Rushed(54)

“I see,” Tyler says, thinking. “One year deal, you say?”

“Remainder of the season. You light it up down there as well as you've done for us, and you'll be offered a shot with Baltimore or another team for sure, and most likely at a lot more than League minimum.”

Tyler nods, but Mr. L. continues. “I know this may not affect your decision much, but I also have an offer for you. Five years, with the Fighters, with a scaled increase in salary each year. The current CBA with the Player's Association increases the salary cap by a hundred thousand a year, and you'd be given half of that. In three years, you'd be making over half a million a year, and at the end of the deal you'll be making six hundred.”

Mr. L. pulls a one page sheet out of his printer. “Here it is, in writing. It's a tender of offer, already electronically signed by me. It's not a full contract, but the numbers are there.”

“So security with the Fighters, or gamble with the Marauders,” Tyler says quietly, looking down before looking at me, his eyes haunted. I understand, we just talked about this last night, and now we're facing a choice we never expected. “How long do I have to make a decision?”

“Mr. Newton said that he'd like a decision by Sunday. The Marauders would fly you directly from Vancouver if you want, to give you the most time to integrate with their offense. He says they run a nearly identical system to what you played at Western, apparently their offensive coordinator used to work with Coach Bainridge.”

Tyler nods, then looks at me again. I can see what's whirling in his mind, and I swallow the fear in my throat. “It's your dream, Tyler. The League.”

“But I promised you . . .” Tyler says, shaking his head. “Excuse me, everyone, I need to think. Mr. L., if you don't mind, please tell Coach that I need to take a personal day . . . I'll be ready for the flight to Vancouver though.”

Tyler gets up and stops at the doorway. “April . . . I'm sorry. I just need to think.”

“I understand,” I reply, but when he leaves I'm still haunted by the look in his eyes. He's torn, and I understand why. I look at Mr. Larroquette, who looks back at me with compassion. “What do you think, sir?”

“I think that if he didn't love you deeply, he'd have signed the offer from Baltimore even before I got my tender out of my desk. But you need a personal day as well. I'll call the airline, you can catch a flight in the morning to Vancouver, still be there for the game if you like.”

“Thank you sir. I need to go talk to my parents.”

“Go, and drive safely. I'll let Tyler that you're going to London.”





Chapter 19





Tyler





I sit in the stands, watching as Vince runs the offense through the last walkthroughs before the team breaks for getting ready to go to Vancouver. The GM came by and told me that April was given the rest of the day off too, and I read her text that said she's going to London to talk with her folks. I'm not trying to be a dick to her, I understand that we just got a hand grenade thrown into our nice, neat little plans, but this is the sort of thing that comes around only once in a lifetime.

Sighing, I pull out my phone. While I don't have everyone's phone number from my old days programmed in, I do have some, and the first call I make is to Western University's Athletic Department, hoping that Coach Bainridge is available.

“Western University Bulldogs, Coach Thibedeau speaking.”

“Coach T? Hi, it's Tyler Paulson.”

“Tyler? Good to hear from you!” Coach T says brightly. “How's life in Canada?”

“Actually, that's what I'm calling about. Is Coach B around?”

“No, he's meeting with the University President. I don't know how much you've kept up, but we're hurting pretty bad this year offensively. Losing you and Duncan both . . . I'm not getting a lot of sleep this season.”

“You guys will adapt, you always do,” I reply. “Listen, do you know anything about Coach B talking to Baltimore?”

“Baltimore? No, but I wouldn't be surprised. Their OC and Coach B used to work together about three-four years before I joined the staff at Western. They still talk once in a while. Hey, you want me to have him give you a call when he can?”

“No . . . you've got your own issues to deal with. You guys going to be bowl eligible at least?”

“Yeah, we've got that, but who knows what else,” he replies. “Seriously Tyler, you okay?”

I like Coach Thibedeau, he's a nice guy, but he's not who I need to talk to right now. “Yeah, I'll be fine. Let me put in another call, I hate to let you go so quick Coach. Good luck Saturday.”

“You too. See you.”

I hang up and kick over to the one other guy I know can give me good advice in this situation. God I hope he's not in practice right now.

The phone rings, three times, then four, and just as I'm about to hang up, the line is picked up. “Yo, this is Duncan.”

“Duncan? Hey man, it's Tyler.”

“Tyler! Holy shit, when I saw a phone number with some strange area code, I didn't know who it was. You're lucky I picked up. I've been screening calls recently.”