Chapter Thirty

Justin

AVOIDING THE PARTY lifestyle had never been a challenge for Justin, not in high school or college, and now it was no different in the NFL. After a few no's, people stopped asking, and he was glad. They pretty much already knew he wasn't ever going to go. But McReedy was another story.

"You want to hang out this weekend?" McReedy asked.

Justin frowned. "I go out of town when we're off. It would have to be during the week."

" Every weekend?"

"Religiously. Weekends aren't an option. It'll be the same when our schedule changes, so it has to be while I'm here. But yes, let's do something," Justin agreed. "I need help finding a grill."

McReedy nodded. "Yeah, man, we'll go tomorrow after practice."

"Sounds good." Justin looked around the room as he tied his shoes, at which lockers were now empty and what faces were missing. He nodded at Hernandez and Miller. And then they were on the field for their second week of hell.

"You lied," Justin said as they passed by a still just as scary Holcombe and the other veteran players.

Holcombe barked out a laugh. "I swear it does; next week, you'll see."

On his way home, Justin stopped and got the things he needed for his apartment and the groceries he needed for the week. With his blackout curtains, all hung up at last, now, whenever someone parked, their headlights could go blind someone else. Justin decided he could survive a week at a time in the place. And it was nice, just not his home.

At last, he was hooked up and playing online with Ethan. He had his headset on, and they were playing against another team as he waited for his dinner to cook in the oven. Ethan asked him about a new game coming out that Justin wanted to play too. He told Ethan he'd get the online version for them and whooped as they destroyed the other team together.

"Still killin' twelve-year-olds in the NFL," Ethan chortled.

Justin had paused their play to eat, and they'd switched over to a phone call. Ethan told him about his day, all the things he was doing and accomplishing. Then Justin told Ethan about his day. He guessed Holcombe was right because it had been getting a little easier. He was in bed early but wasn't walking in the door and going straight cheek to pillow. And Justin realized that the suffocating feeling had faded somewhat. It was still there, just not as bad. Then, he told Ethan not to freak out if he had some things delivered and that he loved him.

Tuesday's practice was brutal, but Justin climbed in with McReedy, and they headed out to eat and then find Justin a grill. They had a good time at a small place, hoping not to get noticed. Justin knew that wouldn't last forever, but he'd enjoy it until it was over.

"So, Coach called me in and talked to me about some stuff," McReedy said.

Justin nodded and chewed as McReedy went on.

"He said the media would probably hit me up at some point," he said, indicating Justin. "Said you weren't a big media fan, so expect some backlash over that when the season starts. He wanted to make sure I understood we don't talk about you to the media. I told him, yeah, sure thing. But I wanted you to know what he said, what I said." And he waved a finger between them. "Trust and shit."

"I don't do the media. And I keep to myself," Justin admitted. "This is the first restaurant I've eaten at since moving here."

"No shit? How do you eat then?"

"I cook." Justin said it as if that's what you were supposed to do, and McReedy had himself a good chuckle.

"I guess that's why the grill makes sense," he carried on. "But back to the other." He gave Justin a severe look.

Justin shrugged. "Tell them to ask me or the media director."

"You seem way more chill about it than Coach."

"It's in my contract."

"No shit?"

"I hate the media, man. I used to sneak out early just to avoid them in college. This one chick got my schedule and was waiting for me when I came out of class. That's crazy. I'm not living like that with people following me around and yelling at me all the time. I just play ball and try to stay off their radar."

"It's cool, man, I won't ever say nothin'," McReedy said.

"Thanks."

"So you thinkin' gas or charcoal?"

Justin ate as McReedy told him everything he thought he knew about grills.

"Damn boy, that's a grill," McReedy said as they looked at the display for an outdoor kitchen grill. "You got room for that? I thought you lived in some apartments?"

"Yeah, I do. But that's just during the week. I have a real home I go to on the weekends. This is for there."

"Ah, a family man," McReedy said. "I get it. I say propane, especially if you plan on grilling a bunch of fish and chicken. Easier to maintain the right temperatures."

"Yeah, I think so too." Justin snapped a picture and sent it in a text.

Ethan: OMG, Justin, do not buy a grill.

"Well crap," Justin said.

"Got shot down by the honey?"

"You could say that." Justin sent another text telling Ethan he wouldn't. "I have a feeling I just fucked up a surprise."

McReedy laughed. "When's your birthday?"

And Justin joined him because he nearly forgot. "Yeah, no grill. Damn, I almost forgot my birthday is coming up."

"That's what happens when you're dog-tired, man; you can forget your own birthday. Just make sure you don't forget no one else's."

McReedy and Justin looked up and thought about it for a second.

"Nope, I'm good." Justin nodded.

"Well, what now? If you can't get a grill."

"I need to look at bikes and kayaks," Justin said, and McReedy whooped.

*

"SO, I GOT a boat in the mail today," Ethan said and then busted out.

"You like it?" Justin asked as he smiled wide.

"I do. Is this part of your ‘fill the great American garage' plan?" Ethan teased.

