Page 16 of Linebacker
“Don’t tell me,” I sigh, holding up my hand and in a light-hearted way saying, “I sound like the Queen.” I snigger. “Believe me, my northern accent, which I’m proud that I’ve retained despite of living in the south of England for the past few years, is nothing like English aristocracy.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you in any way,” Lucy quickly chirps up.
“Oh, I know, and it’s all good.” I reassure her. “Now, I guess you’re here to take me to meet Coach Scully, so why don’t you lead the way?”
“Yes. Sorry,” Lucy gushes. “I’m…” I hold up my hand to her, and halt her from apologising yet again. She looks at me with wide eyes before dropping her gaze to the floor. I visibly see her take a deep breath, roll her shoulders, then lift her head high. A big, closed smile plastered on her face. “If you’d like to follow me Ms… Hope, I’ll take you to the locker room.”
Locker room! Holy fuck.
Thank God the place is at the other end of the building because it gives me time to repeat my mantra in my head. There is something about an all-male locker room that gets my heart pumping. It’s all that manliness, testosterone, and natural body odour. It makes me a little lightheaded and a lot turned on.
Damn it! Over the years, I’ve tried to avoid the place, especially on training and game days, preferring to see the players in the gym, or when on a one-on-one basis, in an office or treatment room.
A flash of a memory from my school days jumps into my head. The sneaking into the locker room to prank certain team members, the FUB’s to be exact. I’ll never forget the Nutella pants.
* * *
I was expecting my introduction to the coaches and a handful of the training squad to be held in one of the conference rooms, but I guess the location is irrelevant. When I get nearer to where I assume we are heading, it becomes obvious that my idea of a small and unassuming welcoming committee is way off the mark.
A deep, robust voice bellows out from the already open doors, and it’s blatantly obvious from the loud and dominating way he’s talking that there’s more than a handful of people in there.
When I step up to the doorway and peek inside, I gulp at the sight. The room is huge but doesn’t seem it because it’s wall-to-wall with players. Some sit in their designated changing area, some stand or hunker down in the centre of the room. Every single person’s attention is solely on the big bear of a man with a bald head, round kind face, with a white goatee beard, standing dead centre in the room.
It looks like they’ve just finished a training session due to the kit they’re wearing. Or should I say part wearing as the majority are minus their shirts. The sight of a handful of them still wearing their shoulder pads sends a shudder through me from my head to my toes at the realisation I’m here and this is actually happening.
It looks like the whole squad is in the room. Fifty-three to be exact, going by the stats that I’d swotted up on before I came. That’s not including the coaches, physio’s, etcetera that seem to be in here too.
I know most of them, although some of their profile pictures are obviously outdated. But Coach Scully is easy to identify as I’ve seen him on the screen while catching the odd game.
Who am I trying to kid? I watch every single game even if it’s by means of catch-up.
“Now, lay your hand on the shoulder of the player at your side,” Coach instructs his team, and immediately they follow suit. “We are one team, one dream and will fight to win. Better tomorrows come from hard work today. Always earned, never taken for granted.” The room vibrates with the words that every single person in the room chants. Not one person doesn’t follow, showing great respect for their main man. I’m engrossed in the sight and the deep hum of the collective voices that I miss some of what has been said, but pick it up again when Coach booms out, “Work. Hard.” The room explodes with a noisy ‘Hit. Hard,’ response. “Play. Hard.” Coach bellows out even louder which is met with a ‘Win. Easy.’ “And why is that?” Coach lifts his hand, his finger pointing as he does a 360 turn where he stands, making sure he points to every single player. Silence hits the room, but only for a matter of seconds before it erupts with an ear bursting. “Because that’s how we roll.”
I stand and watch while they move around each other, offering hugs, high fives and some even going in for a playful tackle. Based on what I’ve witnessed just now, it’s clear that one thing is for sure. The Montana Longhorns is collectively a strong team, with each and every one of the players and management holding great respect for their fellow members.
“Hold up,” Coach shouts once the rowdiness has dampened down. “Just one more thing before you head into the showers.” The burly man cuts through the crowd, making a beeline towards me. I’d been so distracted that I hadn’t even realised he’d noticed my arrival. A big smile adorned his face, in total contrast to the authoritative persona I’d just observed. It has an instant calming effect on me, and I find myself smiling right back.
Once he gets to my side, without saying a word, he wraps his big arm around my shoulder and leads me back to where he was originally standing.
“We have a new member of the team, albeit temporary. Gentlemen, this young lady here is Ms. Palmer, and she will be with us for the next three months.” The air rumbles with greetings, but it’s a mix of positivity and negativity.
“What’s she doing here?” A deep growl of a voice barks out above the crowd, the question thick with hostility.
“I beg your pardon?” Coach snaps back, with equal sharpness, turning in the direction of where the voice has come from. I follow his movement, but I know without even looking for confirmation exactly who’s behind the animosity.
I’d felt his presence as soon as I’d got inside the room.
CHAPTER14
Like some kind of sexy arse, NFL God with his blond hair and Nordic vibe, Vance Marshall parts the waves of heavenly teammates, coming forward until he’s standing a few feet in front of us. When he speaks, his attention is purely on Coach when he adds in a much more hospitable tone, “Sorry, Coach. What I meant to say is, why is Ms. Palmer here?”
“Hope, is here to work with you guys to help you all up your game.”
“With all due respect, Coach. The staff we have in place are already doing a more than adequate job. The stats are clear for all to see, so I can’t honestly think that Ms. Palmer…,” his attention flicks to me, but it’s fleeting, not giving me a chance to get a fair evaluation of his feelings, but there’s a distinct air of disdain. “…has anything of any benefit to us.”
“Well, Marshall, what the management says goes, and as they’re paying good money for Ms. Palmer to be here, then they obviously think she does,” Coach replies, loud enough so the rest of the room can hear. “So, I expect you all to get with the program and treat Hope here with nothing but the greatest respect.” I sense my cheeks heating as all eyes fall on me. Most of them give me varying levels of a smile, some a curt but acceptant nod. “Now hit the showers.”
As they all start to move around the room, I stay beside Coach, waiting for him to give me some kind of direction on what to do now.
