“Okay. I’ll let them know I found you and that you will report on time.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. This is the beginning of a new chapter for you. You’re going to do big things in Arizona. You excited?”
“I’m excited.”
“I can’t hear you. Are you excited?!”
“I’m excited!” I stood up and laughed. I loved my agent, but he watched Jerry Maguire one too many times. I showered, got dressed, and headed to a new chapter in my life. For the first time in my life, I had no clue what that new chapter would look like.
When I pulled in the parking lot of the practice facility, Cameron stood out front with his arms crossed.
“I hope she was good.”
I ignored him. Walked right by him like we had never met. People who over exaggerate their importance hated being ignored. He ran after me calling my name.
"Jackson, you can check in back here.”
“Listen, Cameron, I appreciate the hospitality. Don’t you have something else you need to be doing?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Well, son, go find something,” Coach Crawford’s booming voice echoed off the walls and the intern looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Jackson Mitchell, how the hell are you?”
“Hi, Coach.” I shook his hand firm and tried to match his strength as I stared over him. The sixty-eight-year-old man’s solid frame intimidated the most confident guy. Coach Crawford had been with the Cardinals for five years, after spending the majority of his coaching career at UCLA as an assistant and then the head coach for twelve years. As I watched him over the years, he had a reputation for being fair but tough. But you weren’t scared of him. I couldn’t wait to pick his football brain.
He reminded me of my coach in high school. He never smiled, but if you worked hard for him, he took care of you.
“Come on in and let’s have a chat.”
I followed him down a corridor into the full team meeting room. The room looked like a small movie theater, but with a row of tables in front of the recliner chairs.
“How you feeling?”
“I’m good, sir.”
“The leg bother you anymore?”
“Not even a little. It’s healed.”
“Good, good. I’m glad to hear it.” He sat down on one of the tables; I didn’t know whether to sit or bow. I stood.
“I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to let you know, I was ready to draft you five years ago, even tried to trade up to get you, but it didn’t work out.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, well, we ended up with Samson. Don’t get me wrong. He is a capable quarterback, but dammit, I don’t want a capable quarterback. I want someone who’s hungry. Someone who works hard, who leads, who wants to win.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, to be fair, I gave Samson this same speech yesterday. But it’s what you do with the information, what you show me out on that practice field, and in the preseason games that will determine who is going to lead this team at the beginning of the season. The job’s here for you to win or lose. I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Yes, sir. I appreciate that.”
“I won’t bullshit you, Jackson. These guys think they are Sampson’s guys, but honestly, they are looking for a leader. They are craving someone to lead them. You perform and don’t give them a reason to not follow you. We clear?”
“Yes Sir, I’ll do my best.” I wasn’t sure I sounded confident, but I wanted to make this guy proud.
“You go ahead and check in and Cameron will take you over to see the doctor. We scheduled a physical first thing and then I’ll see you at practice.”
“Okay, thanks, Coach.”
“No problem. Prove me right, son. That’s all I ask.” I smiled and Coach hit me in my stomach, dipped his head, and walked to the other side of the room and disappeared through a side door.
I followed the signs to check in. Got my information and made it through my physical, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and headed to the locker room to get ready for practice.
Cameron stood in the halls laughing with some other guys, but stopped when I passed. I headed into the locker room. Inside the doors, the equipment room was set off to one side. They stocked any and all type of practice gear an athlete would need. Back in San Diego, I would have stuffed stocked for me. It’s a whole new situation here. No one even asked. I wasn’t the first round draft pick any more. I was one of the guys vying for a job.
The guy behind the counter grabbed a nylon bag and handed it to me.
“Stuff you don’t want, put it back in the bag and drop it back here.” He pointed to a basket at the end of the counter.
I grabbed it and headed further into the locker room. The plush red carpet looked new with the Cardinals helmet embroidered in the center. The lockers lined the walls, the defense on one side and the offense on the other. I walked around and spotted my locker. I got chills seeing my jersey with the number nine and my name across the back. I touched the lettering, trying to hide my excitement. As a veteran, I had done this before, but I felt like a rookie all over again.
Besides a nod, and a hey man, no one spoke to me. I got it. My job was to take a position away from one of their teammates. Everyone knew it. I hoped their hesitance in welcoming me meant they thought I had a chance.
Sampson's job was mine.
Sampson and I came out together. San Diego had drafted me in the first round; Sampson went to Arizona somewhere in the third round.
We had been on the same track all throughout college. We only had the chance to play against each other once, and I won that match up. People assumed that either all football players liked each other or they hated each other. I had no reason to hate Sampson. We were different guys, different players, and different kinds of quarterbacks. His was part of the new breed of play action type quarterbacks. Good instincts, could pass, but could run better. Sometimes that got him into trouble.
I was what you call a traditional quarterback, at six-foot-four and two hundred ten pounds. I had a great arm, but I had something to show these guys. I had the legs, too. I worked in the off-season to get smaller and faster. You had to have that skill in this NFL.
