Rookie Mistake (Offensive Line #1)

“Speak up, hon,” Coach Allen tells me. “I’m listening.”


I lick my lips as the pieces fall into place. At least I hope they’re the right pieces, otherwise I’m about to sink my own battleship with this next move. I have to be careful. I have to make sure we take on a little bit of water, just enough, without going under.

“To be honest,” I answer slowly, “we don’t know. It’s too soon to tell.”

“Can he throw?”

My heart is hammering in my ears when I say, “He can’t even palm an orange, let alone a football.”

Trey’s mom leans forward angrily. “What are—“

Trey silences her with a quick shake of his head, a finger on his lips.

“That’s a terrible shame,” Coach Allen laments.

“It is. He’s really struggling with it. We all are. Of course, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t share this information with anyone else. Trey would fall right out of the Draft if anyone knew we aren’t out of the woods on his injury yet.”

“No, no. The secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.”

“No, thank you for being up front with me.”

“I assume you’ll be drafting Andre Larkin in a few minutes.”

“I can’t say for sure, you understand, but it’s looking that way.”

“He’s a solid choice. Another Ashford Agency powerhouse.”

“Trey will go to someone today,” he promises me sadly. So sadly I start to wonder if this conversation is what I think it is. “I’m sorry it won’t be me. Can’t take that chance, though.”

“Yes, sir. I understand that.”

“Good luck tonight, kiddo. Tell Trey I’m praying for a speedy recovery. I hope my boys face off with him on the field real soon.”

Abruptly, the coach hangs up.

I drop my phone on the table feeling like I’m going to vomit.

“What are you doing?” Donna insists angrily.

“Playing the game,” I reply coolly. I tap Trey’s right arm. “You need to get this hand visible. The cameras are going to be on you while the announcers speculate whether or not the Bengals are going to pick you. They need to see the bandage on your hand. Keep it near your face.”

“Is this going to work?” he asks, lifting his hand into view. He runs his fingers along his jaw slowly as he speaks to me, acting like he’s listening intently.

“Is what going to work?” Lono demands.

I search Trey’s eyes, wishing I had more to repay their faith with than, “I hope so.”

Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds pass before the Bengals hand in their pick. The entire Green Room has started to sweat as we all wonder if we’ll see the pick move on to the next team, but finally the call is made. They hand it in.

It goes to the Commissioner.

“Booo!”

“With the second pick in the NFL Draft, the Cincinnati Bengals select… Jerrell Novak. Quarterback. Texas.”

I let out a rush of air as Trey’s head falls heavily forward. To the outside observer he looks crushed. Shocked that he was leapfrogged by a lesser quarterback. Only three people in the world know the truth. Trey, me, and the very old yet very cunning Coach Allen.

Jerrell isn’t in the building. He wasn’t expected to draft until number fifteen so he stayed home with his family in New Jersey. The feed on the TVs cuts to his stunned reaction and the madness of his family celebrating around him. He grabs his phone, bringing it to his ear with wide eyes. He’s getting the call. His team is welcoming him home.

“With the third pick of the NFL Draft, the Cleveland Browns are now on the clock.”

Donna looks desperately between Trey and I. “What is happening?” she hisses.

Trey lifts his head to smile at her. “Sloane just saved me from playing in Cincinnati.”

“They were going to pick you?”

“Probably.”

She slaps his shoulder hard. “Don’t you want to be picked? Isn’t that the point of all of this?”

“I want to be picked by the Kodiaks.”

“Trey, you don’t get to pick and choose with this. It’s a draft. They choose you. You do not choose them.”

“You do when you have the right agent.”

“You’re taking a big risk,” Lono scolds me darkly, his once friendly eyes falling angrily on my face. “Telling people he’s injured could ruin him tonight.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Trey assures them confidently.

“For what?”

“For the chance to stay in L.A.”

“Why does that matter to you so much? How is that worth risking everything you’ve worked for?”

“Because it’s what I need,” he answers simply.

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