Ace’s presence in the room. I run a scratchy towel over my face as Ace goes through yet another shoulder exercise.
There are a total of four guys in here working their tails off on a day that doesn’t count, and one of them is Ace. I can’t do this to him. I can’t go behind his back and foment some kind of insurrection against him. The defense would follow my lead. I know they would, but what kind of teammate would that make me?
I slam my towel on the bench and get up. Masters just happens to be taking a break, and I jerk my head toward Cameron. He needs to go. Masters nods.
“Hey, Jack, I was thinking about buying Ellie this jacket. Would you mind taking a look at it?”
Jack is Masters' brother-in-law.
“Sure, what’ve you got?” Jack rises from the leg press and walks over to Masters.
“It’s out in my bag.”
I wait until the door closes behind Masters and Cameron before turning to Ace. “Got a minute?”
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment, and I wait as he finishes his set.
“What’s up, Ives?” he asks, dropping his weights to the ground.
I rub my chin. “There’s no easy way to say this but Mr. Texas is signing with the Warriors.”
Ace looks unimpressed. “So? I figured he would. I was part of the recruiting team, and I know that kid didn’t have a better time at any other campus than this one.”
Recruiting trips are legend at Western. Coach Lowe picks up every kid personally from the airport. They get a police escort to school. Once you arrive on campus, the cheer squad is there to greet you and your parental units. The adults are squired around. They get a first-class dinner on campus and a tour of the athletic facility, which is plusher than some pro teams’ with its mahogany lockers, carpeted floors, individual showers, training rooms, saunas, hot tubs, and a weight room reserved for just the football team.
After dinner, the potential player is introduced to a select few teammates, usually those who play the same position, which is weird if you think about it. The existing players are there to persuade the potential player to come to Western. But if that trip is successful, the same kid you showed the time of his life to might take your position.
And that’s exactly what happened here. Ace and our other quarterbacks and probably Ahmed took this kid out, got him lit and laid. Mr. Texas decided that between the first-rate education, the top-notch athletic facility, the number of times we’re on national television, and the smoking hot babes who willingly and eagerly service every whim, Western was the school for him.
“Maybe you showed him too good of a time,” I reply. “Thing is that Coach Lowe has it in his head that Mr. Texas is going to start.”
Ace laughs at this. Just flat out opens his mouth and guffaws, long and loud until he realizes I’m not smiling at all. “What the fuck, Ives?”
“He’d like you to move to safety.”
“You’re serious?” Ace stares at me with wide-eyed incredulity.
“I would never joke about shit like this.”
The look on Ace’s face? I don’t ever want to see that kind of devastation again. He stumbles, and we both pretend I don’t see that. Steadying himself with one hand on a nearby weight rack, Ace manages to choke out, “How do you know this? Is it out yet?”
Meaning does anyone outside of our organization know about it. Are the blogs on it? Is it on Twitter? Is he going to start getting phone calls and emails asking him how he feels about being replaced? My throat tightens up in sympathy.
“Coach Lowe told me, and no, it’s not out.” The news cycle is focused on the playoffs for the pros. Super Bowl talk is heating up, and our college championship is yesterday’s news. Right now, that’s a really good thing. We do not need to be in the spotlight while we’re working through this issue.
“How far away is Signing Day?” Ace finally asks.
“Four weeks or so.” Four weeks until all the high school seniors
There are a total of four guys in here working their tails off on a day that doesn’t count, and one of them is Ace. I can’t do this to him. I can’t go behind his back and foment some kind of insurrection against him. The defense would follow my lead. I know they would, but what kind of teammate would that make me?
I slam my towel on the bench and get up. Masters just happens to be taking a break, and I jerk my head toward Cameron. He needs to go. Masters nods.
“Hey, Jack, I was thinking about buying Ellie this jacket. Would you mind taking a look at it?”
Jack is Masters' brother-in-law.
“Sure, what’ve you got?” Jack rises from the leg press and walks over to Masters.
“It’s out in my bag.”
I wait until the door closes behind Masters and Cameron before turning to Ace. “Got a minute?”
He lifts his chin in acknowledgment, and I wait as he finishes his set.
“What’s up, Ives?” he asks, dropping his weights to the ground.
I rub my chin. “There’s no easy way to say this but Mr. Texas is signing with the Warriors.”
Ace looks unimpressed. “So? I figured he would. I was part of the recruiting team, and I know that kid didn’t have a better time at any other campus than this one.”
Recruiting trips are legend at Western. Coach Lowe picks up every kid personally from the airport. They get a police escort to school. Once you arrive on campus, the cheer squad is there to greet you and your parental units. The adults are squired around. They get a first-class dinner on campus and a tour of the athletic facility, which is plusher than some pro teams’ with its mahogany lockers, carpeted floors, individual showers, training rooms, saunas, hot tubs, and a weight room reserved for just the football team.
After dinner, the potential player is introduced to a select few teammates, usually those who play the same position, which is weird if you think about it. The existing players are there to persuade the potential player to come to Western. But if that trip is successful, the same kid you showed the time of his life to might take your position.
And that’s exactly what happened here. Ace and our other quarterbacks and probably Ahmed took this kid out, got him lit and laid. Mr. Texas decided that between the first-rate education, the top-notch athletic facility, the number of times we’re on national television, and the smoking hot babes who willingly and eagerly service every whim, Western was the school for him.
“Maybe you showed him too good of a time,” I reply. “Thing is that Coach Lowe has it in his head that Mr. Texas is going to start.”
Ace laughs at this. Just flat out opens his mouth and guffaws, long and loud until he realizes I’m not smiling at all. “What the fuck, Ives?”
“He’d like you to move to safety.”
“You’re serious?” Ace stares at me with wide-eyed incredulity.
“I would never joke about shit like this.”
The look on Ace’s face? I don’t ever want to see that kind of devastation again. He stumbles, and we both pretend I don’t see that. Steadying himself with one hand on a nearby weight rack, Ace manages to choke out, “How do you know this? Is it out yet?”
Meaning does anyone outside of our organization know about it. Are the blogs on it? Is it on Twitter? Is he going to start getting phone calls and emails asking him how he feels about being replaced? My throat tightens up in sympathy.
“Coach Lowe told me, and no, it’s not out.” The news cycle is focused on the playoffs for the pros. Super Bowl talk is heating up, and our college championship is yesterday’s news. Right now, that’s a really good thing. We do not need to be in the spotlight while we’re working through this issue.
“How far away is Signing Day?” Ace finally asks.
“Four weeks or so.” Four weeks until all the high school seniors
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