Shaw
“Today we’re joined by the touchdown shuffle master himself, Dawson Shawfield.” TJ “Smitty” Smith, a retired teammate and friend, drawled on my computer screen as we taped his podcast—me at home in my makeshift office with my newly set-up sound equipment, and him in his home office. Brilliant thing about podcasts and technology: there was no need to travel to a studio.
“Hey, man, how’s it going?” I asked, sitting back in my chair with the haphazard background Kelcie and Grace had helped me arrange so it didn’t look as sparse as it was. A borrowed bookcase from Dylan, a few books and photos from Grace and Kelcie, and, of course, a football and knick-knacks from Aaron.
“Good, man. How’s the shoulder?”
I nodded with a smile and folded my hands in my lap. “Getting there. How’s retirement?”
“Ah, pretty damn nice, to be honest. I went a whole two years without breaking something. Want to join me?” He was fishing. It was the question everyone was asking me, constantly.
I laughed it off. “Ha. Ha. No comment.”
“I’m sure it would make a lot of linebackers and defensive coaches really happy.”
“I’m sure it would. Probably my doctors and physical therapists too. I think they’re getting tired of putting this Humpty Dumpty back together. But they do a good job, and I feel like a new man each time they do.”
“No doubt,” he said. “But seriously. Let’s talk facts. You are getting up there in age for a tight end. Have you thought about giving it up and sitting back to enjoy the fruits of your labor?”
I dropped my head and then looked up at him with a smirk. “I have a few weeks to make it back to the season, and then we will see. Right now, our team is doing phenomenally, and my main focus is getting back to help them as fast as I can.”
TJ had set up a nice life for himself after his football career ended, and I needed to take note of it. I’d been to TJ’s mansion in Florida and knew this podcast wasn’t just a hobby. His was quickly becoming the top-rated podcast on the apps, and that meant advertising money. While Riley had nagged me about moving to LA, one thing she’d been right about was that I needed an exit strategy. More and more, it was becoming apparent that my football career was coming to an end, and I had no idea what was next for me. And man, I just couldn’t swallow that reality yet.
TJ glanced over at the sound booth, where Aaron was studying the soundboard, asking questions. “Clearly, you have a lot to keep you busy.” I’d introduced Aaron to TJ earlier, and the two of them had hit it off, quizzing each other on team rosters and statistics. What truly impressed TJ was that Aaron could describe what plays had been called in random games from five years earlier in the order they’d been played.
“Okay, fine. But let’s just theorize…hypothetically speaking…if you were to retire…”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and I dramatically rolled my eyes.
“IF you were going to retire…how would Carolina fill the hole left by you?”
“Come on, man, no one can replace me,” I said to him, leaning back and running my hands down my chest. You couldn’t be at my level and not throw down cockiness now and then.
“Yeah, but if you were Coach Lubiski, what would you do to shift the offense? Is there a tight end out there that could carry your mantle, or would it mean rethinking some of their game?”
“I couldn’t begin to tell you?—”
“Because there’s talk…”
“There’s always gossip, man,” I was quick to point out. “It’s what makes podcasts like yours so riveting.”
He chuckled, but he was like a dog with a bone. “That big guy out of Alabama. Everyone is saying he’s the next Dawson Shawfield—and he’s waiving his junior year to enter the draft.” TJ was backing me into a figurative corner, pointing the pen in his hand at me. “Just like you.”
Aaron caught my attention from my doorway, waving his hands madly, jumping up and down. We told him the rule was he could stay in the hallway if he wanted to watch, but he had to be quiet. I’d given him a pair of headphones so he could listen to both TJ and me. In hindsight, it was probably a mistake, because Kelcie told me he’d have opinions.
Trying to ignore his gestures, I looked back to TJ on the screen. “He’s good. No doubt he’s the tight end to watch in the draft class.”
“Nonetheless, you’ve had some amazing, memorable plays. Like that one you had against San Francisco four years ago when you had that slant route. Perry was forced out of the pocket, and you were open and ran and dragged defenders for forty-seven yards for the game-winning touchdown.”
Aaron slowly inched in farther until he was eventually behind me, and his waving caught TJ’s attention. “I think your friend there has some thoughts about our conversation. “What? Did I say something wrong?” TJ said.
I rubbed my hand over my jawline. “This is my resident expert and advisor,” I said.
TJ let out a small chuckle, the type you do when you find a kid cute. Okay, then, we were doing this. It might be amusing to see Aaron take on TJ—and it would definitely take the heat off of me. “Do you mind if he joins us?
TJ’s eyebrows shot up, but he was curious enough to let it roll. “Sure. Sure.”
“Aaron, pull up that other chair,” I said, making room for him to join me by the mic.
