Shining Like a Motherfucking Comet

“Hut, hut, hut,” I call out. “Blue forty-two, blue forty-two, Arizona.”

The play clock ticks down.

And then, with a tenth of a second left, I’m hiked the ball.

I fall back, scan the field.

My receivers are in position but too well-covered.

Fuck!

The line isn’t holding the defense very well, either.

Double fuck!

Sure enough, the center gets beat and a linebacker heads up the middle, gunning for me.

Shit, no!

I’m so fucking done; I’m about to get sacked.

But wait, no, maybe not.

The safety on my right is wide open.

So I lob the ball to him.

Time stands still…until he catches it…and runs thirty yards for a touchdown.

Hell, ye—

I’m taken down.

Ouch!

That ice bath I plan to take later is going to feel so damn good.

Achy or not, I’m happy with this outcome. My A-squad just won the scrimmage, and that’s all that matters. I need to make a good impression. It’s no longer May, it’s late July, and this is my final chance.

It’s not mini-camp any longer, either. No, that time has passed. Oddly, nothing ever came of the time I spent here in May. And I still don’t know why.

All I know is, after I returned to Las Vegas, I never received an official offer.

Weird.

If Jock knew why the Comets passed on me, he never revealed it. Though, truth is, we haven’t really talked much since then.

That is, until Jock called last week. He wanted to let me know the starting quarterback position with the Comets was still open…and back on the table.

I asked him what had changed.

His response was simply to say that I needed to fly back to Columbus; the Comets were holding last-minute tryouts for positions they needed to fill before training camp.

So here I am, playing in a scrimmage, my fifth of the week. I’m doing really well, but I haven’t been offered a contract, not yet.

Hmm…

There must’ve been something about me the Comets didn’t like back in May. Hope it’s not holding them back now. For the life of me, though, I have no idea what it could be.

I shined at that mini-camp.

But who fucking knows?

All I do know for sure is that the contract Jock had been waving around that day on the phone, the one he faxed over to me, which I reviewed and was happy with, suddenly wasn’t on the table any longer.

I was so humiliated that I never told anyone I’d flown to Ohio and tried out for the Comets. I felt like not only had the NFL forgotten about me, even the new league didn’t want me.

But now they might.

Shit, I hope I get signed.

I like Columbus. It’s like a little bit of country, a dash of big city, and a whole lot of farm-y on the outskirts.

Still, I think this place would be good for me, and so does someone else.

After keeping my failed tryout a secret, I decided I had to let someone know what was up this time around.

So I told Benny Perry.

And he’s amped for me.

“Columbus is cool,” he said during the call when I broke the news. “They have a hockey team, you know.”

I chuckled. “Hell, guess it’s a done deal, then. I better get picked up by the Comets.”

Turning serious, he said, “Hey, you will. You’re a damn good quarterback, Graham.”

Not to brag or anything, but I am, I really am. And it’s just not that easy to find a “damn good” QB for the steal the Comets are looking to sign me for.

That is, if this comes through.

My teammates on the field come up to me, tearing me from my thoughts, and we celebrate our scrimmage win.

“Good game, Tettersaw,” one of the guards says.

“Awesome throw,” the scoring safety adds with a rap to my back.

And a tight end named Caleb, whom I’ve really hit it off with this past week, tells me, “You got this, man. There’s no way the Comets aren’t going to sign you.”

“From your lips to God’s ears,” I say.

“I think you mean ‘from my lips to management’s ears,’” he corrects with a chuckle.

“Yeah, right, them too. Put in a good word for me, yeah?”

Nodding, he teases, “I’m on it, man.”

These guys are cool. I really hope I get this gig. It doesn’t matter about the money. If I’m offered the same contract I saw back in May, I’ll take it. I’d still be bringing in some decent bank. Not megabucks, mind you, but nothing to scoff at.

I’m okay financially, anyway. I’ve saved and invested wisely, the gym in Las Vegas being one of those investments.

Speaking of which, I already decided that if I’m signed, I’m going to turn the gym over to Chloe and Dylan so they can run it.

As for some other loose ends, I spoke with Benny about him finding a new sponsor. I promised I’d put together a list of names for him.

He’s cool with that. He just wants to see me succeed.

Damn, I do too. I want to play football again so much that I can taste it. These practice scrimmages have me jonesing for the real deal.

And then there’s my list to think of—playing football professionally is still the main goal.

Well, I should know my fate soon enough. Today is the last day of scrimmages, then decisions have to be made.

If the Comets want me as their starting quarterback, I know what my answer will be.

No matter the terms, I’m signing on the dotted line.

I don’t care what they ask of me.

At this point, I’ll do anything.