29. Connor
CONNOR
The next morning, I’m not feeling as cheery. The weight Eden lost on her chest when she told her parents about med school two days ago? I’m pretty sure it’s now transferred to mine. Because I need to talk to Milo and break the news about the Waves.
I’m not the only one anxious about it—I’m barely in the office for five minutes on Tuesday before Grace is at my desk bugging me.
“You’re talking to you-know-who about you-know-what today?”
“Yes, I promise.”
I got onto Milo’s calendar and reserved myself a fifteen-minute spot in an hour, so the secret will be out.
When it’s time, I walk into his office and find him bustling around the papers on his desk.
“One second, Connor…I’m looking for—oh, there it is.”
I take a seat in one of the guest chairs and fight my unease. You wouldn’t think I’d be worried about taking a step back from the internship, but I hate delivering bad news. I much prefer to avoid any conflict.
Hence, all the secret keeping.
“So, what did you want to chat about?”
My heart rate elevates, and I force a deep breath out. “I’m sorry, Milo, but something’s come up.”
“Alright. You okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s just…the Waves reached out. They need a backup placekicker after their current one had an accident. And…”
“They want you?” His voice sounds surprisingly upbeat.
“I’m going to go to a practice tomorrow as a tryout. Yesterday—I apologize for the omission when I took the day off, but I kicked some with the starter. I didn’t want to alarm you for no reason. But now…this opportunity could be real.”
“That’s great, Connor. You know I’ve always been supportive of Grace’s track career. We’ll figure it out.”
“It’s a bit different from Grace’s situation.
” Many pro runners juggle a job and training because they can schedule their practices around their 9–5.
“NFL practice squad members can’t really work during the season—we’re supposed to be at the facility almost as much as the players on the roster. All day, most of the time.”
Milo clearly didn’t know that from the perplexed expression he now wears. “Huh, okay.”
“So I’d…I feel awful, but I’d have to resign from the internship if I make the team. It’d be pretty much impossible to do both. I’m so grateful but…yeah, I’d have to choose.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, clearly processing, before responding.
“You only have to choose if I make you. The experience and connections you’d get would only make you stronger in our industry. Like Grace, you could expand our firm into a new sport.”
“Yes, but I’d be tied up for months?”
He nods, still thoughtful. “I know. Let’s see how it all plays out, okay?”
“Alright.” It would be stupid to shut down this avenue if he’s fine with me taking some kind of leave for now.
That doesn’t seem to be an issue for him. But as he leans forward, it’s clear something else is.
“Next time, Connor. No need to keep secrets from me. I want to support you, and I can only do that if I have all the information.”
I shake my head in agreement, even though there’s one enormous secret I’m keeping from him.
Eden.
I feel shitty about it for a moment. But as I leave his office with the possible NFL role, the girl I’ve been wanting forever, and the potential of coming back to SLP after the season is over, I push that feeling away.
I need to take these wins however I can get them.
“That feel alright?” the equipment assistant asks as he taps on my pads the next day.
“Yeah, it’s great.” They know what they’re doing, so the gear feels fine. Most importantly, I feel natural as I move around my assigned spot in “PS row”—a space off the main locker room for the practice squad.
“Perfect. Sorry about not having much choice in numbers.”
“No sweat, I don’t mind fourteen.” It’s double the number seven, which is a lucky number, right?
“Okay, cool. Moment of truth. Can you slip on the helmet for me?”
I do as he asks, now fully dressed in uniform. He watches me tighten the chin strap.
“How does that feel? Move your head around.”
I tilt, twist, and dip my head like I might need to in the game. “I think it’s good.”
“Awesome. If anything feels off, tell me right away.”
I nod, and he walks off to his next duty. The fact is, this whole experience feels the opposite of off. The uniform fits like it was made for me, and I’m locked into what needs to be done today.
“Nervous?” the guy next to me says.
“Not really, surprisingly.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m Mike. I’m an O-lineman.” I assume for the practice squad, since he’s sitting here with me.
We shake hands. “You’ll be on the line during my kicks?” I’m actually not sure how this all works since NFL rosters are only half the size of college.
“When they sub me in. I got your back.” He winks at me.
“Swee—”
“Ah, you’re next to Mike,” Landon says behind me. He strides in from the adjacent main locker room. “He’s a good locker neighbor. Been around the block a few times.”
“Ha, a time or two.” He looks at me. “I’ve been on the Waves practice squad for three years now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I like staying close to the game. I’m hoping for a break into the full squad, here or on another team. Worst case, I get to be around the pros.”
