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“Now.”
“Great. Is it okay if I tell Kepner? He’s called me into a meeting, and I’d like to tell him myself.”
“Absolutely. Tell him that I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Will do. Thanks.”
It feels like a load has been lifted from my shoulders. This has been what I needed to do for a while. It’s obvious now that it’s done.
I peek into the office, and Kepner looks up. I walk in and pick up my bag, put it on my shoulder.
“You’ll be getting a call from my agent this morning,” I say.
“Why is that?” he asks, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Because I’m retiring. Effective today. Now.”
The statement hangs between us with the weight of a football season that probably just drastically changed trajectory without me in it.
“I hope like hell you’re kidding,” he says, lifting a brow.
“I’m not.”
He sits up. “Have you talked to your agent? Considered the financial consequences of this?”
“Yes, to both.”
He rubs his forehead as his face turns a bright shade of red.
For a moment, I feel bad for walking out on him and the team. But that guilt only lasts a minute. It’s far outweighed by the lightness in my chest, knowing that I’m going to leave this all behind.
It’s time. It’s time to move on to something that fits this season of my life in a better way.
It’s time to move on with Poppy.
“How about you go home and take a day to reconsider?” Kepner asks. “Is this about your contract renegotiation? Because if you want to start it up now, we can. I’m happy to talk figures with Chuck.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need a day. My decision is made.”
“May I ask why? What would make you do something so drastic?”
I smile, shrugging. “It’s pretty simple. You asked me to put this team over everything else in my life, and I’ve done that for years. I’m not willing to do it anymore. That’s not fair to you, or my teammates, or the fans.”
Or me. Or Poppy.
“Finn,” he says, leaning forward. “I’m pretty sure we can work this out. Nothing’s been done. We can still talk through this.”
“Do you want to have somebody escort me out of here? Or do you want me to go on my own?”
He looks at me in disbelief and then shakes his head.
“Thank you for taking a chance on me, sir. It was a pleasure playing for you and this organization. I’ll always be thankful to you for this opportunity.”
He shrugs. “You’re welcome, Miller. It’s been a hell of a run, and I’m sad to see you go.”
I walk out of his door weighing about a hundred pounds less than I did when I walked in. I should be having some existential crisis about the end of my professional life, but all I can think about is the beginning of my personal one, and that’s the one I’m much more interested in.
I walk by photographs lining the hallways. Pictures of championship games, packed stadiums, and legends who have played for this team. My heart has the slightest twitch. I’ll miss this. I’ll miss parts of it terribly.
