Chapter 14
Johnson
THREE WEEKS LATER
After Grace drove away from my house, I made it a week without getting despondent about how we left things, letting football distract me—specifically our first preseason game and final week of camp.
Once the last week of training camp passed though, my emotions started to churn.
And now two weeks after that, all I feel is lack. Lack of her, lack of the chance to see what we could be.
Here I am, alone in this big fucking house, and the woman I want to spend time with…
She’s off limits. Interested, but off limits.
It’s not lost on me that in our conversation she admitted she’d like to explore something too. Because I hadn’t had that assurance before.
Now I do, and it’s a punch in the gut.
Not to mention her saying that she wouldn’t mind if I kissed her, when I was fucking desperate to do just that.
The fact that she’s a virgin—I’m not a dumbass about that like I was in college either. If she’s waited, it’s for good reason. Whatever the reason.
But still, three weeks later, none of the dynamics with Landon or the team have changed either. We even went 3-0 in the preseason, only heightening the need to keep our locker room chemistry strong.
I’ve spent all of my high school years through now being the perfect player, the perfect teammate, the perfect citizen.
Because otherwise, what my dad used to say would hold a kernel of truth.
“You can’t do anything right, Johnson.” Along with much worse variations.
For the last few years, I’ve been able to bat away the echoes of my father’s voice in my head pretty readily. But with Grace, the choice that seems before me is to do right by the two of us or do right by everyone else—and I have zero clue how to reconcile those options.
It’s not like I plan to hurt Grace. That’s the opposite of what I want. But shit happens. We could fight over something legitimate, even. And then Landon would have to pick a side, which no doubt would be Grace’s. Would that ripple across the team?
So, I don’t see how I can cross the line with her. Everything I said to her—it frustrates me to no end, but it still feels like the right thing to do.
Even if it means more lonely nights in this house.
Tomorrow will be a fresh start, I tell myself. The Monday kicking off the regular season.
But, shit, it’s also the week of the auction, which is always a few days before the first game.
The auction means being in the same room as Grace again. It’ll be the first time I’ll have seen her in person since she left my house.
Maybe it will be a kind of exposure therapy?
We’ve texted here and there, keeping our conversations to auction stuff only. I did promise we’d still be friends, so I didn’t want her to feel awkward if she needed me for something.
Being with her in person is going to be…different.
I need to think about something else, anything else.
I should call Lainie. As much as it’s been a hectic time for me during pre-season, it’s been even busier for her with starting work again. I’ve been neglecting my check-ins.
Decision made, I ring her, and she picks up quickly.
“Hey, Johnny.” Her voice sounds tired, and I hear the baby squealing in the background.
“Hey, is it a bad time? Want to talk later?”
“No, it’s okay.” I hear the phone shift a little, like she’s placing it somewhere. When she comes back, I’m on speaker. “I’m just making Leo a bottle.”
“Alright, if you’re sure. I wanted to see how you’re doing, now that you’re back at work?”
She sighs. “I’m surviving. The ‘no sleep’ thing is so hard to juggle while also being productive at work. Plus, I have a new supervisor, this twenty-nine-year-old who has an interesting management style.” Sarcasm is dripping off her tongue.
Lainie works in web development for a health care company.
“I can only imagine how hard it all is.” I hear the baby stop making sounds, probably getting his feeding now. “Is there anything I can do to make life easier?”
She laughs. “Want to come be my night nurse? No, you’ve done so much, Johnson. I’m just tired. It’ll get better once Leo sleeps a little more.”
I’m of course more than happy to pay for a night nurse for this phase, but I don’t mention that again—knowing the Samuels women and their inability to accept help. “Where’s Mom?”
“I sent her for a nap. She was spent after taking the early morning shift with Leo and Emma.”
So she’s still suffering too. “Where’s Mark in all this? I’m guessing he takes a shift as well?”