“That’s cool.”
“You feeling ready?” Landon asks me.
“Definitely.”
He looks me up and down. “Well, you look good in that Waves uniform.” I can tell he wants to say more, but he bites his lip instead.
“Landon, don’t put more pressure on him,” comes Rawley’s voice as he steps into view from around the corner.
“I’m not, I’m not. Just making sure he’s alright.”
I make eye contact with Rawley. “I got this.”
“You do.” He grins at me.
The sound of footsteps on the opposite side of the room is followed by the appearance of Del, as well as several other coaches.
“Are we having a party in here?” he jokes as he sees my brothers.
Landon chuckles. “Just doing our brotherly duties. We’ll head back.”
After they leave, Del goes over the day’s plan quickly before checking on Jeremy and Ernie in the main locker room.
One of the practice squad coaches I met on Monday steps in to introduce me to more of the guys and then escorts me to the field where the kicking team is convening.
As soon as I see the green of the grass and the tall frames of the uprights, an extra boost of adrenaline shoots through me.
This is a shot to do something you love. Let’s fucking go.
Two minutes later, Jeremy’s walking me through his normal warm-up routine for a game week practice. Fifteen minutes later, I’m rotating kicks in with him.
It’s been ten months since I kicked a football while wearing pads—since the Ivy League championship game. But it feels organic.
Kick after kick goes right where I want. I don’t miss one in the warm-ups.
“Looking solid, Battle,” Jeremy acknowledges as we finish his standard routine.
“Thanks.”
“You probably know this, but you’ll be in a different position than most of the practice squad. They have specific instructions to mirror the plays of our next opponent. That’s obviously not relevant to us.” Kickers are kickers.
“Makes sense.” Jeremy’s time as the backup kicker—meaning he was on the practice squad during Del’s playing era—suddenly feels helpful. “Is there anything else I should know, if I make it as the backup?”
He pauses. “Always be prepared. Study the special teams players of the opposition, even if it’s unlikely you’ll play. There were a couple of times Del was sick or was dealing with a muscle tweak, and I had to step in.”
“Yes, absolutely, I can handle that.”
“Again, it’s different from the other members of the practice squad because they all have second or third stringers ahead of them on the official roster. But for our gig”—he grins—“it’s just you and me.”
The magnitude of the opportunity hits me. I really want this. I need this to work out.
That awareness sinks in deep, and my focus sharpens even more.
And it’s a good thing. Because an hour later, they sub me in to replace Jeremy for the full team scrimmage. My real true test.
Rawley comes over and bangs on my helmet as he runs off the field with the rest of the offense. “Go fucking show them what you’re about, Con.”
I have a shot at that, in this first play. They’ve set up a field goal attempt on the thirty-two. Very doable for me.
If I don’t fuck it up, that is.
“Okay, Battle, you ready?” Ernie asks. As punter, he holds the ball for the placekicker—Jeremy, and now me. A double duty for punters on many teams.
I nod and try to ignore the absolutely massive guys on the defensive side ready to chase me down. They can’t tackle me in practice, but they can distract me if they break through the line.
The play call is counted off, and my body is a live wire of nervous energy.
“HUT.” I start moving, stride, stride, stride.
As soon as the ball leaves my foot, I know it’s good. But there’s that split second while it flies in the air, when I always feel out of body, hoping it’s true to form.
This time, it fucking is. It sails through, dead center.
I did it.
“Nice job, Battle,” Ernie says next to me.
I twist my head to the sideline, catching sight of Landon and Rawley. There’s pure joy on their faces.
It’s only one practice kick, in a no-tackle scrimmage, but it’s a first, a new light, a fresh chance.
I make two more field goals in the scrimmage, and three extra-point kicks. No misses.
When I’m in the locker room getting dressed, Del walks in. “Come talk to me when you’re changed.” He slides out the door without any indication of what’s to come.
“That could be good, or could be bad,” Mike says next to me, grinning. “I have a feeling it’s going to be good.”
I hope so.
When I open the door to Del’s office, another guy is sitting there, in a button-down and slacks.
Del must see my anxiousness, because he starts talking as soon as he sees me.
“This is Wally from the general manager’s office, and we’re here to share good news. We’d like to offer you a practice squad contract for the rest of the season.”
The pride on his face screams, “You made it, son.”
I’m in the NFL. The practice squad, but I’ll take it.