AllFreeNovel
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Despite having the distraction of football—my job, my life’s work, my livelihood—there’s still something that’s just plain missing right now.
I refuse to let myself think it, but what it is that’s missing is obvious.
Over the last few months, something else seems to have edged its way past football on my list of priorities, and being back at camp, building a brotherhood where we all share a common goal…it’s a reminder that this is what matters.
At least…that’s what I keep telling myself. Whether or not it’s true is another matter entirely.
We’re working on footwork skills today—my least favorite of all the drills we do. I love the mirror drills where I mirror the movements of a receiver and stay in tight coverage. I love coverage drills through a route. I especially love ball drills where we focus on deflections and interceptions.
But today we have hip flips, and fuck if I’m not going to be feeling that tomorrow. It’s my least favorite partner drill where we have to change direction—from shuffling to planting, or from backpedaling to sprinting as we cover the receiver running routes.
I put my all into it, proving I still have speed and agility despite my advanced age.
After skills, we head into a scrimmage, and all of that is before lunch. After lunch, defense hits the weight room, and we move into meetings with our position coaches before dinner.
We have some walkthroughs of our newly installed plays after dinner, and then we get free time before curfew, though free time is mostly rehab and rest ahead of going hard again tomorrow.
Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s two weeks of the same routine, but it’s a routine I’ve come to rely on. And seeing Lincoln at the helm of all of it is something else entirely.
He’s my big brother. I always idolized him, and then somehow we became actual friends. But now…he’s at ease in this position. It’s as if it was made for him. His deep knowledge of formations and plays is impressive, and his motivation to create a cohesive team experience is some of the best coaching I’ve ever worked with in my decade in the league.
And that’s my brother.
On other teams, I’ve seen divisiveness. It’s the offense against the defense. Here, we’re all one unit, and what’s even more impressive is how Lincoln fosters bonds between players of the same position when each of us is out here fighting for our own playing time and spot on the roster.
The only weak link I can seem to find is Austin Graham…but it helps to watch Asher kick his ass in camp.
I haven’t spoken to Asher about what happened between Austin and me, and I haven’t admitted to Austin that I know about his baby with Kelly.
I’ve stayed as far away from the guy as I can at the request of our head coach, and I’ve largely ignored my phone because the constant reminders of Ava are overwhelming.
I fucked up.
I know I fucked up.
And I don’t know how to fix it.
It’s the end of day eight at camp when I get back to my room. I’ve been sharing with Patrick, who has become a good friend—though I’ve been careful not to talk about Ava.
No distractions.
Football is the distraction.
I’m so goddamn confused.
I check my phone after my shower and see I have a new voicemail from my mother.
“Grayson Michael Nash, it’s your mother.”
Oh, shit. I got middle named. That’s never good.
“What’s going on with you and Ava? I just spoke to Sandra, who didn’t even know you were dating, and then she checked in with Beckett, who said you two were just faking it, but it didn’t seem awfully fake to me, and then I saw this video online that seems to confirm that it was fake…so what is it? I know you’re at camp, but you better make time to talk to your mother no matter where you are. Okay, love you honey, bye!”
I chuckle at the end of her message, though the message itself really wasn’t all that amusing.
I don't really want to call her back, but I also don't really think I have a choice. She did middle name me, after all. Patrick is still in the shower, so I don't bother leaving our room to make the phone call. I realize it's late in New York, but I am also fully aware that she’s going to be waiting for this call. The longer I make her wait, the more trouble I'll be in when I finally call.
I click the call button, and she answers almost immediately. “Grayson Michael Nash, what is going on?”
