The unlucky employee who helps carry my food follows me to where Noah is sitting. Players usually sit wherever they want. Sometimes the coaches want to have impromptu meetings while eating breakfast and will beckon a player over, and sometimes this is just like the cafeteria. Breakfast can totally turn into a popularity contest. You can fully expect a rookie receiver or running back to try and sit with Noah to plead their case that they need the ball when they’re in there. Unless they’re a first or second-round pick, these rookies are likely filling in for a down to give people like me a break.
I sit down across from Noah, who moves a couple of the empty plates he has in front of him to give the hotel employee more room to set my copious amounts of food down. Noah looks at me and then down at the table and back at me. He grimaces and then laughs. “Are you seriously going to eat all of this?” he picks a piece of bacon off one of the plates and sticks it in his mouth.
I shrug. “Maybe. I don’t want to have to get back in line with the defensive backs.”
Noah nods in agreement. “You ready for today?”
It’s a question Noah asks most of us on game day. He’s trying to get a feel for where his teammates heads are before we get onto the field. It’s his job to lead us, but we won’t be in sync on the field if we're not on the same page.
“I am. I feel good. Slept like shit though.”
“I rarely sleep well the night before a game. I hate hotel beds, and I hate being away from Peyton, especially when I know she’s at home. At least she’s not by herself.”
“Parents in town?”
He nods. “Quinn too. He and my dad went out to dinner with Peyton and Autumn last night. My dad went all out, according to my wife, and they ended up staying at the restaurant until closing.”
“Great, so what you’re telling me is your uber-famous dad is trying to woo the woman I’m trying to woo?”
Noah leans forward and asks quietly, “Are you and Autumn a thing?”
I shake my head slightly. “No. Maybe? I don’t know. I like her a lot, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head telling me I need to take a step back and let this relationship, or whatever it is, germinate a bit longer. I haven’t even filed for divorce yet. Elena is already on my ass about my ‘new girlfriend’ and I have a feeling she’s going to try and use this against me.”
“Can she?”
“I don’t know. I’ve put off the attorney talks this entire time. In hindsight, I should’ve spoken to one the second Elena walked out, but I think there was a part of me that hoped she would come back. That was until I found out she was having an affair.”
“Affairs are hard to get over,” he says. “I know my emotional affair with Peyton wasn’t fair to Dessie.”
“The whole situation with Dessie, and what she did—that was messed up.”
Noah sets his napkin down onto the table. “That was my fault. I should’ve ended the relationship long before it started. But I agree, the actions she took when everything started falling apart were very bothersome. She really could’ve messed up a lot of lives with her antics.”
“What’s she doing now?” I ask.
Noah shrugs. “Don’t know, and I don’t care. I’m married to the woman I’m supposed to be with. It took a near-fatal accident to realize I don’t care what people think about our age difference. I’ve been in love with Peyton for as long as I can remember.”
“Is it weird with your dad being her uncle?”
Noah shakes his head. “It’s not like they’re related. It’s the life-long friendship thing. No different than our mothers. I grew up calling her mom Aunt Katelyn, and now she’s my mother-in-law, but I still refer to her as my aunt.”
“It’s definitely weird,” I tell him.
He picks up his napkin and throws it at me. “It’s why we don’t talk about it. Only our closest friends know. People judge others too much.”
“That, they do,” I say in agreement.
Noah waits with me while I finish breakfast. A few of the other guys come to the table to shoot the shit and whatnot. None of the rookies stop by, which is good. I don’t want to tease anyone today. Honestly, the rookies we have are promising and will be a great asset next year.
After I finish and head back to my room to change, I’m on the bus with the rest of the team. The sun is shining, but it’s cold out—a typical fall day in the Pacific Northwest. I’m not looking forward to the winter though. Lately, with climate change, our calm—no snow winters—have been anything but. A couple of years back, the team ended up stranded at the stadium because of icy roads. For two days, we couldn’t leave. Elena freaked out, and rightly so. Growing up in the South, she rarely dealt with ice or freezing temperatures. It’s partly the reason she wanted to be in Los Angeles all the time, especially in the off-season. She craves the heat. The hotter, the better. Give me four seasons, and I’m happy, except when it’s below zero. No one likes to be that cold.
I’m not surprised when we pull into the parking lot to find people already tailgating. The smell of lighter fluid and briquettes fills the air, as does loud music. We have die-hards, those fans who are here the moment the gates open to get their favorite parking spot. This one time, when I was injured and couldn’t play, I came out here to check things out. Being on the other side of things really puts my job into perspective. I got to see firsthand what goes into a Sunday game. Fans love their sports teams and their favorite players. When we can give a little of ourselves back to them—they love us even more.
Inside the locker room, my gear is hanging and ready for me. I strip out of my suit and hang it up nicely. I learned a long time ago to make sure I’m wearing my supportive gear under my slacks. One too many towel whips to my ass were enough to teach me a lesson. I dress in my workout gear before heading over to the trainer to get my ankles and wrists taped. I’m old for this game and probably have a good five years left, assuming I don’t have any injuries derailing my career. It’s hard to imagine I’ll be retired or no longer able to play in my late thirties. Football is hard on the body.
Once taped and ready, I head out to the field. I like to start with a good stretch and meet with one of the trainers on the sideline. He works my hamstrings, checks my knees, and then helps me stretch. When he moves on to the next guy, I head out onto the field and run the snake, but only a quarter of it. I’m not looking to get tired before the game starts, but I want my legs as warmed up as they can be. When Noah wants to practice throwing the ball, I volunteer. Each and every time. There is no better way to get ready than to take a toss from your quarterback.
Noah gives me a hand signal, and I run the route. He hits me in stride, right in the center of my chest, with every throw. This is, of course, unrealistic because there will be a defender or two—or five, trying to prevent me from catching it. Football might be a physical game, but it’s a mind game as well. And some defensive specialists really know how to fuck with your mind.
The stands start to fill up, and the media outlets are either setting up or already on air. I have no idea how many times the cameras are on me. We’re given the signal that we need to get ready for the game. We head back into the locker room, where we dress in our pads and full uniform. The vibe around the locker room is different than when we first arrived. It was chill and relaxed, and now we’re focused and hyping each other up. Coach gives us a quick pep talk. This isn’t like high school, where we only see our coach for two hours a night, and he has to use the time before the game to go over strategy. We’ve done that all week and again yesterday morning. We’re ready.