Page 67 of Making the Call
Luke
The special teamsmeeting goes smooth, and I’m relieved to get things back to business. I’m no longer distracted by the events of this weekend, and my steps feel lighter as I make my way to the offense meeting.
As I walk in, the room’s fuller than I expect, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. Members of my defense are in their typical section for a full team meeting. What the fuck? Confused, I look to my defensive coordinator and wonder.Did I mess up the agenda for the day?Tyrell Yates’ face is impassive, and I’m unable to get a read. Spotting Brandon Reynolds at the front of the room, he smiles and simply shrugs, like I have things wrong.
Another peculiar fact about this situation iseveryoneis here, early for that matter and in their seats. I typically arrive before the majority of the team, to set up and prepare for our meetings. It appears as if my entire roster is present. To make matters worse, now that my presence is known, the room goes silent.
“Hey… uh… anyone want to tell me what’s going on?” I glance to my assistant coaches and make eye contact with my captains of the team. Nothing. No one will clue me in. What the fuck is going on?
Finally, someone speaks up, “Coach?”
I look to see who finally has the balls to speak up. I’m relieved to see it’s Campbell Beck. He’s always been straightforward and a leader of the team. He’ll set me straight. Our schedule’s like clockwork, and there’s no way I’ve messed up this meeting.
“Beck? You know what’s going on?” I ask, making my way toward him. He’s always been upfront with me and God knows, I don’t need anymore surprises today. As head coach, I’m rarely left out of the loop, and it feels quite unnerving.
Why the hell is everyone so silent? This place usually takes a ‘call to order’ to get things started, and you can hear a pin drop at the moment. Well, a sneaker squeak would be more accurate.What the hell are they up to?
“Uh…” Beck clears his throat. “I guess we’re all here to see if the rumors are true?”
This causes some snickers throughout the room, but with a look from Beck, they quickly cease.Okay, this is interesting.
Not following where the fuck he’s going with this, I eye Beck speculatively, waiting for further explanation.
Beck stands and looks around the room as he rocks back on his feet. He slowly takes in a big breath, making me even more nervous, if that’s possible. Shit. I really don’t need anything else to go wrong today. If the entire team’s here, something major must have happened, while I’ve been dealing with my own media shitstorm. I glance around looking for a clue, but still nothing.
Beck’s large frame rocks twice more onto his heels before he finally speaks, “Since you missed our team meeting, and everyone wanted to be in the know…” He looks around the room, and I swear, everyone nods in my direction. “The coaches said it was okay if we joined in this one. Hope that’s fine with you…”
I nod in agreement. I’m always for us being on the same page as the team, but what does this have to do with me? Before I can say anything, Beck continues, “Well…” He looks to the ceiling, then back to me as if he doesn’t know how to work what he’s about to say. Christ. Could it be that bad? Finally, he spits out his thought. “It seems you made the news this weekend…”
No shit. I had to have a friggin’ interview because of it. But what business is it of the teams? Or the worlds for that matter? I’m just a coach, not a star player or anything. “Yes, it appears I did,” I vaguely agree, not wanting to spur on any further reactions.
This time, Trent Montoya, one of the team captains, pipes in, “Will you be leaving us soon for a new career?”
“Uh… I just started this job. Where’d you get that idea?”
Trent’s composure breaks for a split second, and a flit of mischievousness flashes quickly before it’s schooled. “Well…” He clears his throat. “We’re under the impression you’re taking a different career path in the near future.”
“This is news to me,” I deadpan, waiting for the real explanation.
Someone hollers from the back of the room. “So… you’re not planning to switch careers to modeling?”
I raise an eyebrow at the smartass speaking out. “Um… that would be a hard no.”
“But, Coach, you have a huge following on social media already. You could make bank if you keep this up.”
With this, everyone in the room. And I mean, Every. Single. Person pulls out an eight-by-ten photo of me—the real me. The one where my shirt’s lifted and Dani’s book is next to me in comparison.
Mother fucker. These bastards are taking this prank to an entirely new level. I do my damnedest to keep a straight face. But when I make eye contact with Sean Peters who’s leaning against the wall with a knowing smirk, I fucking lose it. Laughter erupts from me and throughout the room. Tears spring to my eyes as I double over to catch my breath. When I finally think I can stand to face the team through watery eyes, the crowd settles.
Another smartass from the back of the room shouts out, “Can I get your autograph?”
Before I can respond, another person yells, “My wife loves Charlotte. Can I get her autograph, too?”
Not wanting to speak for Dani, I search the room looking for the culprit, as I ask the room, “Which one of you redecorated my office?” I seriously want to know how they pulled it off. The person who orchestrated it had impeccable timing.
At this point, not one single person in the room makes eye contact with me. The bastards are good, I’ll give them that. They look to the floor, the ceiling, the photo in front of them. Each has a smirk or a gleam in his eyes. They know who the guilty party is, but they’re a united front, for the moment. Well, they’re a team, that’s for sure.
Hell, I don’t even blame them. As far as pranks go, this was fucking brilliant. In my younger days, I would’ve been involved as well, so I can’t blame them. “Maybe the better question is, what the hell am I going to do with all these photos and life-sized cutouts?”
