Which is exactly what I’m doing right now.
Somehow in the five excruciating minutes of silence that have passed between us, I’ve begun to convince myself that this meeting has nothing to do with my performance as a player, and instead has everything to do with Lea and I. Maybe he found out about the two of us. I doubt Abel would tell anyone, though. And thankfully, October, and his unfiltered mouth, hasn’t returned to practice yet since he’s still healing from his head injury.
“You’re an outstanding player, Parker. I see a lot of potential in you and where you’re going as a player…” he trails off.
Goddammit. I got all worked up over that for nothing.
“Yesterday’s game… you disappointed me. For a lack of better terms, you played like shit.”
“I agree.”
Coach narrows his eyes at me. I’m assuming he doesn’t get too many players in his office who take criticism well. Some of my teammates have a chip on their shoulder. They’re convinced they’re the greatest gift to the game of football, and because of that, they can do no wrong.
I, on the other hand, welcome criticism. It keeps me humble. Makes me a better player.
Anyone who is too dense to realize that rarely lasts long in The League, anyhow. There are reasons the average career for League players is barely over three years. Sure, injuries make up a bulk of that, but a lot of guys opt to stop playing because they can’t handle the feedback and pressure it takes to become one of the best.
“Normally, I wouldn’t call a player in here after one lousy game. We all have shit days at our jobs—professional athlete or not—it’s just a part of life. The reason I’m seeing a cause for concern here is because I’ve noticed you’ve been slacking during practices lately.”
I hum. Maybe I should take back everything I just said about players not being able to take feedback well, because I couldn’t disagree more with Coach Sterling right now.
“I don’t know, son. It’s just starting to feel like you’re not living up to your full potential as a player. Which is a damn shame, because I’d like to see you have a long career here with us at the Matrix.”
With the Matrix?
I love this organization, and if Lea weren’t in the picture, I’d jump at the chance of staying here for a few more years. I will not put our relationship on the back burner, forcing us to tiptoe around for years, all because of my career.
It’s not fair.
If I have to choose between the Matrix and Lea, I’m picking her every time. No question about it.
Plus, there are two other teams in Florida—Tampa and Jacksonville—that I’d be more than willing to entertain offers from. Lea and I would have to be long distance during football season, but at least we would only be a couple of hours apart.
“I know your free agency starts after this season, but the higher-ups have been watching. You know I don’t deal much with the contractual side of things—best to leave that up to the agents and such—but I hear them talk… and your name is one that comes up often.”
I hear what Coach is trying to say, the underlying message he can’t outright put into words because of League regulations. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ll be the first to say his words are going in one ear and out the other.
In my mind, there’s no option to stay with the Matrix if it means I can’t be with Lea. At the end of the season, if Coach can somehow find it in his heart to forgive me for going against his rules, then maybe I’d consider this as a viable option. I won’t get my hopes up, because the odds of that happening are slim to none.
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“As your coach, I want to help you in the best way I can. So, if there’s something going on in your personal life—maybe someone new in your life—that’s taking up some extra space in your head during practice, I want you to tell me so I don’t think you’re taking things easy.”
Sure, Lea’s taken up more of my attention than usual these days, but not while I’m working. When I’m on the field, it’s me and the game. I zeroed my attention in on how I can improve as a player. Ways I can help my teammates, so we can win more games. This is a team sport after all, and as introverted as I am, that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to give pointers or help someone with their passing skills when I’ve got a free moment to do so.
When I’m at work, I give it my all. I work hard and everyone knows that. So, you can see why the claims Coach is making feel like they’re coming out of left field. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t the last person to leave the facility. In part because I’ve been hanging around later and later so I can leave around the same time Lea does, but even weeks before the barbecue, I was still one of the last players to leave the facility. Every day. Without fail.
I know how to separate business and pleasure. And hanging out with Lea after-hours has made no difference in my ability to perform as a player. She’s taken up hours of my time after work for years. The only difference now is that we’re spending that time together in person instead of hiding behind screens.
“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I’m asking whether there’s anything going on in your personal life I should know about.” He leans forward and places his elbows on the desk with a stern expression transforming over his face. “Anything that could be a cause for concern. Or be the deciding factor between you having a lasting career here.”
He can’t be referring to Lea, right?
There’s no way he knows about the two of us. Sure, I’ve stopped by her office frequently over the last few weeks, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary compared to the other guys. Lea might scare the shit out of us sometimes, but she’s got the team wrapped around her finger.
Plus, we’ve been careful. One date on the outskirts of town that no one seemed to pick up on. A dinner with our friends who swore they wouldn’t tell a soul until we had the chance to talk to her dad first.
