Page 76 of Everything's Better With You
Warmth spread through Leslie’s chest. That was all he’d ever wanted: to play football and do what he could to leave the game with the league better than it had been before. If someone like Malcolm Darling thought he’d done a good job, that was something.
“Thank you, Malcolm. I’ve always appreciated your integrity.”
Malcolm chuckled. “Then I should probably be transparent and say that I pitched this article as a cover and feature article, which will be out shortly, but my gut says there’s more to the story here. Coach, I’d really like to write your biography. Have you considered telling your story?”
It was Leslie’s turn to laugh. “Ready to tank your career? Come on, Malcolm. Who needs another washed-up quarterback story?”
“You honestly don’t believe that, do you? Not only did you have one of the most impressive careers in the last twenty years of the sport, but you surpassed expectations laid on you for being the son of a player with an impressive career, and that’s without even considering you were also the first publicly out quarterback and a spokesman for LGBTQ athletes. How can a book about younotbe a bestseller?”
Leslie felt pressure behind his eyes, but not from an incoming migraine, thankfully. He didn’t trust his voice to speak. As he gazed out over the rolling green landscape of Southern Iowa illuminated in pinksand oranges at dusk, the land that had crafted his father, been his home for a large portion of his life, he thanked his higher power for the blessings in his life, including this job, what was left of his health, and Joe Judd.
“I’m honored you would think those things, Malcolm,” he said with a hoarse tone. “Let’s talk.”
“Wonderful. We have one more appointment scheduled next week and then I should have enough for the article. Let’s talk then. Thank you, Coach. Have an excellent day.”
Leslie disconnected and blew out a shaky breath.
Was his story important enough for publication? Would it maybe help other athletes? Would it inspire people?
What would Joe think? He looked at the time. Practice had another half hour and then he needed to hurry home, pack, eat, and pick up Tim, who would be going with him to the airport in Kansas City for their red-eye to Atlanta. Maybe he’d ask Tim about the book.
He’d definitely ask Joe. They were going to have a come-to-consensus meeting when he got back from Atlanta. Correction, when Joe returned from LA. They had a lot to discuss, especially Leslie doing something as invasive as inviting a journalist into their lives. He’d need to ask his family as well since they were a huge part of his story—
A whistle pulled him from his thoughts.
“What the fuck was that?”
Randy stormed onto the field and grabbed one of the defensive linemen by the facemask, spinning him around.
“What did I do, Coach?”
Leslie ran out onto the field after Randy, ignoring the pain in his knee.
“What did you do, Casey. What did you do? I want you to think about how you just hit Tyler. Do you remember how you hit him? Do you? I want you to show me right now how you think you hit Tyler.”
Randy let go and the kid stumbled away, getting back into line looking a little dazed.
“Run it again.”
“What’s going on?” Les asked him as they walked off the field.
“I’m notgoing to tolerate this shit,” Randy growled as he stalked over to the sidelines. When they were off the field, he blew the whistle. “Watch that kid.”
The quarterback called out the play, the ball was hiked, the players sprang into action, and—
“Holy hell.”
The kid Randy had scolded tucked his head under and rammed the center, trying to break through to get to the quarterback.
Randy blew his whistle and waved the kid to come over. “You tell him, Brother Leslie. You tell him while I take a time-out so I don’t do something stupid.”
Randy stormed off and Sandy looked between his brothers, unsure where he was needed most.
“I got this,” Leslie said.
Sandy nodded and trotted off after his twin brother who was kicking cones and equipment as he went.
The kid stood before Leslie, his eyes wide as saucers, his hands trembling. He pulled off his helmet. “Y-yeah, Coach?”
