The Romantic Pact (Kings of Football)(30)

“If the farm is left to my mom or Uncle Paul, you know they would never make you get a new job.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t count on it. I’ve been working pretty hard on woodworking, which has always been a passion of mine. But that doesn’t make a lot of money—”

“Wait, you’re into woodworking? You made that charcuterie board for Pops. You made more?”

“Yup.”

“When . . . oh, let me guess. Something you learned while I wasn’t talking to you?”

“Had to keep my wandering mind busy with something. Do you know those wooden bowls your mom got from Pops last year?”

“You made those?”

“Yeah. Took me forever, and Pops definitely overpaid, but, yeah, I made them.”

“Hazel, those are my favorite bowls. They’re my popcorn bowls.” I laugh.

“Well, looks as though I’m going to have to make you some for when you become a big football player. You can eat popcorn and remember the simple days.”

“Not sure I’m going to be a big football player.”

“One season isn’t—”

“No, I’m not sure if it’s what I want now.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, shifting toward me now and turning down the music. “You’ve worked so hard, Crew. Why wouldn’t you pursue it?”

“I don’t know. This past season didn’t feel right, and with Pops gone, it doesn’t feel the same. You know, it was his dream first and it quickly became mine. But with him no longer with us, it almost feels making it pro doesn’t even matter anymore.”

“What would you do if you didn’t go pro?”

“That’s the problem. I’ve no idea. All I’ve known is football, so I’m not quite sure what I would do other than that.”

“When is the combine?”

“February.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was that soon.”

“Yeah, it is.” I sigh, thinking about how soon it really is.

“Well, you’ll have some time. But I’m guessing that’s not something you want to talk about right now.”

“Not really.”

“So, then tell me something about yourself that I missed these past few years. Something funny. We need to recharge the mood in here. It slipped into Depressedville and we’re supposed to be celebrating, right?”

“You’re right.” I shake out my shoulders, keeping my eyes on the straight road in front of me. Something that’s been surprising is how normal it looks here. I half expected to be driving down some medieval highway, but it looks like anything I would find in upstate New York, with snow banks and leafless trees on either side of the Autobahn. “Okay, something funny. You probably want embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing would be ideal. Utterly humiliating would be absolutely perfect.”

“Well besides my final season—”

“Enough with the season. You sucked; we get it.”

I laugh. “Okay, okay, no need to get angry. Hmm, embarrassing. Let me think on it for a second. You know, it’s hard to think something up because I’m so perfect.”

“Perfect, huh? What about that season?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it.”

“Just tugging you out of the clouds, Hollywood,” she says with humor.

“Always there to ground me. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“So . . . embarrassing story.”

“Yes, okay. Uh . . .” My mind goes through a reel of memories as I try to think of the perfect story, and then it hits me, and I start laughing. “Oh, shit. I have the perfect story for you. It might be too perfect.”

Hazel rubs her hands together. “Oh, I’m here for it. Whatever it is, I’m here for it.”

“Okay, but this has to stay between us. You can’t tell my parents. They would never let me live it down.”

“That good, huh? Okay.” She holds out her pinky. “Promise I won’t say anything.”

Like old times, I hook my pinky with hers and we shake on it.

“It was my sophomore year in college, right after the season was over. At that point, everyone on campus knew who I was. My buddies, River and Hollis, thought it would be a good idea to hit up our favorite bar in town—it’s called The Truth is Out There—to celebrate. And normally, yes, this would have been a good idea.”

“Why wasn’t it a good idea this time?”

“I’m in a fraternity with River and Hollis, and one of our frat brothers was a baker. A really good baker. Well, we were at the house pre-gaming and he showed up with a batch of brownies for the crowd.”

“Uh-oh . . .”

“Yeah, ‘uh-oh’ was right. I was high as a fucking kite that night and didn’t realize it until the next day. The brownies tasted normal, really fudgy actually. I had three.”

“You had three?”

“The season was over, I was letting loose, and, like I mentioned, they were really fucking good.”

“So, you were high at the bar. Is that the end of the story?”

“Fuck, I wish it was.” I chuckle some more. “And honestly, the only reason I know this happened is because River and Hollis grabbed video of it on their phones. Don’t ask me how it happened or why, but I wound up wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with little footballs on them.”