Chapter Twenty-Two

Justin

MCREEDY WAS WATCHING the coverage of the Combine and waved him over. "They're talking about you." He turned up the volume.

A commentator panel sat around a table on one of the major sports networks.

"So, this kid, a tight end, shows up at the Combine, somehow ends up on the QB schedule, and runs through the throwing drills. Yeah, yeah, let's get this over with, moving right along to what I really play, " the announcer said and laughed. "And his performance and scores blow all the QB candidates out of the water." They were all hamming it up on the show. "I mean, you can see him muttering about it. Watch this footage. It's just great."

"Fuck," Justin grumbled and sat down at the end of McReedy's bed as McReedy flopped back, laughing his ass off.

Sure enough, Justin watched as he , on TV, shook his head and said something as he hurled the ball. Then he was moving along like, yeah, yeah .

"And look at these stats," the announcer hooted. "High school state champs three years, this guy . But this next clip is a classic. A college receiver in the QB position throws a Hail Mary. Sit down, people. You'll be seeing this pass for the next week."

"Fuck." Justin knew the exact pass they were about to show.

McReedy sat up as if he hadn't seen this part yet.

"Look at that score, the time on the clock, the crowd, and watch this…" the announcer was saying. Justin threw the longest, highest pass of his career for the playoff win. And the crowd went absolutely insane, right along with the team and the coaches.

Justin nodded, remembering the moment well.

"Damn, dude," McReedy said. "That shit brings tears to my eyes."

"Yeah."

" Halstead , the announcer continued. "Write it down. Remember it as Florida and California duke it out for either the next great quarterback or a future hall of famer receiver. Which will it be? I know where I think he'll land and what position we'll see him playing. Tweet us your votes." The X handle for Justin Halstead popped up across the bottom of the screen.

Justin's phone rang.

"I swear to God," Ethan said. "I mean, we are so fucked."

"I know. I told them I'd rather play receiver or tight end, but I think they're going to push for QB," Justin said quietly as he turned Ethan's shrieking volume down and went out onto the balcony.

"Can we still do this?" Ethan asked, also quiet now.

"I think so, or we can try. Go with the original plan, two years, beach house, and you know the rest."

"Okay, have you seen what they're playing on the network? My Dad is just over the moon, worried, torn," Ethan said. "And now I'm pissed you've been playing catch with me. Of all people, Justin. My God ."

"Aww, you're the best person to catch with," Justin said as Ethan momentarily freaked out.

"You're okay?" Ethan asked when he calmed down.

"Yeah, another full day tomorrow and then home. I just miss you."

"Don't say it back, but I love you," Ethan said.

He returned the calls to his dad, John, Shawn, his coach, and ignored all the numbers he didn't recognize from other states, knowing they were probably agents or reps of other teams he had no desire to play for.

"If they put you in QB…" McReedy said.

Justin just realized it. "Holy shit, my center, my man."

"Damn straight," McReedy said with pride. "We'd make a good team."

"I agree. Might make this QB thing worth it."

McReedy high-fived him.

*

JUSTIN RAN HIS ass off, sprinted, and vertical jumped. He cleaned up for final interviews; there were three teams left to meet with. He had a feeling they'd be short meetings.

"I appreciate the interest, but my heart is set in the south," Justin said and thanked them, turning down the hint of one ridiculous offer.

And it was the same with the second one. But the third —the third one hit him with a new angle.

"We understand you dislike dealing with the media; you avoid it, sneak out of your locker room, and refuse interviews," the assistant coach said. "There are only a few reasons a player like you would avoid the media like the plague." He nodded knowingly, then held his hands up. "Whatever those reasons may be, we can assure you, no hounding, all interviews with approved questions, and no off-script questions. We will protect you."

Justin leaned back in his chair and thought it over as they waited.

"And if you had a player who presented a media issue," he said finally, "how would you deal with that hypothetical situation?"

Two of the assistants leaned in and spoke quietly to each other, then one turned and whispered something into the coach's ear. Justin wasn't sure what had been said, but the coach seemed pleased, as if understanding they were on the same page. "We respect our players' privacy; they're here to play a game and provide sports entertainment, but they would have our support as long as their media issue was not of an illegal nature. Other than that, we are fully committed to our players, and that would be in your contract."

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you for your time. I have a lot to consider."

They all shook his hand, and he made the call when he left. He met Coach Richardson at a burger joint and explained what the other team had offered.

Richardson chewed his food and wiped his mouth. "We can establish there is a media issue that concerns you, and all you're asking is for us to match the promise they made?"

"Yes, sir. I'm all in as I've said, but they knew what to dangle in front of me."

The coach contemplated this for what seemed like a long time. "And the QB spot puts so much more attention on you," he said, indicating he'd come to some conclusion.

"And I have no interest in being in a particular spotlight."

"You've pulled it off for the last three years. We had no clue."

"I just want to keep it that way and play ball."

"In six months, am I going to be dealing with some picture of you in a bathroom at a club?"

"No sir, I don't party or drink; I rarely go out." Justin chewed on his lip for a moment. "I'm in a committed relationship. Just over a year now."

"I see," the coach said, his eyes widening. "We can swing the approved questions and no off-script. We'll work with our media department and promise support. This is why you don't have an agent?"

Justin nodded.

"Yes," the coach finally said. "But we don't bring anyone else in on this, only you and I. And you'll play for me until we reach a point where we know the gig is up. I'm investing far more into you than you giving me two years."

So apparently, they did know a few things about him that he hadn't revealed. Justin closed his eyes and blew out a breath.

"Ah, tough sell," the OC said. "You'd have the same problem with them."

Justin prayed briefly Ethan would forgive him for this. He opened his eyes, decision made. "Yes, sir, I accept. If you still want me—knowing what you do. And if you don't, then I'll sign with them. You have an easy out."

"Oh, no. I want you , and I don't know shit," he said, reaching across the table.

"Thank you, Coach," Justin said and shook his hand. "I'm yours."

"I've never had a prospect whose coach was so proud of his player as yours. Just thought you should know that. I have a lot of respect for your coach. And if you play for me like you've played for him, I promise to look out for you as he clearly has done for you the last three years."

"Thank you, I will. I love ball, and yeah ." Justin smiled. "If you're half the coach he is, I'll still give you my all. He's special."

His coordinator nodded. "You want McReedy then?"

"Definitely."

Richardson smiled too. "You two seem to already have a close bond."

"Yeah, great guy," Justin said.

"I'll let you know if anything changes, but I feel like this is a done deal," he said, and Justin agreed, getting a box for his uneaten food.

"Good, then I can tell you. Matt's my son. Thanks for how you treated him."

"You've got a great kid; tell him I said hi."

They parted ways with another handshake, and Justin took his box and grabbed a taxi back to his hotel. He couldn't wait to tell McReedy. His stomach churned over telling Ethan.