Page 2 of Waiting for Her

Play football.

Love Bri.

Get a degree.Love Bri.

Marry Bri.

Have kids with Bri.

Well, things didn’t happen quite the way I expected.

I did go to college. Not just any university, either. My dream college. The one I dreamed of and cheered for from before I could walk. I did play college football and man, did I love Bri. But love wasn’t enough for her.

And a few years later, life sucked the biggest balls and I found myself staring up at the dark night sky, the sound of sirens getting louder as they approached me, unable to move, pain radiating from my leg after a car t-boned me, wondering how the fuck I got there.

“I can’t be with you anymore.”

The harshness of those words crippled me. I begged. I pleaded. I left every ounce of pride I had at her feet when I tried to explain I wasn’t like her father. That our lovewasenough. After weeks of trying to reach out to her, hoping I could convince her to stay with me, I finally let her go. Then, for months I wallowed in self-pity, wondering if I should go against her wishes and chase her down, try one last time to get through to her and make her see we were always meant to be together.

Letting her go hurt, but her not fighting for me, for us, hurt even more. And that hurt is what stopped me. That and, as ugly as it may be, my pride.

“You’ll never be able to play a contact sport again.”

When the doctors said the damage left by the accident had been too severe, permanent, I felt like my life had once again been stripped away. Those two sentences changed my life. Crushed me. One more so than the other.

Spoiler alert: it wasn’t the second.

Bri breaking up with me—the woman who wasn’t just my girlfriend, but mybestfriend and soulmate, the one I’d loved long before I really understood what romantic love was—devastated me. She was my partner in everything…

Until she wasn’t.

In six years, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Think about Bri and how she left me and walked away without a second thought. The realization she never really gave a shit about me hurt.

She couldn’t have, not if I was that easy to walk away from.

As soon as I step inside the Southern Michigan State football building, I take a deep breath and look around. The school colors of green and white are splashed everywhere. Banners hanging from the ceiling of the championships the football team has won. I spin in a slow circle, taking it all in.

On a far wall, a circle of team pictures surrounds a photo of the head coach’s smiling face. Coach Bales, the man who scouted me and then was there for me during a time when I thought my life was ending and my world was crumbling beneath my feet.

I owe everything to him.

And now, here I stand, ready to go before a panel of board members who will tell me what my future will look like.

The youngest head coach in the history of the university. Unheard of in our industry at twenty-six years old.

I tug down the sleeves of my navy suit jacket and adjust the green tie resting over my new crisp white shirt. Not subtle in my color choice in the least but I have bled green and white for as long as I can remember, cheered for the Warriors for my entire life. Iwantthis.

When I was a kid, I only dreamed of playing for this team. I couldn’t even imagine being given this incredible opportunity. Coaching was the last thing I’d ever expected, though my parents said being a leader is something that always came natural to me.

When I broke my leg and the surgeon told me I’d never be able to play football again, at least not without risking major damage to my leg, I had to make a choice. Either step away from the sport I love, or be involved in a different way. Now I can’t imagine a life any other way. When I watched the men grow and continue to learn, especially at this level, I was continually inspired. And like so many other plans in my life, the career I pictured for myself also shifted.

“Hey there, can I help you?” I blink and focus my attention to the woman standing behind the desk. She looks to be about my mom’s age. Her blonde hair is cut short, just below her chin and the skin around her eyes wrinkle in the corners as she smiles. When I don’t respond to her she just raises a brow and places a hand on her curvy hip.

“Grady?” she guesses.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts and my throat as I approach the desk. “Yes, ma’am. Grady Ryan. Here to…”

“See Coach Bales, correct?”

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