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“What about Spencer?” Kyle asks, following up.
“You’ll have to talk to Spencer about that. From what I hear, he’s pretty happy in Minnesota.”
I field a few more questions, and then the team owner, legendary quarterback Jack Dalton, takes over and fields still more questions about what the team is doing in the offseason. I shoot a look at Lincoln, who’s sitting beside me, and he grins at me.
It feels good here. It feels right.
Once the presser is over, Lincoln and Jack take me downstairs to the locker room.
Before the press conference, I was up in Jack’s office signing some paperwork. After that, the team doctor gave me a physical to make sure I’m cleared to play. I passed with flying colors, and now I guess I can hit Vegas tonight.
Except…I’m not sure I really have anyone to hit Vegas with. Linc’s got plans, and who knows what Asher’s up to. Off the top of my head, I can’t really come up with anybody else, but I’m sure I’ll run into someone who wants to celebrate with me.
I head into the locker room and find a few players I recognize gathered there. Wide receivers Travis Woods and Tristan Higgins, running back Jaxon Bryant, cornerback Patrick Harris, and defensive lineman Deon Miller are all here along with a few other players and some of the coaching staff. Lincoln introduces me to everyone, though I’ve met a lot of these guys before. We’ve just never played together.
It’s a small group of dedicated players, and I get it. It’s the offseason. A lot of guys aren’t even in town right now because of it. Some don’t live here, and they head home to their families in the offseason. But these are the guys who showed up for me today, and that feels good—like I’ll have a network of friends here as I make my path in Vegas.
Lincoln shows me my locker, which is next to Patrick’s, and I stare at it for a few beats.
Nash 24.
It’s the number I’ve worn my entire life. There’s no significance to it other than it was the number assigned to me when the coach threw out T-shirts at my first Peewee League game, and I stuck with that number all through middle school, high school, college, and now in the NFL.
It’s nice seeing my number on a black and red jersey. It feels strange after the blue, white, and gold of my former team. All of this feels a little surreal, really.
I’m moving to Vegas.
I need to look for a place to live.
Patrick saunters up beside me. “Nash twenty-four,” he says. “It looks good.”
“I was just thinking that same thing.”
“You want to grab a beer across the street or something?” he asks. “A few of us hit up the Gridiron pretty regularly.”
“I’d love to,” I say, certainly not wanting to turn down the first invitation from a teammate as I strive to fit in.
Some guys won’t like me because I’m the coach’s brother.
Some guys will think it’s nepotism that got me here—and maybe it is. The rumors are already flying in the media, and I’d likely form more solid friendships somewhere else.
But this feels right for me, and anybody who doesn’t like it can fuck off.
We arrive at the bar, and it appears the party is already in full swing. There’s a booth in the back corner that Tristan and Travis beeline for, and I follow them as I walk with Patrick. We’re stopped in our pursuit of the booth to take photos and greet fans, and I’m given a hearty Vegas welcome by everyone who stops me.
We make it to that corner booth, and we’re mostly left alone once we’re seated. A server comes by to grab our order, and everyone orders their usual.
I guess it’s time to make my own signature splash.
“Hendricks,” I say when she gets to me.
She nods and eyes me for a beat as if she’s memorizing my drink and my face. I wonder what she’s thinking as she associates my choice with me.
Austin Graham approaches our table, and his eyes flick to me before he nods at Tristan across from me, who scoots over to accommodate another person.
“Why weren’t you in the locker room?” Tristan asks him.
He glances at me before he looks at Tristan. “I was busy.” He’s short and to the point.