I pulled my jersey over my head and heard my name.
“Jackson Mitchell.” I turned and found Sampson standing in the middle of the locker room, calling me out, and establishing his territory. He stood with his arms crossed in baggy sweat pants and no shirt. His chest puffed out as far as it would go as he rocked on his six-foot frame. I took my time and walked over to him, meeting him in the middle of the room where he stood flanked by his tight end, Christians, on his right and a lineman I didn’t recognize on his left.
“Marcus Sampson.” I extended my hand; he grabbed it and pulled me in for an awkward man hug considering he only came up to my shoulders.
“It’s good to see you, man. You excited to be here?” he asked, looking up at me. He still had a firm grip on my hand. I put a hand on his shoulder and pulled my hand away.
“I am.”
“Looking forward to picking your brain. Get some of those tricks you used in college to win. Maybe you can bring some of those FSU winning ways to the Cardinals.” He made the tomahawk gesture, but with a limp wrist. Lame insult, but we were playing nice for the moment.
“Yeah, well, I’m here to help the team.”
“Good. Glad to hear it.” He stepped close to me, and I had to lean down to hear him, “And you have my permission.”
“Permission for what?”
“That hot little lawyer with the great ass. You have my permission to get with her. I’m done with her anyway.”
Sampson looked up at me, winked, and hit me in the chest. He walked away giggling like a bitch as I stood there with my mouth open. No way, Carrington hooked up with that guy. How did he even know about Carrington and I?
Fucking intern.
“Hey man, don’t pay attentio
n to anything that comes out of that troll’s mouth. He’s scared.”
I turned. James Towson stood next to my locker. I walked back shaking my head.
“Scared?”
“Yeah, he knows he’s about to lose his job.” James extended his hand, “James Towson.”
“Jackson Mitchell.”
The Cardinals drafted James in the first round last year. He won rookie of the year and should have been in the top five of wide receivers in the league if his quarterback didn’t have a hard on for his tight end. At six-three, two twenty, he was a stereotypical big time NFL wide receiver. He needed the right quarterback.
“Five minutes, guys.” A trainer yelled into the locker room and the guys pulled stuff out of their locker and got dressed, grabbing equipment and tying their shoes. I grabbed my helmet and some tape and followed James out toward the practice field.
As we stepped outside, I looked around and inhaled the smell of fresh cut grass. The heat hadn’t quite reached its peak. The pristine field got me excited, ready to tear it up.
God, I love football.
“Listen, you ever want to work on routes after practice, let me know,” James said as we stepped out on the field.
I grabbed his shoulder. “I’m letting you know now.”
He smiled and we both took off in a jog to the other side of the field and back. We jogged in step back and forth until Coach called us to huddle up.
CHAPTER FIVE
Carrington Olivia Butler
I stared out of my office window at the Cardinals practice field more often than I liked to admit in the last few days. I couldn’t make out the player’s faces, but no denying who I was looking for. During the first week of training camp, I didn’t hear from Jackson at all. I didn’t expect to.
Okay, maybe I did, but I shouldn’t, right? He texted Jack every night to tell him a little something about his day and I checked out the text on my eight-year-old’s phone for something, anything. I was jealous of my son’s relationship.
So pathetic.
I came into the office on Thursday surprised to see Adam.
“Hey, I thought you weren’t back until next week?”
“Yeah, well, plans change, don’t they?” he said distracted by something on his computer.
“You okay?”
“What?” he looked up. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Listen, I know how much you love being around football players and all, but I need to ask you a favor.”
“Why do you think I don’t like football?”
“I don’t know, because you seem reluctant to do anything remotely related to it even though we run a sport focused practice. If you weren’t so damn good at your job, I would have let you transfer to another department by now.”
“I don’t want to move to another department and I love football.”
He blinked at me and narrowed his eyes before shaking his head and continuing.
“Okay … Well, good then you will be all over this task.”
“What?”
“The summer associates are going to training camp for the day.” He handed me a sheet of paper. “Here’s the planned itinerary and the list of students and their schools. I need you to chaperone. The Cardinals will be in charge of everything. I want you there to answer any questions they might have about our practice area and let me know if anyone stands out that we should be looking closer at.”
“All these students went to Ivy League schools.”
“You are a lawyer, you can relate.” He looked up at me. “Didn’t you do a summer internship during undergrad?”
“No, I’m sorry. I was raising a child over my summer vacation.”
Adam laughed and I joined him.
“You really aren’t normal, are you?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Good. That’s how I meant it.” The glint in his eye made me uncomfortable, and I turned away. “You can take Jack and take Carrie and have her bring her daughter.”
“Okay, but you owe me.”
“Yeah, I’ll settle up at the end of the year.”
I waited until breakfast the next day to tell Jack we were going to training camp at Cardinals stadium. I didn’t want him to warn Jackson. Yes, I used my son as a pawn in my romantic games. I told you I was pathetic.
