Lainey’s List Chapter Nineteen

Nick

“I’m sorry.” I watch Charlie move around the condo with jerky movements. “He’s my coach.” I wish I had a better excuse, but I don’t.

“I know,” she sighs.

I help her clean up, both of us lost in our thoughts. Chip’s not my favorite person. He’s got an attitude of mixed entitlement and belligerence. The entitlement comes from years of being treated like a celebrity because of his skill on the field. Belligerence may be a new thing as he adjusts to the reduced attention being thrown his way. Or he may have always been an asshole.

I’d never choose to hang around him, but I admit to cutting him slack because his injury cut a promising pro career short and because I need him. That is the shittiest part of this whole scenario. I need him.

I’m only a few weeks into camp. Preseason gears up in ten days. There’s so much pressure on me to win this year, I wake up at night sweating.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted. An opportunity only a chosen few receive and if I can win—which I know is within my capabilities—I’ll have accomplished something.

It’ll never be like what my brother Nate does—saving people. But it’s what I’ve dreamed of. What I’ve worked hours a day for. When my college classmates were out drinking and partying, I was tucking myself into bed at ten at night.

Some of my teammates could pound a keg before a game and still be spry. Not me.

And if achieving my dream means working with people I can’t stand, I’m going to do it. But I don’t have to bring Chip around anymore and I tell Charlie that. “I’m not going to have him over again.”

“I hope not. I hope Lainey’s okay.”

“I’ll talk to her.” The way Chip treated her? Fuck, it made me want to put my fist through his face. I need to make it up to her in some way.

Charlie frowns. “I thought you two were done.”

“We’re friends. I love her and Cassidy. They’re still important to me.”

“Bring flowers then.”

“For Cassidy?” I joke because we both know Lainey won’t be as easily appeased.

“Maybe buy the whole shop.”

***

I call Lainey that night before I go to bed but she doesn’t answer. In the morning, there aren’t any messages from her either. Only from my nutritionist and the trainer.

I’ll have to go over to her apartment after practice. I put it out of my head and have a decent day. No interceptions but a few missed targets.  We’ve got to work on our timing. I wonder if I can convince the wide-outs to stay late tonight. I’ll have to discuss it with Chip, unfortunately.

On the way back to the makeshift locker room that houses our temporary lockers during training camp, the Mustangs’ owner, Bob Trask, stops me.

“Nick, how is everything going?” Trask is seventy but looks about sixty due to some good plastic surgery. He’s on his fourth wife. They get younger every time I see him. I’m hoping he hangs on to this one because otherwise, he’ll have to start trolling nearby high schools for wife number five.

“Great. Team looks real sharp,” I tell him.

We shake hands, and he slaps me on the back. “I’m real happy you are part of the Mustang family this year. I know we didn’t pick you first round, but you’re turning out to be a real steal.”

“You got Darnell Woodley first round. He makes my life easier.” Woodley is a monster defensive end and went number two in the draft. He eats quarterbacks for breakfast and snacks on tight ends after lunch. I’m glad he’s on my team.

“He’s panning out real well,” Trask agrees. “Sounds like the two of you are getting along.”

“Absolutely.” Although to be honest, Darnell and I haven’t hung out much together. We’ve grabbed a few beers, shared a few team dinners on the road, but he’s been married since college. Going out to bars when he could be seeing his two young kids isn’t real high on his to do list.

“Good. Good. There’s nothing on your mind?” Trask is still shaking my hand.

“Ah, no.”

“Because we all need to work together to field a winning team,” he reminds me.

A ping of worry strikes me at the base of my neck. This is a strange conversation to be having with Trask. Have I done anything to give him the impression I’m not happy with the Mustangs? “Agree a hundred percent, sir.”

“If you have a problem, I hope you know my door is open.” He pats me on the shoulder. “I see a real future for you here.”

Since I have no idea what this is about, I smile and nod. He finally releases my hand and, with one more pat, ambles down the tunnel.

Inside the locker room, I see a bunch of commotion over in the corner near my locker. Darnell is standing with a group of the defensive guys to the side watching the equipment staff, who appear to be dismantling a section.

“What’s up guys?” I ask, thinking of Trask’s unstated suggestion that I spend more time with Darnell.

He turns to me with a frown. “You gotta a problem with your locker location?”

“What?”

He jerks his head toward the corner. “Those guys are moving your locker. Why’s that?”

I blink in surprise. “Shit, Darnell. I’ve got no fucking clue. I—“

Before I can find out what’s going on, Chip comes up. “Coach wants to see you.”

“About what?” I can’t keep the annoyance out of my voice.

Darnell gives me a hard stare. “Maybe it’s about your locker sitch.”

Chip merely shrugs. “Don’t know. I wouldn’t worry about it.” He leans around. “Shoot, you’re having your locker moved? Was the stench from Leo’s jock too much for you? Suck it up, princess. This is football, not ballet.”

“Wait a second—“ I reach for Chip but he’s already walking away. With frustration, I turn to Darnell and his guys. “I never asked for the locker to be moved. Why would I do that? It’s fine where it is. Hey,” I yell to the equipment guys. “Leave the locker. I don’t want it moved.”

Craig, the head equipment guy swings around. “We already got it dismantled. Now you’re saying you don’t want to move?”

“I never asked for it to be moved in the first place,” I say between gritted teeth.

Darnell shakes his head. “Rich boys, always wanting things without earning them,” he mutters but not so quietly that I, and everyone else, can’t hear him.

“Don’t forget that Coach wants to see you,” Chip yells from across the room.

Goddammit.

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