I sat in the first class lounge sipping coffee and responding to emails while I waited for my flight to board. At yesterday’s ceremony, I managed to avoid Marie, for which I was grateful. Lila, their mother, on the other hand, was stuck to my side like glue for a good portion of the day. Kate’s father, Donald, showed up and left, he’s as miserable as Marie. I’m sure the weight of the yesterday’s events along with being in the same room as his ex-wife was overwhelming, but he should have thought about that before cheating on Lila with his secretary.
“Wyatt Hamilton,” Thomas Sinclair greeted me. He was the head of the athletic department at Elliston University and my old quarterback coach.
“Thomas,” I said, shaking his hand. “Where you jetting off too?”
He laughed and ordered a glass of bourbon. “Meeting with one of our scouts up at Notre Dame. Ronnie’s got his eye on a running back up there.”
My eyes popped wide. “Think y’all have a chance?”
“Recruiting has been pretty solid the last few years. We feel over the next two years we’ll have a powerful roster.” He tipped his glass back and swallowed the dark liquid. “You betcha, Elliston will be gunning for a national championship soon.”
“Nothing would make me happier,” I admitted.
“Well, I’m glad I ran into you.” He leaned in. “You ever think about coaching college ball?”
Is he serious? No, I never thought about it. I was perfectly happy at Westmore coaching and teaching history. Coaching college ball meant a life back in the spotlight. More spotlight than I wanted.
“You pitching me, Coach?”
“If I was, would you be interested?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think that I would be, but I’m flattered.”
He slid his business card in front of me. “That’s got my cell on it—you call me if you’re ever thinking about a career change.”
My thumb brushed over the raised font. “I will, Coach. Thanks”
He stood clasping a hand to my shoulder. “Good seeing you, Hamilton.”
I watched as he strode down the terminal. That was interesting to say the least. Never in a million years would I have considered coaching college ball. It’s not like I needed the money or career advancement. I’d already achieved my dream: for a brief shining moment I played in the NFL, and I won a Super Bowl. I tucked his card into my money clip pushing all thoughts of a collegiate coaching job out of my mind.
Me: Boarding my flight soon. How’s your weekend?
Hannah: Uneventful. But I did tell Luke he could try for his driver’s license during fall break.
Me: Yes, fall break. One week, will I get to see you?
Hannah: You might. Luke is going up to Flathead Lake with Brandt and his family on Wednesday and they are staying through the weekend.
Me: I expect that you’ll be waiting for me, naked in my bed, as soon as they leave.
Hannah: Ten days. But I’ll be cheering for you at Friday night’s game.
Me: Ten days. I can’t wait
Monday morning roared in with a downpour.
“Richman, Walker, in my office, now,” I hollered as I made my way through the locker room. Morning practice had gone fairly well, but not nearly as good as I’d hoped. Walker missed two routes, plays he’d been making all season. I had no choice but to start Richman against Creswell on Friday.
“Yeah, Coach,” Luke said, with Brodie right on his heels.
“Take a seat, gentleman.”
Walker’s eyes met mine, defeat apparent.
“Richman you’re starting on Friday night.”
“But, Coach,” Walker groaned.
“My decision is final, understood?”
“Yes, Coach,” they both said in unison. Walker stormed out as I expected. Richman was glued to his seat.
I eyed Luke. “Well, what do want a hug? Get outta here,” I scolded, pointing to the door.
“Uh, thanks, Coach,” he said, rising to his feet. “I won’t let you down.”
“All right.” I tapped my pen to the desk.
In preparation for Friday’s game, I spent my free period immersed in game film with Brad and the rest of the coaching staff.
“These fellas are big and they are fast,” I pointed out. “They have an impressive secondary team,” I added.
Brad chimed in, “We’ve never seen anyone like them all year.”
I ran my thumb along my jaw. “But you know what? They haven’t played anyone like us this year either, gentleman.”
I had no idea what was going to happen tonight. Two things I did know for sure—we were either going to win or lose.
Cheers erupted around the stadium as we ran onto the field. The first quarter blaring sirens went off in my head when there was a miscommunication on a third down resulting in a fumble. My quarterback was sacked twice, and frustration rippled through the offensive line.
Second quarter, my receivers ran posts when they were to run fades. Balls fell short and ended up in no man’s land. The wheels were coming off, one lug nut and one spare part at a time. Duct tape would not hold this team together. I was about to kiss my hopes for an undefeated season goodbye.
“Come on, guys!” Davis yelled, balling his fists at his sides.
“Hey, Davis,” Sampson called out. “It’s just one play. Shake it off.”
“Sampson, just run your routes, not your mouth.”
Richman was the only one who seemed to have his head in the game when he recovered a fumble at the one yard line and kept it from resulting in a touchdown by Creswell.
“Put me in, Coach, I can play wide receiver,” Walker said.
“Not tonight, Walker.” My voice was calm but firm.
Half-time was time to regroup, refocus. I ran off the field, and my eyes caught Hannah sitting in the same spot and my heart collided with my ribs. She gave me a thumbs up and an easy smile.
Davis threw his helmet into his locker. “Guys! You gotta give me time to throw the damn ball.”
“All right listen up, Davis, you need to pull yourself together,” I said. “And to the offensive line, y’all look like you’re out there on roller skates. Gentleman, this is not a couples’ skate at the roller rink, this is a conference match up. We can either win here tonight or lose here tonight. The choice is yours.”
Third quarter, my defense exploded, turning two interceptions into touchdowns. Then my center blocked left when he was supposed to block right and Davis was knocked back so hard I was sure that he saw stars or pink bunnies.
They were off rhythm and distracted. Or was it me?
Fourth quarter, things turned around.
“Blue thirty-two, blue thirty-two, hut,” Davis called out.
Sampson ran the correct route and broke two tackles. Davis dropped back and launched the ball into the air. Sampson delivered with a touchdown and then we went for two with a surprise fake handoff where Davis scored.
Coach Van Horn didn’t congratulate me when he ran off the field right after the last second ticked off the clock. Probably went into the locker room to cry. I felt sorry for his players because they were going to get a hell of an earful and then some.
“Lions win. Westmore Lions win.”
Seven games. Seven wins.