Page 101 of Made Better Together

“Yeah, yeah, I could use more coffee,” Rawley says, throwing a wink my way. “C’mon, Landon, we can go watch with the ladies.”

“Hmph.” Landon clearly wants to be in the mix, but he retreats with Rawley.

Johnson turns back to me. “Alright. Walk me through how you like to do this. I haven’t played holder since high school, but I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

“First, I’m going to take some easy kicks, from the twenty-five.” He nods, and I give him marching orders on how to mimic a count-off.

“You got it. Take your time, despite those eager beavers. Every kicker I know has their own routine, and I’m betting you’re the same.”

Grateful for his calmer energy, I take my standard steps back and to the left, and push the affirmations through my mind.

Just you, the ball, and the uprights. You’ve done this a million times.

When my body settles in a familiar centered place, I indicate to Johnson I’m ready.

He calls out a mock countdown, followed by a “hut,” and I let muscle memory take over.

Long step, long step, long step, plant, kick.

The ball makes contact with a familiar, welcome press on the top of my shoe, and I complete a clean follow-through motion while the ball goes flying…right through the center of the uprights, high above the crossbar.

“Beauty,” Johnson says, before a loud sound comes from the deck.

“LET’S FUCKING GO!” Rawley shouts, while the women start giggling at his antics. Landon, in turn, is clapping loudly with a serious expression on his face.

“I’m not sure coffee was what they needed,” I slip out.

Johnson huffs a laugh in response. “Accurate.”

“GREAT JOB HOLDING, HONEY!” Grace yells out a beat later.

“THANKS, GOLDIE!” he shouts in return, before swiveling back to me. “Sorry. What’s next?”

We repeat the same distance a few times, and to the delight of the peanut gallery, I nail them all. We follow that up with longer distance kicks, eventually pushing my starting place all the way to the fifty.

The crew on the deck has since broken up. Grace, Avery, and Rori are running on the track Johnson had built around the field for my sister. She’d smoke them in any race, but sometimes they train together at a pace that gives Rori and Avery the cardio they want, while stacking maintenance miles for Grace.

My brothers shout that they’re going to work out in Johnson’s home gym. Relief that they’re gone fills me when I miss a couple of the longer kicks. One is wide right, and one is too short.

“You got this,” Johnson reassures me.

“It’s alright. I know exactly what I did.” Small footwork mistakes that I can sense as soon as I make them.

Still, I’m feeling good. My first real shot at the NFL, coming up.

Once we finish the practice, though, a surprising burst of nerves returns.

No big deal, I try to tell myself, you’ll keep doing what you’re doing if it doesn’t work out.

Rawley volunteers to drive me to the Waves facility, needing to head in for his team meetings. In another circumstance, I would turn him down, but I could use the time to go through my visualization techniques.

In contrast to the Forever Field practice, his muted demeanor while driving is evidence he understands the stakes too.

Once we’re at the Waves facility, we separate, and I head straight to the field as Del had directed.

It’s not the first time I’ve been on the Waves field, with its eighty-thousand seats. But it’s the first time I’ve stepped on it as a potential player. The seriousness of the moment hits me like a ton of bricks.

Here’s your chance to take control of your future. Let’s fucking lock in.