Coach raises his voice until it has an almost religious quality to it. “This team has been humbled. To go from winning a National Championship two years ago to not making the playoffs—is there any greater fall from glory? It reminds me of Icarus getting too close to the sun. I don’t say this to humiliate you. You didn’t choose your last coach, nor did you pick me. But I want to challenge you to keep your humility, because if you can come to the field with a humble heart, ready to learn, I can make you great again.” He looks straight at me. “I can take you where you want to go. We can win again. You can win again. This team has some of the best elite athletes college football has to offer, and if we work together, if we work as one, the sum will be greater than the parts, and we will kick ass on that field. Who’s with me?”
The guys cheer and stomp their feet, and Santos cracks a smile.
“That shit gave me goosebumps,” Cam whispers.
Santos is intense. Maybe we need that.
We’re instructed to head to the field for drills, but one of the trainers pulls me aside. “Coach wants to see you.” He chuckles at the expression on my face. “You’re not in trouble. Santos is talking to everyone recovering from an injury first. Wants to make sure we’re on the same page about how to get you back in action.”
I wait outside Coach’s office with a few other guys until it’s my turn. When I sit down, Santos has several file folders on his desk neatly arranged and color-coded. He taps a pen on the top one.
“Michael, you’ve had quite a career so far. A decent high school player who redshirted freshman year. Made some adjustments to your game and had an explosive comeback as a sophomore, rushing over a hundred yards in eight straight games and breaking Lone Star’s rushing record. After a shaky start as a junior—understandable given the situation with Krugman—you were on the road to the draft when you busted your knee and needed ACL surgery last December. Tough luck there. Where are you at with your rehab? How are you feeling about your progress so far?”
“I’ve achieved all of the milestones my physical therapist gave me. I got a green light to be here this summer.”
“I don’t want to disappoint you, but I believe in being upfront. I have no plans to play you before October.”
I pray my face doesn’t reflect the riot of emotions going through me, but what the fuck?
I’ll need every chance I can get this fall if I hope to be drafted in the spring. I can see the writing on the wall—just because Santos says he’ll play me doesn’t mean I’ll start. Or even get much game time. That speech this morning could be all BS. He wants to hype the team and win games. I still need to prove myself.
“Sir, with all due respect, if Adrian Peterson can return to the NFL nine months after an ACL surgery, if Joe Burrow can be a hundred percent after full reconstructive knee surgery, I don’t see why I can’t do the same. Not that I’m comparing myself to those guys. Just that if I’m careful and committed, if I’m dedicated, I’m hoping I can overcome the odds too. I’m running at full speed and started cutting drills last month.”
“Those are all good signs, but it’s imperative we not get ahead of ourselves. Because if we don’t rehab your knee properly, you stand a forty-five-percent chance of sustaining a career-ending injury.”
I know the statistics inside and out, but hearing them out loud makes me want to shit my pants.
Except I know what I’m made of. What I’m capable of doing. How hard I’ve worked these last several months. I haven’t busted my ass through a lifetime of competitive sports to fall short at the finish line.
“Sir, I hear what you’re saying. I just want you to know I have a comeback in me.”
He watches me while silence fills the room. “Let’s see how training camp goes. Judging by the fact that you’re a straight-A student, a leader on the team, and, from what I’ve heard, have been religious about meeting with the trainers in the off-season, I suspect you stand a much greater chance of overcoming the odds. Even the athletic director has good things to say about you, although between us, Liam is disappointed you’re not dating his daughter.”
I don’t know what to say about that. “She’s a lovely person, but I didn’t really click with Vanessa in a romantic way.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t hold that against you. Liam wanted me to assure you that your scholarship is not in jeopardy. I’m not one of those coaches who will cut funding for players who get injured doing what’s asked of them.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He has no idea how grateful I am to hear those words.
He folds his hands on the desk. “But when it comes to your rehab, we have to be careful. If I push you too hard or if we do something you don’t think you’re ready for, I need you to speak up. I need you to trust me to do right by you.”
Speak up.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him about Maggie. To tell him we’re having twins, but if I say anything, will that ruin his initial impression of me?
“Yes, sir.” I hear Maggie telling me to hold off and give Santos a chance to get to know me. It’s what we agreed to do.
Then why do I feel like shit for not bringing her up?
“Did I also see that you’re an Eagle Scout?”
“Yes, sir.”
“So am I, which means I expect great things from you.”
His words do not make me feel better.
At least that damn billboard ad isn’t up anymore. Because I’m sure the Saint would have plenty to say about it.
