Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Being 0 and 2 this season wasn’t helping.
Coach bitched at us for an hour in the locker room before he let us go. The stadium had emptied out almost before the game was even over. Playing for an emptying stadium because they were disappointed in you fucking sucked. I was over it. Losing was the worst, but the team had no chemistry. We were a mess.
I went to my apartment and wondered what the fuck had happened to my career. I’d gone in the first round of the draft. I’d broken records in college. I was fucking good, so why had I been traded to three teams and now we couldn’t fucking win?
I wasn’t surprised when I got the phone call the next day. When my agent told me to meet him at the team offices.
“You’re being traded,” Coach said as soon as Howie and I entered the conference room. I should probably care more than I did. “You need to get your shit together, Atwood. You’re too fucking good to be throwing your career away because you don’t make friends on your teams and can’t keep your name out of the headlines for the wrong reasons. If you don’t love football—”
“I love football,” I interrupted. I’d always fucking loved football, but then, why wasn’t it fun anymore?
“Prove it,” he said.
I didn’t reply. What could I really say? But I did ask, “Where am I going?”
It was Howie who answered. “Pack your shit. You’re heading to Denver. Nance wanted out. The Rush wanted him out. You got lucky. Don’t screw it up.”
My heart stopped, maybe even tried to climb up my throat. I was going to Denver…where Houston lived, to play on a team with his brother.
I wasn’t lucky at all. I was fucked.
2
HOUSTON
Garrett started blowing up our group chat at 4:30 while I was toweling off after returning from Canyon High, where I volunteered my football “expertise” to their team a few times a week. Canyon’s coach, Ed Beam, had reached out to me a few months after my injury to ask if I’d come talk to the team. It’d given me a distraction from bemoaning what I’d lost, and when he followed up, asking me if I’d come to a couple of practices and give pointers, I jumped on that, too. Then I just kept showing up. Despite my initial hesitation, it had become a part of my routine now, made me feel like I was still useful in some way. I loved the kids, too. Surrounding myself with their youthful optimism and dedication, helping build their confidence, gave me something to look forward to. It wouldn’t last forever, though; I needed a real job. Not because I needed the money, necessarily—I had enough if I managed it well—but because I needed a new direction, something I could devote myself to fully. It was just taking me a while to figure out what that direction would be.
I flicked my screen to life and read the message:
Garrett: Sway at 8 p.m. Be there, it’s gonna be lit.
The Rush was throwing an impromptu party to welcome Cullen to the team, and I’d already denied the invite earlier in the week. I wasn’t part of the team anymore, so why the hell should I be there? But Garrett kept insisting since he knew we’d played together in college. He thought it would make Cullen feel more welcome. I didn’t want to tell Garrett just how wrong he was, that my being there would have the opposite effect. I’d never told Garrett, or anyone else for that matter, that we’d hooked up in college. More than hooked up. I meant to keep it that way, especially now. It was better for everyone.
Cullen’s trade had caught me completely off guard, though it was probably par for the course for fans at this point since he’d been traded twice prior. Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised the Rush wanted him. It was a strategic move for a variety of reasons. Cullen, despite his media shenanigans, was a solid player. Cincinnati had been absolutely wrong for him. He shined on a team with a solid QB and a stout offensive line, which the Rush had, and anyone who’d been watching his career probably knew that—including Rush management. I also couldn’t help but wonder if PR had factored in, if management hoped taking a newly out player would further bolster the Rush brand as being inclusive. Still, there was a lot of risk involved, given Cullen’s history and how often he was in the media for reasons other than his prowess on the field.
Our airport bathroom encounter and the aftermath of Cullen’s painfully public coming out suggested my being around wasn’t a good idea, though. I didn’t trust myself not to go off on him. What kind of goddamn idiot would go to such lengths to keep his sexuality under wraps for the entirety of his career only to blow it in such a stupid way? And right after we’d hooked up again? It was almost like he’d been trying to make a point. Yeah, screw Cullen. The airport had been a mistake, and any future interaction with him was bound to be a mistake.