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“This play was executed perfectly,” he says, nodding to a block I made that allowed Miles to throw to Tristan Higgins for a touchdown. “Look at that block.” He draws something on the screen showing a route I could’ve taken, and honestly, it was my instinct to run it, but I knew I had to make the block instead. “I could see the fire in you that you wanted to run this one, but that block was critical, and because of that team effort instead of the individual heroics, we scored.” He runs the play again without his drawings on the screen. “Beautiful,” he murmurs at the end.
“Thanks, Coach.” The play was designed for Tristan. He’s fast as fuck, and I know my role along with my limitations. “It wasn’t my drive to score on, and it was an incredible call.”
He sits back in his chair. “I can’t figure you out, Nash,” he says. “Sometimes you take these risks that make me think you’re one kind of player, and other times you run the play we call. Sometimes you take risks with fashion,” he says, nodding toward my designer equestrian knight shirt, “and other times you’re a bit more conservative. Tell me a little more about who Asher Nash is. Help me understand.”
I press my lips together as I try to come up with an answer to that. “I, uh…” I lift both shoulders. “I’m the youngest of the Nash brothers, which is both a blessing and a curse.” I nod down at my shirt. “I like wearing designer clothes mostly to get a rise out of my more traditional brothers. I thrive on adventure, and sometimes that includes taking risks.”
He chuckles, and then he leans forward and rests his chin on his steepled fingers. “Talk to me about how it’s a curse.”
I blow out a breath. “I’ve lived in their shadows my entire life. It’s hard to establish your own identity while still trying to meet the expectations the world lays on you from a young age. I was barely a teenager when Lincoln was drafted, and when both Grayson and Spencer followed, it was never even an option for me.”
“You say that like you don’t want to play,” he says.
I shake my head. “It’s not like that at all. I love this game. I love playing, and I have since high school. It’s my entire life.” So much so that I’ve pushed every other important thing off my radar altogether.
Not every player does that.
Many guys in the league have successful relationships, even marriages and families. But I’ve worked so hard to keep footballat the center of my life that I haven’t given anything else a fair chance.
“Why since high school?” he asks.
Oh. We’re going there already.
I draw in a deep breath and bite the inside of my cheek before I lay out the confession. “It was all I had left after my best friend overdosed.”
“Jesus, Asher. I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
I’m not sure why I keep talking, but I do. Just the way Coach Dixon is looking at me makes me feel like I can confide in him, I guess. “He was a running back, and we were really tight. I wasn’t into experimenting with drugs since I knew I had a real shot at the league. He did, too, but he was a risk-taker. I guess that’s when I started to take risks myself—just smarter ones, I guess. And I threw myself into football.”
“But?” he prompts.
“But, also like my brothers, I don’t know what else there is for me. Not For Long, right?” I say, repeating the mantra that we always say when talking about what the letters stand for in NFL. Players are lucky to get more than five years out of this career. I’m in my sixth year. I know I make the list as one of the lucky ones, but the peak for tight ends is ages twenty-five to twenty-seven. I spent one of my peak years suspended, and I’m still trying to dig my way back from that. I finally admit that to Coach. “I missed an entire year due to a stupid mistake, and I’m still trying to fix my reputation because of that.”
“Tell me what happened. All I know is what I heard. I need it from the source,” he says.
I clear my throat and divert my gaze out the window as his eyes seem to pin me to my seat. “My dad—the man who was there for me when I lost my best friend—asked me to place some bets for him. He was getting into some trouble with his gambling habits, so I did it. And then I got into some trouble, too. I askedLincoln for help, and I took full responsibility for it.” I turn my gaze back to Coach Dixon. “I shouldn’t have done it. I knew it then, I know it now, and I paid the price. But paying the price doesn’t fix my reputation, and even in the locker room, it doesn’t feel like I have anyone’s respect. They think I’m here because of my brother, that I got off easy by only getting one year for my sins.” I hold up both hands a little helplessly.
I wasn’t expecting to go quite that deep during this meeting, but I guess all the frustrations that have been brimming for the last year are coming to a head.
He presses his lips together and nods. He sits back in his chair, studying me. “I like you, Asher. I think you are one of the greatest assets we have on this team. You know, when we get you to run the plays we’ve designed for you consistently.” He leans forward again. “Look, I’m new here, so this is a clean slate for me. Whatever happened in the past is in the past. I know you’re here because you’re a great player, not because of your brother. You know the best way to beat the locker room chatter is to prove them wrong.”
I nod. I know he’s right. “I’m trying.”
“How?”
It’s a fair question—one I’m not entirely sure I have the answer to. “Head down, focus on.”
“That’s important, but it’s equally important to show up for your teammates outside of office hours. You catch my drift?”
I nod. He’s right. I need to do more of the sitting in the middle of the plane thing. More joining them for a night at the bar. More leading by example to actually be the man with honesty and integrity that I want to be perceived as.
I admitted the truth when I placed those bets. Granted, I admitted it after I got into trouble and needed to borrow money from Lincoln, but I knew he’d have to go to the league with the information, and I did it anyway. I knew he’d have to prove he’dlead with honesty and integrity, and he did. I thought admitting it meant I was, too. But nobody took it that way, I guess.
“What about your dad? Are you still close with him?” he asks.
His innuendo is clear. My dad isn’t the honest, trustworthy man who was there for his teammates, even if he was there for me when Jake died.
“Yes and no. I’m the closest to him out of the four brothers, but sometimes I think it has more to do with proximity.”
