Page 4 of Gridlocked on the Gridiron

The smile on Rudy’s face disappeared the moment Coach said his name, but Coach Turner wasn’t done. “Two weeks in a row.” He held up two fingers for emphasis, scanning across the room. “Two weeks in a row! I am sick and tired of seeing mistake after mistake out there on that field. It’s a goddamn disgrace. You’re playing like you’ve barely started college ball. You want to go back to the NCAA? Be my guest. I don’t want to see y’all’s faces anymore anyway. Hit the showers, and be ready for the airport in fifteen.”

After his five-minute shower, Colton checked the ESPN app, ignoring the burning garbage that was his stats. He searched “Landon Beaumont,” noting his brother’s game was in the late stages of the fourth quarter. Even so, Landon had put up a whopping ninety-three receiving yards and two touchdowns for the San Jose Sentinels. Lucky bastard. His chest swelled with pride for his younger brother, but the competitive man inside of him—who conveniently seemed to have his father’s voice—told him he needed to step up.

As if willed into existence, his phone chimed with a text from his father. Below it were ESPN notifications from the games of the day, one of which was titled, “Super (Beau)mont On the Way Out”. How original.

He’d heard them all. Over the previous six years and even in college, the media had found a way to crow over everything about him, from his race to his potential love interests, rarely ever focusing on his actual abilities. He couldn’t even recall the number of times they’d posted some variation of “Quarterback's Success Spices Up the Game!”. It didn’t bother him nearly as much as it used to, but he still couldn’t fathom why his being Indian warranted so much talk. At least this article discussed his game and not every other aspect of his life.

Before he’d even had time to read his father’s text, Colton’s screen flashed with his contact, taking up the whole screen with the unsolicited phone call. Colton sighed deeply, sweeping his thumb across the bottom of the screen and bringing it to his ear.

“Dad.”

“That performance was abysmal. I’m glad I didn’t fly out to watch like I’d planned.”

And there it was. His shoulders stiffened at his father’s words as they often did. “Hello to you, too.”

“What were you thinking with that pass up the middle into double coverage in the second quarter? Of course it was going to get picked off. That was a rookie mistake, and I taught you better than that.”

He felt a hand on his shoulder as his father rambled on in his ear. When he turned, Cooper, the Sabertooths’ top tight end, cocked his head toward where their teammates were leaving.

“Your dad?” he whispered. When Colton nodded, Coop shot him a sympathetic smile. Cooper Hayes was Colton’s closest friend, all too familiar with the pressure his father put on him.

“Are you even listening to me, Colton? How can you expect the Sabers to keep you as their starter if you can’t get your yards up and your picks down, huh? And what about everything I taught you about looking across the field as you scramble? I’m ashamed to call you my son today.”

The rage that simmered inside Colton any time his father spoke to him like this began bubbling to the surface, but he knew what would happen if he tried to interrupt or explain himself. How dare you talk to me like that? I’m the reason you’re in the NFL. Without me, you never would’ve made it, even as a free agent.

And, unfortunately, that was probably true. His father, the famed Troy Beaumont, would’ve been an NFL great if not for his career-ending hip fracture during the national championship his senior year of college. He’d turned down a college coaching job because Colton was a newborn and their family was already established in Los Angeles. Coached all of his little league and middle school games. Attended every single practice and game through high school. Submitted his highlight tape to college scouts. Sat in the family box during college games, home and away. Without his father’s coaching and sacrifices, Colton wasn’t sure he ever would’ve made it to the top quarterback spot at Crestview College, let alone been an early NFL draft pick and a Super Bowl winner. Colton wouldn’t have been anything without Troy Beaumont. The debt he owed his father was far too great to ever be repaid.

That didn’t change the fact that he hated his father’s ceaseless lectures.

Still, he slammed the door in the face of that simmering rage, nodding as he followed his discouraged teammates to the team bus, police escorts already waiting to take them to the airport. He ducked his head as cameras flashed around him, not interested in having this conversation plastered all over the internet. Especially not when he was limping to compensate for rolling his right ankle during the game. He didn’t need other teams seeing any weakness from him.

“You’re right. I made a lot of mistakes this game. I didn’t do a good job of looking down the field, and my pocket performance was less than stellar. My rush game wasn’t nearly where it should’ve been. I need to get more reps in and practice harder before the next game,” Colton said like a robot, shoulders slumping in defeat.

“That’s right. I’ll send you a lift plan to help even out your game a bit more. Just get in the gym earlier than the rest of the team. That’s the only way to stay ahead of the other quarterbacks. Reps, reps, reps. Get in there early, leave later, and get more reps in.” Colton heard him rummaging through some papers, and he could picture his father sifting through pages of play sketches as he turned on his computer. “Or else you’ll get beaten out by that rookie. He had a good season a couple of years ago.”

“Well, Elijah’s not exactly a rookie anymore, and Coach has no intention of cutting my time.”

“Yet. If you keep playing the way you have the past two games, that will all change. Especially if the GM and owner get involved.”

Colton wasn’t going to ask his father how he seemed to know so much about this when he himself had never been in the NFL. He was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He was tired of talking to his father—or rather, being berated by his father—and quite frankly, he was getting tired of the sport that used to bring him all the joy in the world.

“You’re right.” Because that was the only thing his father cared to hear. It was the only thing that would make this call go faster so he could lay his head on the window and try to recover from all the hits he’d taken from giant linemen during the game.

His father hummed his agreement. “I’ll be at next week’s game.” Of course he would. The man had bought a house in Charleston and moved his whole life there when he’d found out his eldest son would be the star quarterback for the Sabers. “I expect a much better performance Friday.”

“Of course. I’ll be sure to get in the gym before and after practice every day this week.”

“Good. And have your brother call me.”

As if he couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and call Landon himself. Colton sighed and checked the time on the call as he climbed the stairs of the bus, noting it felt like it’d been ten times longer than it actually had.

“I’ll let Landon know. He played well today, so don’t expect a call tonight. I’m sure he’ll be celebrating.”

“Fine. See you Friday.” And just like that, the fever dream that was nearly every conversation with his father was over.

Colton sat in Coach Turner’s office, staring out the tall windows that overlooked the training field. They’d gotten back late from the game the night before, and their “rest day” hadn’t felt very restful for Colton. He’d gone to the trainer to tape his rolled ankle, taken an ice bath, and then had a meeting with Coach Fillmore, the quarterback coach. He’d thought his day was done, but then he’d been told Coach Turner needed to see him in his office, which was never a good sign. Maybe his father had been right and they were going to cut his playing time.

Mark Turner swept into the office, his clipboard and earpiece clattering onto his desk. He took a seat in a very expensive, plush-looking, white chair and cleared his throat. He waited to speak until Colton met his eyes.

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