Going Long (Waiting on the Sidelines #2)(7)

“Hmmmm, well…” he was thinking.

“Was it bad?” I couldn’t tell from his hedging.

“No, it’s just…well. Are you sure you want to talk about this? It’s sort of that topic that we took off the table until our weekend,” he said carefully. I loved him for how much he respected me and my stupid worries. But suddenly, his entering the draft was the least of my worries. Never mind the fact that the news I was holding onto could ruin everything. For tonight, I wanted to pretend. And so I did.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I want to know, talk to me. I like to hear your voice, and you seem excited,” I said. His voice was animated, and I could tell that his mind was made up, if only I would get on board.

“Okay, if you’re sure,” he waited for a few seconds. “Well, I met with Brent Nichols. He’s huge, Noles. He’s repped so many amazing athletes. And of course, well, he’s on the board for the children’s foundation, the same one that my mom sits on. She sort of set this up, drove down here for dinner and everything.”

I winced a little knowing Millie was involved and was instantly grateful Reed couldn’t see my face. “Wow, that’s amazing she has that connection. So, what’d he have to say?” I feigned enthusiasm, my acting skills surprisingly strong tonight.

Reed just sighed at first. Finally, when he spoke, he seemed careful. “Well, he thinks I need to really go this year. The options opening up are huge, and there’s a great chance that I’ll be picked up early and go somewhere really good. There’s a huge quarterback need and the class coming out is only two or three guys deep.”

I knew all of this, of course. The pundits had been talking Reed up a lot over the summer. He wouldn’t be number one. There was a running back at the University of Texas who had that locked up, provided he stayed healthy. But Reed was in the mix for the top 10 for sure. Forcing myself to be supportive, I offered up my best. “Well, this gives you some good stuff to think about then, huh?”

“Yeah, it does,” he let out a heavy sigh, but collected himself. “I still have some things to work through, though. I can’t formally declare or sign with any representation, so I’m going to talk to Dylan Nichols. Brent said Dylan would give me a call. I think it’s his son, and he’s a little more off the radar. He can put feelers out, I guess, without it being front-page news.”

“Ah, I see,” I said, nodding and smiling as if he could see me. When I remembered that I was home alone under my covers, I let the frown reign again.

“You sound tired, do you want to go to sleep?” Reed asked in response to my silence. Suddenly, the thought of hanging up with him frightened me.

“No, no. I mean, yes, I’m tired, but… can I just keep you on the phone for a while? You know, maybe fall asleep with you near? Unless you have something to do.”

“Why, are you asking me to talk dirty to you, Nolan?” Reed put on that deep, devilish voice that normally had my heart racing. But tonight that was the last thing I wanted.

“No,” I giggled, hoping it sounded genuine. “I just miss you. Is that okay?”

“Of course. Get comfortable, and turn off the lights. I’ll tell you a story, okay?” he said kindly. I knew what was coming. Sometimes, when I was really stressed, Reed would retell the story of our relationship, about the first time he danced with me, the first time he held my hand, when he wrote me a letter telling me he thought I was beautiful. He never retold any of the bad parts, about how his ex-girlfriend Tatum had bullied me and kept us apart. And normally, I didn’t give thoughts of her the time of day. But tonight I was instantly zeroed in on my memories of Tatum, primarily her pregnancy scare…and how that almost ruined Reed’s life.

I nestled into my covers and pushed my pillow up to my face, muffling the sounds of my crying while Reed spoke sweetly in my ear. So much for pretending.





Chapter 3


Reed



Game day had me pumped. Oregon was in town, and this game mattered more than most. Oregon was our biggest divisional competition.

Noles liked to pretend that the Devils would give us a run for our money, but not this year. I was glad, too, because the line last year really did a number on me. I was pretty sure I cracked a rib, though I’d never mentioned that to anyone. There was this unspoken rule about bringing up your injuries. If you said them aloud and a member of the coaching staff heard, they had to follow through with MRIs and doctors’ opinions and shit. But if you never said them for anyone to hear, and no one asked, then those smaller injuries could sort of slide under the radar.

There were a lot of people that hated that side of the game, and I get it. But hell, I wanted to play, and if they had to tape my neck together just to hold my head on in order for me to do so, then I was fine with that. The lawyers, though? Well, not so much. So we kept our mouths shut, and played, no matter how much it hurt.

So far, I’d been lucky. No big hits to threaten my clear mind and strong arm. But I knew that big hit was always looming. I saw it in the eyes of every angry linebacker that looked right through me, every single game, sometimes even during practice. That’s why my draft entry this year was so important. The longer I put it off, the bigger the risk that I would become damaged goods, unwanted in the only world I’ve ever really wanted to belong.