Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
“No word yet, son,” he says as he shuffles some papers, not making eye contact with me. “Even if you don’t get the invite to Indianapolis, you’ll have a shot here at our Pro Day workout.”
Yeah, but hardly anyone important comes to Pro Day. It’s mostly for the fans.
Swallowing down disappointment, I sit for a second, not sure how to react. My hands clench. I felt sure I’d get invited after how well I played late in the year. Inside, I start to panic, but I battle it down when I see Coach is staring at me with worried eyes. How many times has he had to have this conversation with players? It’s a rare man who makes it to the NFL.
He must read my face.
“Don’t lose hope, Blaze. They haven’t finalized the list. My advice? You need to focus on training hard. Do you understand?”
My hands tighten around the armrests on the chair. “No one comes to Pro Day.”
He lifts his hands. “It’s all you have, son. Take what you get.”
Fine. It’s like that. I give him a sharp nod. “I’ll be flying around the gym like Superman, sir. I’ll be a Blaze blur every day, all day.”
“Good. You always are, but level up for me.” He gives me a concerned look. “You need that degree too. You need a fallback.”
My body tenses. “Right.”
“What’s your major?”
I’ve been staring at the floor. I look up at him. “History, sir. If the NFL doesn’t work out, I want to teach high school and coach.”
He nods and gives me a small smile. “I did the same thing. I was planning on being a PE teacher until I got a college coaching position. You’d be a fine teacher, Blaze. You’ve got an outgoing personality kids would gravitate to. Fine choice.”
“I failed a couple of classes last semester. I’m not the best student.” I try. I really do.
He frowns, maybe because he knows how much I struggle academically. “I get it. You’re a star here, and it’s a fine line balancing athletics and classes. You know the drill: get a tutor, study, lay off the alcohol.”
“Doing that already,” I say. “I’m dedicated, Coach. Any team would be lucky to have me.”
“I know, but we’ve got to get them to notice you first.”
My lips flatten. “If a national championship doesn’t get their attention, what will?”
He frowns and scratches his jaw. “I don’t know. Truthfully, I thought you’d be talked about more.”
Ah, shit, so I wasn’t wrong. For some reason, they just don’t want me. My shoulders deflate as all that anger whooshes out.
I’m not good enough.
Never have been.
Just the product of two meth heads from a nowhere place in Mississippi.
He toys with a pen. “Let’s not dwell on that. Put the media behind you, get out of here, and get back on that treadmill. I need you in tiptop shape, you feel me?”
“Yes, sir. I’m ready for it.” I stand, my legs heavy and tired as I face him. I don’t want him to see that he’s spooked me. I’ve got to bulldoze my way into the NFL; I just have to figure out how.
I think about the quotes I have taped up on my bathroom mirror.
Push yourself because no one else is going to do it.
You are responsible for your success.
You is all you have.
And fuck, that last one crawls around inside me and sticks.
5
“Wake up and get me a cigarette, bitch,” cries Vampire Bill, the African grey parrot that’s in his cage on my nightstand.
I ease up and glare at him from my bed.
Ryker stayed over with Penelope, my roomie and best friend, last night, so I pulled the parrot from her room into mine. Nothing kills the lovey-dovey mood like a parrot telling them to “Get your bony ass down the road and get a job.”
He was rescued by Penelope from a bunch of cigarette-smoking, belligerent, low-class morons. Our neighbors from across the street, they left him on the side of the road on their move-out day, and Penelope ran out to save him. She says he’s hers, and I guess he is, but I like to think of us as co-parents.
When I stretch and reach out to pet him, he fluffs his feathers and rubs the back of my hand with his head. I study his misshapen right wing, the one that keeps him from flying, and hand him a cracker from the box on the table. Regardless of the things he says, he’s an affectionate creature, and I have a soft spot for him. He reminds me of, well, me—a little broken but still fighting.
“Time to make this day my bitch, but no smoking for you,” I say, hopping up out of bed and putting on some new workout leggings and a T-shirt. Deadpool is on the front saying, Yeah, I’d do me. I sweep my hair up in a high ponytail and head out to the den of the house I share with Penelope. Her mom left it to her after she passed away, and it’s in a quiet neighborhood near campus.