Lainey’s List Chapter 20

 

Nick

Coach’s door is open when I arrive. I knock on it anyway.

“Coach, you wanted to see me?”

He gestures for me to come in. “Yeah, take a seat, Nick.”

He flashes me a smile and a bit of the tension in my shoulders eases away as I settle into the cheap plastic seat in front of his desk.

Training camp is a portable thing. We’re only here for a couple of weeks, so everything we have can be dismantled and returned to the rental companies or put back into storage. At the end of camp, the makeshift headquarters will all be torn down—from the locker rooms to the small offices filled with rented metal desks and cheap chairs. Maybe the temporary nature serves as a reminder of how fleeting our time is in the NFL.

Whether you’re an undrafted free agent fighting for a roster position or a veteran at the end of your career or a seasoned pro trying to find a new home, the knowledge that nothing in this league lasts long lives in the back of your head. Not records, not players, and not coaches.

A coach’s tenure rises and falls on the success of his team and that often rests on the shoulders of its quarterback. Good thing I enjoy that pressure. I want to be the person with the ball in his hands at the end of the game. I want to be the one who can win the game for the team. I don’t want to be standing on the sidelines, and I don’t want to be holding a clipboard. I don’t want to be Chip, cut down in my prime.

“How’s it going?” Coach leans forward, keen to hear my answer.

“Good. Timing’s a little off on the longer routes, but we’re getting there.” If I’ve learned anything during my short time in the league, it’s that you have to project confidence at all times to those who’d question you. You can show frustration or impatience but never doubt. No one wants the general to be unsure of himself. You have to balance yourself on the back of a shark, smile, and be able to tell your teammates that your footing is sure and you’ll be riding the beast all the way to the shore.

“You settling in okay?” He taps the end of his Bic pen, the plastic making an annoying, tinny sound each time it strikes the metal.

“In the starter position or just in general?” I’d like him to cut to the chase.

“In general,” he clarifies. “Everything is going okay in your personal life? Got no problems there?”

“I’m fine there too.” I fold my arms and stare him down.

He makes a face as if talking about this subject is as uncomfortable for him as it is for me. “It’s come to my attention that maybe you’re feeling a little uneasy about your position on the team, and I want you to know my door’s open. We all want to be on the same page.”

He pauses, and I decide to address this head-on. No sense in trying to avoid what I believe is the elephant in the room. “Is this about the locker?”

Coach nods with relief and relaxes in his chair. “Yeah, it’s about the locker. I didn’t realize you were having a problem with where it was situated.”

“I don’t have a problem with it. It surprised me as much as anyone to see the equipment staff working it over. It would never have occurred to me that I could change it even if I wanted to and,” I hold up my hand to forestall his response because I wasn’t done, “I don’t want to change it. I was happy where I was.”

A brief moment of confusion passes over Coach Ross’ face. “Seems to me there’s some communication problem.”

“Maybe so. I can’t for the life of me figure out what brought it on. But that kind of shit is disruptive and I get that behavior can’t be tolerated in the locker room. I’m not a prima donna. You know that,” I remind him, “from when you interviewed me back at the combine and at my pro day. No one has ever pegged me for having locker room issues. I’ve got my faults. I don’t deny it. I’m hardheaded. Stubborn. I like doing things a certain way.” We share a brief chuckle because Coach has been on me to release the ball sooner. “But I’ve always been happy to hear suggestions and critiques of how to make my play better, how to make this a better team, and never demanded special treatment.”

He nods in agreement but then stops when a new thought enters his mind. “Being the starting quarterback is a different animal,” he warns.

“I was a second round draft pick. I was the fourth quarterback chosen in the draft last year. I know that I’m fortunate to have a starting role. And I’m not doing anything to jeopardize it. I think I proved to you last year that I’m worth the start, and I continue to work my ass off for this team every day.”

He squeezes his neck. “I hear you. But if you have problems in the future, come to me.”

That’s my sign to go. I rise, give him a tight smile, and walk out. The frustrating thing about that encounter is I don’t know if he really believes me. Someone or something has planted a seed of doubt in his mind about my role as the leader in the locker room. Which fucking sucks.

Halfway down the hall, I run into Garrett Williams, beat reporter for the Dallas Morning News. “Hey, Jackson, got a minute?”

No. I really don’t, but I force myself to stop. Being nice to the press is good for business. “Sure, what’s up?”

His face is somber but his eyes are lit up like Cassidy’s at Christmas time. I don’t have to be a mind reader to figure out that Williams thinks he’s sniffed out a juicy locker room scandal. “Heard there were some equipment problems in the locker room today.”

“Not that I know of,” I reply with forced joviality. “But it’s training camp. We’re all working out our kinks.”

“Like where certain players’ lockers are assigned?”

“Now, Williams, don’t make us sound like a bunch of middle schoolers. You know we’ve evolved to at least junior high.”

“So the rumors that you’re getting demanding are all untrue?”

I don’t let the easy smile off my face. “Don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, man. Love the team. Grateful for the opportunity to play in this town. It’s a real privilege, and if my locker was in the men’s room, I’d still be on my knees every night thanking God for this chance to play the greatest game in the world.” I slap Williams on the back to signal that the interview is over and move on down the hall.

Chip pops up like a bad zit right at the locker room door. “Hey man, how did it go in there?”

With Williams or Coach Ross? “Fine.” I’m not pretending for Chip.

“You can talk to me if you need to blow off a little steam,” he invites.

I give him a cool look. There’s no way I’m sharing confidences with him.

“It’s all good.” I slap my hand on the door but before I can exit, he grabs my arm.

“Hey, about your friend Charlotte—“

I shrugged out of his grip. “If you’re asking if she’s single, she’s not.”

He furrows his brow in confusion. “I didn’t think you two were together.”

“We’re not. She’s like my sister. In fact, she will be my sister someday. You see my brother, the Navy SEAL, views Charlotte as his girl. And I have to tell you that Nate knows a hundred ways to kill a man and ninety-nine of them are undetectable.” The grin that crosses my face at the thought of Nate working ol’ Chip over is a genuine one. “What was it that you wanted to know about her?”

Chip pales a little under his tan. “I thought I might have a business opportunity to share with her.”

Sure you did, asshole. “Next time you have some film for me to look at, I’ll watch it here,” I inform him.

“Why?” His eyes narrow. “Did someone say something?”

“Nope.”

When I get it back into the locker room, everything is in order. My locker is still in the corner. There are a number of my teammates milling around. I make the rounds, complementing each player on their play today. I chat up the rookies, listen to the ribbing of the veterans, and then discuss the timing issue with my receivers. Everyone’s on board with a little extra practice. After shooting the shit for an hour, I clap my hands together.

“Ladies, you’re all looking real fine this afternoon. Let’s go to Mustang’s and get a drink. Tabs on me.”

If I have to buy my way back into the affection of my teammates, it’ll be worth it.

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