Page 14 of The Game Plan
“Morning,” I mutter, sliding into the bench seat across from him.
“I thought we were meeting at eight?” There’s no bite in his voice, just amusement.
Glancing down at my watch, I shake my head before answering. “It’s eight-oh-four.”
“And I’ve been here for thirty minutes.” He sips his coffee, a soft smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he assesses me. “You look like hell.”
“I didn’t sleep much last night.”
Dad quirks his eyebrow, the insinuation in his expression as he folds the sports section and pushes it to the empty seat next to him.
I reach for the menu, even though I already know what I’m ordering: a large stack of pancakes and a black coffee. I jerk my head toward the folded newspaper. “You know you can read everything digitally on that fancy iPad we got you for Christmas.”
He grunts around his coffee mug. “I still like the feel of the paper in my hands.”
I’m shaking my head with a chuckle as our waitress approaches. She pours a steaming mug of coffee before heading to the kitchen to put our orders in.
“You sure you’re alright?”
I pause, holding the mug in mid-air. “Yeah, a lot on my mind.”
He gives a short nod, and for a minute, we sit in silence, the clatter of plates and low hum of conversation filling the space around us.
“I wanted to check in,” he says as he sets his cup down. “Not just about the new receivers, but about you. You’re three weeks into the new role. How’s it feeling?”
Pressure sits heavy on my chest, the same way it has since the day I signed my contract. I always knew coaching was my path. As much as I loved playing, the NFL was never my passion. Foras long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to teach the game I love. Maybe it’s because I grew up with a superstar coach.
“It’s…different, but good.”
“Different how?” Dad asks, watching me closely.
I’m grateful when the waitress arrives with our food. She places a stack of pancakes and sausage in front of me, and a three-egg, bacon, and hash brown platter in front of Dad. As she tops off our coffee, I drown my pancakes in syrup until they’re nearly swimming.
After swallowing down a large bite, I glance over at my dad. His eyebrow quirks once more, and I know he hasn’t forgotten about our conversation, even with the distraction. “I guess I didn’t expect the transition to be such a big adjustment. I don’t know how to explain it. Being a player felt like breathing. This… It’s like I’m watching the game through different lenses.”
He nods. “You lost your guys. They’re all moving on to different things, and you’re still here.”
Swallowing hard, I nod, hating myself for feeling so much.
“They’ll always be your boys, Grant.” He pauses. “But this part, coaching…it’s lonelier.”
He’s not wrong.
“But it’s worth it,” he adds, voice low.
“You’ve done it your whole life. How do you battle the loneliness?”
“You find yourself a good woman, a strong support system,” he responds without hesitation.
Images of Savannah flash through my mind. Her blinding smile as I stare at the box seats from the side of the field, watching as she blows a good-luck kiss in my direction. My mind plays a movie of the two of us sitting in our living room, discussing that week’s game plan. She might not know all the details of coaching, but her sitting beside me, listening to every word, is all I need.
“I hope I’m half the coach you are, Dad,” I admit softly.
That earns a rare smile from him. “You will be. But don’t think it’s going to be easy, Son.”
I nod, taking another large bite as Dad leans forward. “We’ve got a freshman coming in—Jeremiah Williams. Quick feet, solid hands. He reminds me of you at that age.”
“That a compliment?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
