Rushed(55)

“Well, I'm glad your ESP is still working. How're you doing?”

I hear something in Duncan's voice, a continuation of the maturity that I'd started to see last season together. He's become a man, and not just an adult. “I'm busy, but I wouldn't trade this for the world. I'll tell you, being a soon to be father's a great thing. How're you doing?”

“Ah . . . good, I guess. But, well, do you have a few minutes? I could use a sounding board.”

“Sure, I've got a few minutes. Carrie's at the doctors, and I'm just hanging out a little before we start afternoon practice. What's up?”

I take a deep breath and look down at the field, where the guys are running easily through formations and plays, and I wish it were that easy right now, where all I have to focus on is getting ready for Saturday's game against BC.

“I've got a contract offer from Baltimore,” I begin, trying to wrap my mind around it all at once. “League minimum, but that's still a lot of money, almost more than I'd make for the entire season up here.”

“That's great, man. Well, at least until week fourteen, when we play you guys. I'm gonna hate making you look bad then. But I'll be happy to buy you dinner afterward.”

I can't help it. I laugh. That's Duncan. Some things never change. “Yeah well, we knew that could happen. But there's more.”

Duncan's laugh stops, and he grows serious again. “What's up?”

“Well, the Fighters countered with an offer. There's some sort of agreement between the Leagues, they have the chance to at least offer me a counter if they want. Five-year contract, with a scaled pay raise that'd make me one of, if not the highest paid, player in Canada by the end. But more importantly, there's April.”

“How is it going between you two? Your email is short on details, but I figure you're not the kind to share details like that with me. Still, you keep mentioning her, you're forging new territory I think.”

I think back, then laugh. “That's the problem. April’s folks . . . they've got bad health issues. Dad's terminal. So she can’t just up and go with me.”

Duncan inhales sharply, then lets it out in a long shuddering whistle. “Shit, man. That is a tough one. You've got your girl up in Toronto, but then there's Baltimore. The League's been your dream for a long time. That's the thing that brought the two of us together as friends. You and I were always serious about playing pro ball. But this girl, April, you wouldn't be having doubts if it wasn't serious.”

“It's not just that, though. I mean, the Fighters like me. I've got other issues too, apparently I may have gotten two girls pregnant in a drunken blackout, but, yeah, I am having doubts. I mean, half a season with a team on an emergency quarterback situation versus a team that I've helped since the start of the season? And I'm having fun up here. The other night I promised April that I'd take cooking lessons with her during the off-season so that we don't have to do takeout so damn often.”

Duncan's silent for a few seconds, and I wonder if he's thinking or just distracted, but he comes back on, his voice light. “Sounds like Tyler Paulson's in love.”

“I think she’s the one. Hell, she might have always been, but that’s a story for another day.”

Duncan takes a deep breath. “All I can say is, football's not going to last. Even you being a QB, you've got what, ten good years, maybe a little more if you hold up well? All of us are going to be retired by the time we're forty. So it comes down to a really simple choice. April . . . or football. You love them both, but you know . . . football doesn't love us. It's going to use us, give us some money, and if we're lucky, we might get our names on a plaque somewhere, maybe a bronze statuette for the luckiest of us.”

“We knew this when we started looking at pro ball as a career option,” I counter. “Coach B used to lecture me on that all the time. You didn't listen all that well to him, but I guess someone's gotten into your head with that same stuff.”

I look down on the field, where the offense is wrapping up, and the defense is going through their last run-throughs. “Duncan . . . thanks.”

“You're welcome. Hey, in two weeks the Wildcats have a bye, you should give me a shout. Carrie would love to say ‘hi’ and I'll be honest, I'm interested in meeting this girl of yours.”

“All right man, kick some ass this Sunday. I'll admit, I've been a little focused on my own shit up here in Toronto, I haven't kept up with you guys as much as maybe I should.”

“No problem, we'll catch up in the bye week. I hope I was helpful.”

“You were. Thanks. Talk to you later.”

After my phone call with Duncan, I walk down to the locker room, which is mostly empty now that practice is over and most of the guys have headed back to their places to get packed up. We're all supposed to meet back here at the stadium at seven in order to catch a eight o'clock charter flight to Vancouver, where we'll ironically land at eight fifteen local time.

I see Vince in the trainer's office, a sad thing compared to what I had at Western with Coach Taylor, but it's at least got the basics. Vince is using one of them now, an ad-hoc hot bath the team's set up that he's soaking his right hand in. “How's the hand?”