“Hurry up and finish your cereal.” Jack was reading the sports page on his iPad. My kid was strange.
“Mama, did you know James Towson said he thinks Jackson is going to start for the Cardinals in the season opener?”
“I’m sure Marcus Sampson isn’t exactly thrilled to hear that.”
“Well, Jackson is better than Sampson. The better man has to play, right?”
“Maybe, but sometimes other things go into the coach’s decisions.”
“That’s not fair. The best player should play all the time.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him sometimes life wasn't fair. He would learn that lesson on his own soon enough.
“Well, why don’t we go and check out practice for ourselves.”
“Oh, my goodness. What?” He started tapping his foot and getting animated. This only happened when it came to Jackson and football.
“I have to take a group of law students to training camp. Carrie and her daughter are coming, too. We can go watch the team practice and then we get to take a tour of the stadium and have dinner with the team.
“No way. Really? Yesssss!” He jumped up and ran in to the laundry room. “Julia, did you hear? We get to go to training camp. Where’s my jersey?”
“Whoa. Hold on.” He ran back into the kitchen, hugged me around my neck and almost pulled me off my chair. “We aren’t going until after lunch. I need you to come to the office with me and sit quietly while I work and then we’ll go, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You’re excited to see practice?”
“I can’t wait to see Jackson.”
I had to admit, so was I.
I followed the bus full of six law students in my own car with Carrie in the passenger seat and Jack and her daughter in the back. Jack grew tired of trying to explain to Carrie’s daughter why going to practice was such a big deal. Carrie’s ten-year-old daughter preferred dresses and make-up to football and getting dirty. She was also a little boy crazy, which I thought seemed weird for a ten-year-old girl. When I looked over at Carrie adjusting her make-up for the third time since we left the office eight minutes ago, I understood why.
Thank God I have a boy.
When we stepped out of the car and the students exited the bus, we were greeted by a tall blond-haired blue-eyed woman in a tight fitted red suit and four inch wedge heels; Rebecca, not Becky or Becca, but Rebecca. That was how she introduced herself to me when I met her for the first time last year. Nepotism got her the position as an assistant in the marketing department.
“Hello. Welcome to training camp for the Arizona Cardinals. We have any Cardinals’ fans?” she asked. The students all looked at her and stared. Jack raised his hand.
“You are? And who is your favorite Cardinals?” she asked bending down to meet him at eye level, her cleavage five inches from his face. Thank God my child could care less about this woman and her cleavage.
“Jackson Mitchell,” Jack said.
“Who?” she asked.
“Jackson Mitchell. The Cardinals’ new quarterback.”
“Oh sweetie, the Cardinals quarterback is Marcus Sampson.”
One of the law students laughed. “You guys like traded for Jackson Mitchell a week ago. I hate football, but even I knew that.”
I bit my lip to prevent myself from laughing out loud. Rebecca turned to hide her face, which had to be the same shade as her suit. “Okay, well we have special seats for you to watch practice and then after, you will have time to meet some of the players before our tour of the stadium.” She sounded like a teacher speaking to a bunch of twelve year olds. She lost the crowd at hello.
“Who’s that guy?” I motioned t
o Carrie referring to the football hater. “I like him.”
“You would.”
We walked into the stadium and down the stairs to the practice field. I spotted Jackson the minute we stepped on the field. He had his helmet off, leaned over a table and grabbed a water bottle. The world slowed down as he squirted some in his mouth and then all over his face and the top of his head. He blew out the water and a spray of water dispersed in the sunlight. He shook the water off his head. I saw individual droplets slide down the side of his face, down his neck and disappeared inside of his jersey. If I concentrated harder, in my mind, I could make his jersey disappear.
“Carrington.”
I gasped. “What?” I turned to Carrie.
“Are you going to join us or sit there and stare with your mouth open?”
I pulled my hat tighter over my head and took a seat.
Between plays, Jackson waved. We waved back, but I couldn’t detect anything from his wave.
The smart-ass kid from the bus walked in front of the group and tapped Rebecca on the shoulder. “You see number nine? That’s Jackson Mitchell.”
“Oh, I know silly,” she said and patted him on the shoulder. “I just call him J.”
“Right.” He nodded and walked over to a table with some drinks and snacks set up for our group. I followed.
“You’re really not much of a football fan?”
“Depends. If I tell the truth, will it get back to the hiring partners that I was disagreeable and not a team player?”
“No, your secret’s safe with me.”
“Yeah, well, it’s the assistants like yourself that run the firm anyway, right?”
“You know I’ll kind of pretend like you said associate and ignore the fact that you just called me an assistant.”
“Oh, fuck. I mean, I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. You couldn’t know.” I pointed to Carrie. “She’s an assistant and looks more like a lawyer than I do.”
He turned bright red himself.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Robert Shafer. Northwestern.”
“Nice to meet you, Robert. I’m Carrington. Third year associate.”
Hope for Us (Hope Series Book #3) Page 5