Page 7 of Provoking the Punter
“Let’s go. There’s a lot to get through.” He held out his hand and Garrett shook it. “Brian, one of the assistant strength and conditioning coaches.”
“Good luck,” someone shouted.
They were right to wish him luck. He wasn’t playing this weekend, so he got flogged as well as checked over. Even though he’d sent over his weights and training program, he expected a new one to be put together.
At least when he was running or lifting, that was all he needed to think about.
No one asked him questions. Brian was too busy making notes.
While he couldn’t walk in and mess up the team's game prep, that didn’t stop him from wanting to be a part of it. Next week. Then he’d be competing for a chance to start.
This was the weird “settling in” phase.
He grabbed lunch with the assistant coach who still had stuff to get through, and since most of the team had left, he didn’t have to worry about which table to sit at. With the Copperheads, he’d sat with the special teams guys. They’d been good friends. For a couple of heartbeats, he missed them. They’d be learning to work with someone else. Maybe the Copperheads' kicker was filling in this week for him and cursing his name.
He should return Rafe’s call and his messages.
He hadn’t returned anyone’s.
When he finished for the day, replying to people would be at the top of his list. Because he had to. Not because he wanted to.
Coach Ross walked into the cafeteria, grabbed some lunch, and then joined them at the table. He read whatever Brian had written and made a couple of notes himself. He was sitting right there, but they weren’t talking to him. Was that a good thing or a bad thing, or was he over-analyzing everything?
Halfway through his meal, Ross looked at Garrett. “You want to change your shoes and get out on the field?”
Of course he fucking did. That’s why he was there. “I’d love to.”
He was sure Ross had other things he needed to do to prepare for Sunday, but if the man was giving up some time for him, Garrett was taking it.
At first, Ross just tossed the ball so Garrett could drop it and tap it back to him.
“Getting traded mid-season is not the easiest thing,” Ross said. “How are you holding up? Have you got somewhere to stay?” He held the ball, waiting for Garrett to answer, instead of giving him a reason to be distracted.
Was he fishing, or was it an actual check-in to see how he was? Garrett took it as the latter. “I’m staying at a hotel, on the long-term rate for the moment. And since I drove, I’ve got a car, and all my stuff.”
Ross nodded and threw the ball.
Garrett caught, dropped it, and tapped it to him without thinking. The muscle memory was so strong he could do it in his sleep.
“You kind of dodged my question.”
Because if he answered, he might crumble and then everything would spill out, and he couldn’t do that. But he needed to say something. “Yeah, not gonna lie. It’s been like being caught in the spin cycle, and I’m waiting for the door to open so I can climb out and draw a breath.”
“This will be the first game you’ve missed since you were drafted.”
He glanced away, staring at the goalposts at the end of the field. “It’s pretty rough.”
“It’s going to take time to bond with the guys, and I won’t pretend that James is going to like it. Hell, I already know he doesn’t.”
“It’s… I feel like I’m poaching his job.”
“Because you are. In the same way, our second and third quarterbacks are always looking to take that next step. The players at the top know it, too. It keeps them sharp, or they quit.”
Toss. Catch. Drop. Punt.
“You also kicked in college and filled in for a couple of weeks last season. How was that?”
Toss. Catch. Drop. Punt.