Page 7 of Take Care, Taylor
I didn’t answer.
“How do you think it’ll look to all the young boys who look up to you if they find out you’re using your hand to write instead of throwing a football?” he barked. “Choosing some pussy-ass poetry over sports?”
I blinked, convinced he wasn’t really hearing the words as they fell from his mouth.
“Plenty of other players are enrolled in college on the side,” I offered. “Especially when they’re injured…”
“Get out. We’ll finish this conversation later.”
“Thank you, Coach.”
He grunted as I shut the door behind me, and I stopped at the sight of the new team mural on the wall.
My face and likeness were painted on a bright field with my teammates, under the wordsNew Season, New Hope.
I turned away and headed for the exit.
Outside the facility, dozens of fans pressed their bodies against the barricades, waving jerseys and phones.
“We love you, Taylor!”
“Hurry up and get better so we can see you play!”
“Fuck yeahhhh!”
I gave them a quick smile before turning away, ignoring the guilt crawling up my chest.
My older brother and father were the ones who lived for football; I’d just followed in their footsteps and somehow gone further than they ever had.
This was their dream, not mine.
For me, this sport was always just an escape. Writing was my forever refuge.
And I’d long stopped trying to explain that to everyone.
There was only one person who ever understood it, but I hated her down to her fucking marrow, so it’s not like I could ever talk to her about it.
“Feel like going shopping, babe?” My girlfriend, Stacey, wrapped her arms around me from behind.
“You can help yourself.” I pulled out my wallet and handed her my credit card. “I’m going to check out Exeter’s campus.”
“Why?”
“Because move-in day is in a week and a half, and they’re letting us take tours.” I shrugged. “I want to see if the luxury suites are as nice as they claim.”
“Oh...” Her smile faltered. “I thought we agreed that program was a waste of your time.”
“We didn’t.”
“I just started renting a condo here, Taylor.”
With your parents.“I’m aware.”
“So live with me. Focus on getting better so you can get back on the field and chase your dreams.”
“Postscript Scholars are required to stay on campus,” I said. “That’s literally the first rule.”
“Then hurry up and withdraw so some other nerd can take your spot.” She kissed my cheek. “Isn’t being free to do whatever you want the whole point of being a pro athlete?”
