Page 142 of Just One More Thing

Ryan laughs. “They’re gonna call.”

Just four syllables, and my hand tightens around the drill before I realize I’m still holding it.

“Not official yet,” Ryan says. “But it’s coming. Daniels is done for the season. QB2 looked rough the last two games. Real rough in practice today. Coaches are pretending they’re calm.”

“Which means they’re not calm.”

“Not even a little.”

I set the drill down and walk to the edge of the dock, leaning my forearms against the railing as I stare out toward the channel marker in the distance.

“You hear this from who?”

“A friend in the office.”

“That narrows it down.”

“You know I protect my sources.”

I huff out a laugh. A year ago, I would’ve already been heading inside to pack a bag. Hell, six months ago. Back then it would’ve hit the part of me that still needed the league to tell me I mattered.

Now all I can think is I don’t want to leave.

Ryan goes quiet. I can hear whistles and voices in the background. Practice facility. “You thinking about it?” he asks.

“I’m listening,” I say. “Not yet thinking.”

“That sounds like thinking.”

“Probably because you know me too well.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Somebody yells his name in the distance. “I saw you at the dunk tank,” he says. “You looked good. You’ve still got it if you want it.”

“I know.”

The shoulder’s fine. The arm’s fine. I could do it. The question isn’t whether I could go back.

It’s why the idea of saying yes feels less like returning and more like leaving.

“Where’s your head at?” Ryan asks. “Is it Emory?”

A pelican drops hard into the water fifty yards out, spray spreading across the surface.

“Yeah.”

Ryan’s quiet again. “You want me to tell you not to do that?”

“No.”

“She doesn’t know you’d turn it down,” he asks carefully.

“No.”

“You gonna tell her?”

I shake my head even though he can’t see it. “No.”