Page 13 of Hard Count
He walks toward me with a hint of a smile on his face and confidence in his steps. He’s yet to notice me standing in the hall as a few other people walk in front of me. Their cover offers me a moment to appreciate him without being obvious.
His dark gray workout shorts sit a few inches above his knees revealing several tattoos on his right leg. It’s not quite a full sleeve but it’s close. A fitted sweatshirt covers up his arms, which I know are free of any ink. I’ve watched those hands and forearms work enough times I could draw them from memory.
He finally looks up and notices me posted against the wall next to a team photo from over twenty years ago. His smile dims and that has me standing up straighter. It isn’t the reaction I was expecting, or maybe hoping. Not that I thought he would be excited to see me.
“Drew,” he greets me. “How have you been?”
“Good. You?” I rock nervously on my feet. I’m not usually intimidated by men but there is something about this man. He’s seen behind the veil. He isn’t asking me how I’ve been. He wants to know if things are any better with my dad.
“Good.” His lips flatten into a thin line as he studies me openly. Under different circumstances I might find his intense examination arousing. I may even flirt back. Instead I avert my eyestoward my dad’s office. “You came to see your dad?” he asks.
“Yes. I need to talk to him about something.”
He winces. “He’s about to have a meeting before practice.”
“I know. I’m his meeting. I made an appointment.”
Nash nods, his eyebrows knitted together with concern. “Of course you did. He’s your dad. You know him better than most.”
I offer him a small closed-off smile when really the comment is a pinch on my heart. I’ve known the man my entire life but I couldn’t tell you if he likes crunchy or smooth peanut butter or if he puts the milk in before or after the cereal. He was barely around for the big moments of my life. He definitely wasn’t around for the mundane ones.
“Yep. And I know he hates it when people are late. I should…” I point toward my dad’s office and spin around Nash.
“It was good seeing you again,” he says, his hands tucked in the pocket of his hoodie. “Maybe I’ll catch you…hanging around.” The corner of his mouth lifts at his teasing remark.
“Only if you’re lucky,” I toss the words over my shoulder with a hint of innuendo. I know I played a good hand when I hear his deep chuckle behind me.
I tap lightly on the office door with Nash’s eyes still on me. A commanding “come in” is spoken from the other side. I twist the handle and peek over at Nash. He nods at me with a smile and begins his retreat toward the locker room knowing I’m safe inside.
“Hi, Dad.” I close the door behind me and approach him with caution. He stands and meets me at the corner of his desk for a hug. It isn’t unheard of for our interactions to begin amicably. His response to my proposal will determine how we part ways.
“Hello, Drew. How are your classes going?”
“Great so far. The reading and writing assignments seem easy enough to keep up with.” At least from what I can tell based on the syllabus I’ve been given from all my professors. The semester just started a few days ago. I’m getting used to waking up early for classes again after lazy days by the pool over the summer.
“Good to hear.” He follows my eyes as I glance around the room. “It’s been a few years since you’ve visited me here.” He’s smiling but it doesn’t push past the pain and hurt he holds in his eyes. I want to say I’m sorry for not coming by more but he helped build this purgatory he’s currently living in.
His office is a decent size. Large enough to hold meetings with several coaches or players at a time. I sit in one of the brown leather club chairs he has facing his desk. Behind me there is a couch and full living room set with side tables and a coffee table.
It wouldn’t surprise me if the closet is packed with bedding for all the late nights he spends in this room. I remember my mom complaining about him always being gone like he was across the country but he was actually here the whole time prepping for game day.
“It has.” I spent one night a week and one full week a year with my dad after their divorce per court order. Fall break my junior year of high school we came to his office a lot. We spent most of the week looking at recruitment tapes for future players. I recorded every session. Even back then I wanted to collect proof for my resume.
“What brings you by today?” He checks his phone and fires off a quick message before placing it on his desk. “You had something you wanted to discuss?” he questions.
“Yes,” I answer with a death grip on my backpack in my lap. With unsteady hands I unzip my bag and pull out the report I put together on the offense and defense of their opponents for their game this weekend. It isn’t much but it’s a small taste of what I’m capable of doing.
I’ve spent the last few nights going through tapes on their opponents and creating player dossiers. I know most of their strengths and weaknesses. From what I've found in my research we’ll be able to beat them on Saturday with a few small tweaks to our current playbook.
“Last year I had a job on the coaching staff. A job might be the wrong word. I was more of an unpaid consultant.” I hand over the report. I even had it bound at the local copy shop. “I would watch game film of our team and our opponents and create an adjusted plan each week.”
He stares at the front cover before flipping it to the first page. He spends two seconds scanning the index I typed up before flipping it closed and handing it back.
“I appreciate your enthusiasm about the team and getting us a win. We already have coaches on our staff who do this. They watch the tape and come up with a strategy. A strategy that’s been winning us games for the past ten years. We don’t have the time to implement anything new by this weekend.”
“I understand that but they can’t do what I do. They don’t see what I see.” My hand flexes into a fist. I need to calm down. He won’t give me a chance if I’m overly emotional about it. “If you look at the report, you’ll notice some of the adjustments are small. I know there’s at least one point your staff hasn’t seen. For example.” I flip through the pages until I get to the section on their defensive tackle. “Please, just…please.” I hold the documents between us and plead with him.
With a sigh, he takes them from my grasp. He reads over the document a little more thoroughly this time. I should be grateful for that. His eyes meet mine before dropping back to report.
