Page 52 of Catch
Jamal had Grayson by the face mask. “Whatever’s going on with you, you need to shake it off. Go take a walk.” He pushed Grayson away and barked for Archie. “Get in there and show your starting quarterback how it’s done.”
Grayson ripped off his helmet and threw it across the field. He had shown up in a foul mood all week, but at least he was on time. Whatever was going on in the Moats’ house wasn’t going well and Grayson was terrible at hiding his feelings.
I walked over to Jamal and nodded in Grayson’s direction. “What’s going on with him?” I’d been studying films on the Jets, not watching practice.
“He’s thrown every single pass either at the receiver’s feet or too high. If he plays like this on Sunday, we’ll lose for sure. I want Archie warmed up in case this sorry sack shows up to play instead of our star.” Machismo was alive and well in football and it was hard to not roll my eyes at Jamal.
I jogged after Grayson because he didn’t deserve being called out like that. “Hey, Grayson. Hold up.” He turned but kept walking. I caught up to him and kept in stride. “Look, don’t worry about Coach getting all up in your face. You know what this is like. You’ve been around the league long enough to know he’s just blowing off steam.” I abhorred making excuses for rude behavior, but I had to communicate with Grayson on a level he understood.
“I’m just tired of all the rules. All the time. Here, at home, in life.”
I softened my voice. “Are you going to the team therapist? She’s worked wonders with other players and coaches.”
“I hate feeling like this,” he said. His features were scrunched up into something that resembled physical pain.
I sent a text to Dr. Jennifer Gioia, one of the team therapists, to find out if she was available right now. She was. “Let’s go see Jennifer. Maybe she can help you sort a few things out,” I said. Grayson headed in the opposite direction. “I’m not asking.” He turned back around and put his hands on his hips. The darkness in his stare was unsettling. “I want you to get help. I know something is eating you up and we have therapists to help. We all go to them. That’s why we have two on staff. It’s not a sign of weakness.”
“Fine, but I need to get out of these pads,” he said. He stomped off toward the locker room, removed his pads and cleats, and slipped on athletic slides. He grumbled under his breath the whole time. By the time we’d reached Jennifer’s office, he’d relaxed somewhat.
I knocked on her door. “Hey, Doc. Do you have some time to talk to Grayson?”
“Of course. Come on in, Grayson.”
She was the nicest person with a gentle disposition. During my sessions, I never felt like I was talking to a shrink. I felt like I was talking to a co-worker who had my back and supported my decisions. I was required to talk to her when the season started and it helped to get all my fears and doubts out and into the space between us. Three sessions later, I was good to go. I hoped she could do the same for Grayson. I squeezed his arm and closed the door, leaving them to fight his demons.
When I got back to the field, Jamal looked pissed. “Where’s Moats?” His voice was getting hoarse from yelling at everyone.
“He’s with the doc right now. Give him some space,” I said. It was a demand. It was also the first time I flexed on any of the offensive coaches. He nodded and turned his attention back to the field. Archie was doing an okay job, but I was sure he was getting tired of hearing how much Grayson carried the team. I somehow had to get the coaches back to the basics. They needed a reminder that this wasn’t the military. The men on the field had feelings and positive reinforcement was better than ass-kicking.
An hour later, Grayson trotted back onto the field with a better attitude. Whatever was eating him, Dr. Gioia helped fend it off. His throws were hitting their marks and he even joked with his teammates.
Chapter Twenty-one—The Quarterback and the Cheerleader
Past
I jogged over to the cheerleaders who were stretching and getting ready for tonight’s game. “I need a hair tie. Does anybody have a hair tie?”
“What?” Missy asked.
I was trying not to panic. “My elastic broke. I need a hair tie. Doesn’t anybody have one? If I don’t put my hair back, those assholes on the other team are going to rip it out.”
“You can use mine. I have another one.” Her voice was quiet, but her words spiked my pulse. It was the new girl, Parker something. She was shy, and pretty, and people flocked to her. She was the All-American girl with stunning blue eyes, long blond hair, and straight, white teeth.
When I saw her in my dad’s office on the first day of school, I normally would’ve introduced myself, but there was something about her that made me want to both run away and be near her. It was perplexing. I watched as she slid the tie from her long ponytail. She didn’t hand it to me but told me to get on my knees and turn around. “A ponytail is fine,” I said.
“Nope. We’re not going to give them any reason to get their hands on you.”
I could tell she was French braiding my hair. Her fingers felt amazing and it was hard not to lean back or relax into her. All eyeswere on us. I stayed on my knees and waited for her to finish. I wanted to say something clever and fun, but I was tongue-tied. The rest of the cheerleaders were walking through cheers, but Parker was focused on me. She quickly wrapped the end of my braid in the elastic and tucked the part that would’ve stuck out of the helmet up into the braid.
She patted my shoulder. “That should get you through the game.”
I jumped up and took a step forward before turning to thank her. “You saved me tonight. I owe you big.” I adjusted my helmet and ran over to the sidelines where my teammates stood.
“McCoy, you’re out there with Max,” Coach Larson barked. Max and I jogged to the Puma logo in the center of the field. We nodded at the right times and deferred the ball to the visiting team when we won the toss. It wasn’t hard to miss Parker on the sidelines with her long blond hair. I almost wiped out on the run back to the sidelines because Max slowed down and I was looking elsewhere. My cleat scraped the back of his ankle.
“Ow. Sutton, pay attention,” Max said.
“Fuck. Sorry!” I helped him with his shoe when we got over to the bench.
