re going to work out in Johnson’s home gym. Relief that they’re gone fills me when I miss a couple of the longer kicks. One is wide right, and one is too short.
“You got this,” Johnson reassures me.
“It’s alright. I know exactly what I did.” Small footwork mistakes that I can sense as soon as I make them.
Still, I’m feeling good. My first real shot at the NFL, coming up.
Once we finish the practice, though, a surprising burst of nerves returns.
No big deal, I try to tell myself, you’ll keep doing what you’re doing if it doesn’t work out.
Rawley volunteers to drive me to the Waves facility, needing to head in for his team meetings. In another circumstance, I would turn him down, but I could use the time to go through my visualization techniques.
In contrast to the Forever Field practice, his muted demeanor while driving is evidence he understands the stakes too.
Once we’re at the Waves facility, we separate, and I head straight to the field as Del had directed.
It’s not the first time I’ve been on the Waves field, with its eighty-thousand seats. But it’s the first time I’ve stepped on it as a potential player. The seriousness of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks.
Here’s your chance to take control of your future. Let’s fucking lock in.
“Hey Connor,” Del says as I approach him and three other guys with clipboards. “Thanks for coming today.” After introductions to the rest of the coaches there, he explains the process.
“Jeremy and Ernie are going to be out here in a second. We’ll have you slot in with them. It shouldn’t be too different from practice at Princeton.”
Okay, wait…Am I the only person trying out?
“We have a couple of other guys we’re looking at,” Del continues like he can read my mind, “but we need to make a decision this week, so the process will move quickly.”
That’s a blessing, I suppose.
“I’m ready.”
“I know you are. I’m rooting for you, Battle.”
Jeremy and Ernie are nice enough at first, if a little standoffish. I don’t blame them, since I could be here for a day and then disappear.
But it’s a good fucking day. All those nerves? When I can finally redirect them into concentration on my form, everything comes together.
I make progressively longer and longer kicks, and their attitudes toward me relax.
When a forty-five-yard boot that hits dead center with plenty of room to spare, Jeremy offers a fist bump.
“Nice one. You played at Princeton, Del said?”
“Yeah, my last two years. Though I owe him for that fact. He taught me from scratch. I played soccer growing up.”
“A Battle playing soccer instead of football?” His brow raises.
“Long story,” I say with a smile. “Anyway, I guess I might owe him again.” I gesture to the field—to this opportunity.
“Nah. It doesn’t matter if you’re a Battle, or Del’s protégé, or whatever. In the NFL, you earn your spot.” He flashes a smile for the first time. “You’re doing a good job of that, so keep it up.”
Bolstered by praise, I attack the kicks with even more confidence, only missing one of the longer ones, a sixty-two-yarder.
Once they’re done with their practice, Ernie pats me on the back. “Hope we see you again.”
Me too.
While they head to the locker room, I run over to where Del and the other coaches are watching.
As soon as I see the grin on his face, my hopes start soaring for real.
“Great work out there, Connor.” Several of the others nod.
“Thanks.”
“We’d like to see you come for an afternoon of scrimmaging on the practice squad. With pads on, all of that. Wednesday work?”
I’ll make it work. But fuck, yeah, now I need to talk to Milo for real.
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Great, it’ll start at two. Please come an hour early so the equipment staff can find proper-fitting gear.”
“Sounds perfect. I’ll be here.”
Hell, I’ll probably be shuttled to the facility by Rawley or Landon first thing Wednesday morning once they get word.
Not that I’m going to complain. If anything, I’m fighting off the optimism spreading like melted butter across my chest.
I might, might just have two incredible things happen in one week.
My date with Eden, and now the Waves practice squad.
AN HOUR LATER
CONNOR: Hi, I just tried out for your dad—and they want me to come back on Wed.
EDEN: OMG! That’s amazing!
CONNOR: It went really well. I hope I can keep it up.
EDEN: Oh, I’m sure you can.
CONNOR: I need to talk to Milo tomorrow. It’s serious now.
EDEN: I’ll be here if you want to chat afterward.
CONNOR: Thanks
CONNOR: We can talk on our next date if you want to book another one
EDEN: Yes
CONNOR: Your game is on Thursday? How about Saturday again?
EDEN: Yeah, Thursday. We only have one game a week the rest of the season, so my weekends are free.
EDEN: Won’t you be with the team if you make it? WHEN you make it?
CONNOR: The practice squad doesn’t go on road trips…
EDEN: Ooooh I didn’t know that. Okay. Yes, Saturday is perfect.
CONNOR: Done.
CONNOR: Are you free earlier in the day? Because I want to take you to a museum, and it’s not open late.
EDEN: I am. Is this going to be educational?
CONNOR: Among other things…