Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
My eyes flare and I swallow.
“Someone can always beat us to your pick—if you go out—but the way things are going for us, we’ll probably have a top pick in the draft. Our team is struggling. No secret there.”
One of the worst in the league. “My stats from this year aren’t a factor?”
He frowns. “It’s concerning. We want to see the production on the field, but we feel we can help you improve. I’m not saying first-round pick—that isn’t going to happen for you and you know it—but top of the third round or maybe bottom of the second depending on how you perform at the combine in March. We might scoop you up then.”
Might.
I haven’t planned on going to the combine. I planned on coming back. Sorta.
“In fact, if I were you…” He leans forward. “I’d finish this semester, unenroll for the spring, and spend your time prepping for the combine. There’ll be scouts and teams everywhere, checking out the new talent. You could really shine, River.”
I lean forward. “The truth is, sir, my mom really wants me to get a degree because…” she believes in me “…my dad never got his. Then, he blew out his knee. Football wasn’t important anymore.”
“Ah, we love those moms. I heard about your dad a few years back. I never met him, and I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”
I glance out the window and up at the sky searchingly. I rub my chest. Yeah, I hope so.
“You have a good talent. It was a hard year. Your defense had some big holes. It wasn’t just your offense. Your last game—fuck, son, I don’t know what happened there…” He smirks.
I glance back at him. Life happened.
You only regret the things you didn’t do.
Jesus! Anastasia won’t get out of my head!
“Right, but I thought it might make more sense to grow here as a player, then go out for the draft after. Be a first-round pick.”
“What do you want, River?”
I rub my forehead, that anxious pit growing deeper in my gut. I’m afraid to leave the security of this place behind, and I hate to disappoint Mom, yet part of me yearns to release this pretense of getting an education, say Fuck it and go play pro, even if it is for lower pay.
I could build with them. I have the talent, the determination, the leadership skills.
He actually wants me.
I glance back to the window as I frown and let that sink in. It’s not my dream, to be a low draft pick, but…
“River? You okay?”
“Yeah.” I rub my face. I’m fucking this up. I need to show confidence, but shit, my head is all over the place. “I have a lot on my mind. I really want…” to see my mom. Hold her. Ask her if she’s okay. I want to see Anastasia. Hold her. Ask her if she’s okay.
“I’m kind of in a holding pattern.”
He studies me. “I know about your learning issues, and you wouldn’t be alone. Several players deal with difficulties. We have special playbooks, flashcards, videos, and one-on-one mentoring. I can pair you up with a veteran who’s been down the road you have.”
“Ah.” Wow.
“Taylor also told me about your mama’s cancer. Houston is home to MD Anderson, one of the best cancer centers in the world. I’m sure she’s getting great care, but if you end up in Houston, she can get that same care or better. Would love to meet her.”
I dip my head and stare at the ground. He makes it sound so easy. Has he met my mom? She’d tell him her care is top-notch and he’s using emotional manipulation like a pro. “I appreciate that, sir.”
He clears his throat. “Look, it’s a big decision.” He stands up and straightens his sport coat. “I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to let you know your options and what we’re thinking.”
I stand. “Right. This isn’t a promise from you. I get it, and I appreciate the candor.”
He gives me a smooth smile. “We’re strategizing, yes. I’m checking out Justin Fowler tomorrow. Great wide receiver for Alabama. Guess you know him?” A brow arches.
I wince. Yeah, I know him. They beat our asses.
He gives me his card and we say our goodbyes.
After he leaves, I close Coach’s door and plop back down in the seat. I need silence. To think.
If I pick the draft, that lit class doesn’t even matter. I can flunk every course, knowing I’m not coming back. I can spend time with Mom, help take her to the doctor, help Rae move in with Jagger after the wedding, work out, hit the combine in March, the draft in April, then summer camp with whatever team I end up with. I’d never have to sit in a classroom again. On the other hand, I’d be giving up another year to improve my stats, get a possible degree, spend time with the brothers—