Page 73 of Best Year Ever
“Have you guys talked about that?” Grace asks. “It’s a big deal.”
“Not yet, it hasn’t been time,” I respond. “Been too soon. I think it might be time now, though.”
Before she can respond, my doorbell rings. I go and open it to find Johnson there. At the Waves facility, he said he might stop by for dinner tonight, but we never followed up, so it’s a little unexpected to see him.
“Hey man, I realized that I did want to come over for dinner as I was driving home. Eating alone, studying the playbook, sounded depressing,” he explains as he walks in.
“No worries,” I say, as we walk to the kitchen. “Grace is here too.”
When we walk into the kitchen, Grace has picked up where I started, getting the oven going to reheat the food.
“Hi, Little Battle,” Johnson says in greeting to her.
As she keeps focused on her food prep tasks, I don’t see her face when she responds, “Hi, Johnson.”
A moment later, she’s finished the prep work, and she turns back towards us.
“So Landon, when the oven finishes pre-heating, can you pop this dish in for twenty-five minutes? I’m going to go for a run before dinner if that’s okay.”
Grace may not be a college track star anymore, but running has always been her outlet for relieving stress. I think she’s crazy,but she says she actually loves to run. Maybe because I have this big, tall body, I don’t enjoy it at all. Running’s a painful necessity for me to maintain conditioning, not a fun and relaxing hobby.
Johnson’s no different than me, so I’m surprised at his next words. “I’ll go with you, Little Battle. I didn’t get much cardio today.”
Grace looks surprised for a moment too but then wipes that expression away. “Okay, Johnson, let’s see if you can keep up.”
“I’ve no doubt that I’ll be chasing you down the whole time,” he responds.
I shake my head at the turn of events, abandoned to make everyone dinner. “I guess Grover and I’ll play chef together.” The pup is lying content on his dog bed but will 100% get moving again soon at the prospect of food dropping on the floor.
I flip on the TV and watch my favorite sports talking heads show while I wait for the food to heat up, muting the sound and turning my head when they show Rori’s loss this morning.
It hurts my heart too much to watch it again.
Instead, I decide to text Rawley. He came in to “help” Grace with Grover over the weekend while I was in London. Grace did all the work, I’m sure, but it’s nice to check off another week of things staying trouble-free for him.
LANDON: Hey, thanks again for coming this weekend.
RAWLS: WSP. No problem.
LANDON: You catch that Sox game? That kid out of Maine is unreal.
RAWLS: Y sick.
RAWLS: U19 camp is soon. You should talk to Con. He’s stressing.
Translation: Connor’s training camp for the U19—under age nineteen players—national soccer team was coming up.
LANDON: Y I need to. I’ll text him.
All I get in response is a thumbs up, but that’s normal for Rawley.
Now that we’ve reached July, he’s occupied with an elite wide receivers camp and informal summer practices with his own team, so he’ll be traveling here less. He just needs to get through the Bowl Games in January unscathed, and the draft in April will be his golden ticket, like it’s been mine.
Two Battles in the NFL. Fucking wild.
CHAPTER 26
Rori