“He’s off playing golf.” Lainie’s tone is curt, and she doesn’t expand on her response. I’d bet a dollar that it’s because she’s rightly pissed at him, but I don’t have anything good to say about that dude myself, so I don’t push things.
“Mama, Mama, let me talk to Unca Jaw-nee,” I hear Emma’s adorable voice say, a little muffled by distance.
“I’ll talk to her, Lainie.”
I then get a long account of how each of Emma’s stuffies misses “Unca Jaw-nee.” Pookie the bear, Bunny the bunny, Smelly the pig and so on—each has their own moment in her account.
My sister probably thinks I’m doing her a favor by entertaining Emma. But the reminder of home fills my heart, and my time, in a way I truly cherish.
When I pull up to the Waves facility the next day, I text Molly, our PR second-in-command. “Here.”
I have a big media day planned. Normally that wouldn’t equate to a fun time, but today I’m glad because it’ll kill a couple hours. Mondays are normally not as busy, and I need distractions.
While we ended last year with eight losses and nine wins, there’s been plenty of buzz around us throughout the preseason.
Headlines like “Waves Ready to Make a Splash in the New Season,” “Alabama Stars Samuels and Battle Stand Tall in Their Third Year at the Waves,” and “Opinion: Samuels, Watkins Headline a Top 5 Offense,” keep popping up.
I’m grateful for my college experience at Alabama. All the noise, the pressure, the intensity—I’ve grown the mental fortitude to handle the media storm already.
And I know this is the price of being the starting quarterback. To whom much is given, much is expected.
With the press requests coming in fast and furious, Molly has blocked a two-hour time slot on my schedule to pre-record some interviews.
When I meet her in the media room, she gets me set up with earbuds and a mic.
“You’re a pro at this, I know, but anything you want to discuss before I sic them on you?” Molly jokes lightly.
I wink at her. “I got this.” Nothing is on the table topically that I can’t handle right now.
The three interviews are scheduled for 30 minutes each, with relative heavy hitters amongst football reporters—two from networks, one from a streaming channel. Still, I skate through the questions without feeling pressed on anything in particular.
The only topic I take care with is when one reporter asks me about Rawley.
There’s still chatter about his answers during the joint interview with Landon, but he’s also had a monster opening game of his own this past weekend.
The combination has made him a topic the talking heads love to keep revisiting, debating what NFL teams will do with him in the draft.
Needless to say, when the question comes, asking what I’ve thought of him during his Florida visits, I have his back—and by extension, Landon and Grace’s.
“Rawley Battle will be a powerful weapon for whichever team drafts him. I know the Battle family well, and they are stand-up people with great character. I have zero doubts about Rawley’s ability to succeed in the NFL.”
With my media duties done, I head back to the quarterback room, which is empty. Each position has its own space where you meet, strategize, study film together—and bond. I take advantage of the quiet for a minute before I’ll need to go workout.
Slipping in my earbuds, I casually flip through the playbook while listening to the Kendrick mix I like. About seven minutes in, I hear a beep come through the music and I check my phone.
It’s Kelly Winters.
Kelly is a successful model whom I’ve discretely spent time with on and off over the past couple of years. She’s a stunning redhead, funny, and sexy as hell, with zero tolerance for drama. Her career is her love, and she’s made it clear what we are and what we aren’t. I appreciate the clarity.
KELLY: I’m up near you for a swimwear photo shoot next week. You want to hang out then?
She’s based out of Miami, where we met at a party my rookie year, but all over the world any given week. She must have a gig closer to Orlando coming up.
Hmmm. I’ll be free in the evenings if it’s early during the week.
But, shit, her text makes me feel like I swallowed sour milk.
There’s no reason I can’t meet Kelly and blow off some steam with her. I owe nothing to Grace.
From the feeling in my gut, though—that doesn’t matter. It doesn’t feel right.
JOHNSON: Hey! Next week won’t work, but good luck on your shoot.
She puts a heart emoji on my response, and that’s that.
It’s a blonde I want, not a redhead.