Page 14

Jerry’s hands drop into his pockets, and he gazes across the field to where a few guys from the defense are stretching out on the field.

Lots of cramping today on the team. One of the perks of playing in Arizona for years is that I’ve learned everything there is to know about hydration.

I don’t cramp, probably because by this point I’ve morphed into part camel.

“Walk with me,” he finally says when Bryce is far enough away. He nods toward the stands.

“Okay,” I answer, my voice obviously full of caution.

Jerry laughs softly and gestures toward a group of field assistants gathering empty water bottles and cleaning up discarded athletic tape.

“Hey, Ryan, right?”

A skinny guy in glasses who looks fresh out of college lifts his head to meet Jerry’s gaze, and swallows so hard his Adam’s apple dips under his shirt collar and pops back into place.

“Yes, sir?” The kid’s as nervous as I am. I’m not sure Jerry gets the power he wields out here.

“Take this in for Mr. Stone, if you don’t mind.” Jerry lifts my helmet from my head, leaving what feels like a deep crease along my forehead in its wake. He hands it to Ryan, who nods and dashes off to the locker room.

“That kid thinks you’re timing him. Look at him go.” The two of us look on as Ryan disappears through the tunnel a few seconds later.

“I am,” Jerry says, pulling his watch hand from his pocket and glancing at it before quirking up the side of his mouth and shifting his gaze my way. “Kidding.”

I shake with a light laugh, and my shoulders relax a hint as I walk alongside Jerry toward the first row of seats.

He’s funny. And of everyone out here with a hand in my fate, he feels the most kindred.

But the bubbling in my belly that’s shooting fire up my esophagus is still brewing, and I’m still not ready to let my guard down around anyone out here but Peyton.

I slide into the row and move down a few seats.

Jerry takes the second one in, leaving two between us.

I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knee pads as I nervously ball my fists.

Jerry crosses one long leg over the other, his slacks lifting at the ankles enough to reveal a flashy pair of red and blue Cyclones socks. They match his coach-style polo.

“Mickey is going to want to go with Chance. You know that already, though,” he says.

I nod, because in most ways I did. But hearing it anchors that thought in concrete and drops it into my gut.

“I figured.”

My mouth feels dry, and I wish I still had a water bottle to drown my anxiety before it chokes me. I shut my mouth instead and swallow hard.

“He’s not ready now . . . Chance?” Jerry continues. “He will be. One day. But he’s too green. He needs a mentor.”

I feel his eyes on me before I turn to confirm they are. As much as I knew this was the case, that the expectation was for me to ease the pathway for a younger talent to come in, it still tastes bad.

“You’re ready now, Wyatt. Hell, you were probably ready years ago, but teams missed the boat.

What I saw out there today? What you do naturally with the team .

. . that’s not something kids come out of college with.

That kind of leadership is either in you or it’s not.

And if it’s not, it’s going to take a humbling experience to get you there. ”

I breathe out a short laugh and look down at the concrete.

“Is that my role here? To be a humbling experience for Chance Hickory?”

I give him a sideways look and wait for his response. He uncrosses his legs and matches my posture, meeting my eyes.

“Initially? Yeah, Wyatt. You’re here to be the teacher. To be the motivating factor. To scare the shit out of a punk kid with raw talent and zero discipline.”

I nod, my stomach dropping with my gaze.

“I won’t lie to you, Wyatt. Ever. You have my word. You can ask your father-in-law what that’s worth, and I hope he’d tell you to take it to the bank. So, know when I say this?—”

I pop my head up and hold my breath as we lock gazes.

“I think that job is yours to lose. And that means I believe you’ll take it from him.

I already saw the wheels turning today. I see the tells.

The way the team so easily leaned into your leadership.

The reactions you got from the sidelines, from the defense, from the other coaches—from the guy up in the box. ”

“Now you’re bullshitting me,” I laugh out.

He shakes his head.

“I’ve been around this business a long time.

And as stubborn of a son-of-a-bitch as Mickey may be, he’s still a businessman.

With you at the helm, the Cyclones make money.

Not eventually. Now. As soon as you play a televised game in front of fans.

As soon as you step into the media room and answer questions.

The moment you connect with Jax or whomever in the end zone.

Dollar signs, Wyatt. You will win. Chance won’t.

Not yet. And if you win, and win early, and keep winning? This gig is yours.”

I exhale loudly, allowing my lips to actually flap with my breath, and Jerry laughs at my physical reaction.

“It’s a lot,” he says.

I thread my hands behind my neck and squint as I look up at the sky. The cloud cover is thin enough to be nothing more than a reflector for the sun.

“It’s more than a lot. And it feels fucking impossible.”

“Yeah,” he says, standing and moving close enough to pat my shoulder twice with his massive hand. “But that’s kind of your thing, isn’t it? Doing impossible shit.”

He chuckles through his toothy smile as he lifts his sunglasses from his shirt collar and slides them back into place. It’s hard not to notice the massive gold and diamond-studded ring on his hand—I’ve seen that ring on Reed’s hand.

“Get some rest, Wyatt. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I stay put until Jerry’s out of sight. In fact, I wallow in my own doubts and fears long enough to watch the coaching assistants completely clear the field of equipment and debris. Eventually, Bryce steps through the tunnel and heads my way. I decide to meet him midfield.

“You ready?”

I know his question isn’t about lunch or heading back to the hotel. I wear the weight of it, and it feels impossible. But that’s what I do, isn’t it? Carry the impossible into the end zone for the win.

“I’m ready.”

And for now, I mean it.