"No, this is the ‘think of things we can go do together in the off-season' plan," Justin said. "Damn. Hang on, that's Coach calling me."

"Hey, Coach," Justin said after switching to the other call. He listened as his coach told him about a request from a sports magazine to do an article about him.

Justin sighed. "Look, after I win a game, I'll do it, but I'm not interested until I have something to talk about. Tell them it's superstition."

Coach agreed, but Justin knew it would only get worse.

"Do you have to call me every time?" he asked. "I mean, I feel bad telling you no."

"No, this was just a big one management hoped you'd do; they've handled all the other ones."

"I will, but after a win." Justin repeated.

"Understandable." And he was gone.

"All right, sorry," Justin said, continuing with Ethan. "It was about a magazine interview I'm not doing. But I did agree to it after a win so as not to jinx myself."

"No lie," Ethan said. "Get me a sticker for my boat."

"What do you want? And I love how you call it a boat."

"I want a WAG bumper sticker to slap on my boat." Ethan laughed so hard and could barely say it as Justin started cracking up. "You have to…" Ethan tried to suck in air, and Justin was dying over it too.

"All right." Justin wiped his face. "I got you. It's happening."

*

JUSTIN WAS HAPPY at practice, finally starting to get a rhythm with the plays and the pace. He and McReedy clicked, had good communication, and read each other well. McReedy also protected his ass, so he and his offensive line were vital. They drilled snap counts and sacks, with the defense putting the pressure on a little more each day. Justin wrote on the whiteboard in the locker room as a joke:

Days Without Sacks: 0

And he just left it up there like that. He paused in front of the board a few days later when someone erased the zero and changed it to a one. Justin took some pride in the fact that someone had made it a goal and taken notice. No one erased it, either, and nothing else had been written on the board since he'd put it up there. So naturally, it eventually became the Sack Board, and Justin never imagined what a big deal it would become.

He met with Coach Richardson again on Friday. And again, Coach handed him the clipboard.

"This is it, the final ones. You get to keep six on that list. The rest go."

"Does everyone come in here and do this, or just you and I?" Justin asked as he scanned the names.

"Six, six," he mumbled, then circled three: Miller, Hernandez, and Jones. Then added three more who, out of all the rest, had shown the most improvement and had the better attitudes. They were fighting for their spots, and Justin felt good to pick out those names. He put a star by two others he liked but understood there was a cutoff. He handed the clipboard back over.

"Just you," Richardson answered finally. "Keep the circles, and what are the stars?"

"I like those two also but understand there is a line, a cutoff. If one of the others doesn't work out, I gave you my choices for alternates."

"Jones has done well this week. Think he can keep it up?

"I think we'll have moments when we have to remind him, but I think we keep him."

"Final cuts will be today."

"Yes, Coach," Justin said grimly.

"Tell Bart to get in here," Richardson said, comparing Justin's sheet with his own.

Justin went out to find the assistant OC. He relayed the message and then headed out for some drills.

McReedy lifted a brow. "Cuts?"

Justin confirmed quietly.

"Damn," McReedy said. "Today?"

Justin nodded. "Jones!" he yelled and motioned for the other player to get ready. Justin cracked his neck and stretched his arm. He got loosened up and then turned to McReedy. Justin needed to burn off some steam, and they were going to run Jones like a fast filly on derby day.

McReedy got it. "I'm with you."

And that's what they did. While Bart came out and called names one at a time, McReedy snapped to Justin, and Justin threw to Jones. Running Jones over and over and over until the last cut name was called. And Jones kept his shit together and drilled the whole time, dreading and waiting for his name.

"That's it," Bart called out. "Cuts are over."

And Jones shook his head, ran in, and hugged Justin.

Justin hugged him back. "I have big plans, Jones. You are a part of them, so don't let me down, man."

"Never, thank you," Jones said.

Miller stood there, mouth open, as Bart left. He locked eyes with Justin. "Holy shit," Miller said.

Justin slapped him on the back. "Congratulations."

Then, they got busy again, and the practice moved on. Their team was complete, roster-filled, and this would be Justin's new football family.

Three hours later, Justin arrived home only to find Ethan pacing nervously in the driveway.

"Miller made it," Justin said, not dragging it out, and Ethan pumped a fist, doing a little dance.

"I was so worried," Ethan said, taking Justin's bag from his shoulder. "But I also knew you wouldn't let him get cut. Thanks for helping him."

"Anything for you, but you do realize it wasn't up to me, and Miller is talented all on his own."

"Oh, I know, but you helped him. Now, time for your reward."

Justin liked the sound of that. It had definitely been worth all the days he'd spent after practice with Miller until he knew that playbook forwards, backwards, and probably dreamed left position plays in his sleep. He had no idea why Ethan had grown so concerned over a guy he'd probably never even meet, but that was Ethan—who was also currently nursing a baby bird he'd practically ripped out of the neighbor's cat's mouth back to health in their garage.

Ethan had sent pictures all week with status updates. He included shots of the new high-powered water gun he'd purchased, adding video clips of his ongoing war with the villain cat next door. Currently, it was Ethan with eight direct hits to Jingles and zero more birds.