Straddling the Line

TWENTY-FOUR

THE BALL SAILED THROUGH THE AIR IN A PERFECT arc. Trevor never once took his eyes off it, though part of him recognized the safety on a path to his position. He dug in and pushed, racing to beat the corner to the first down line.

He reached for the ball and it landed right at his chest. The safety slammed into him and pushed him out of bounds. Holding tight to the ball, Trevor rolled to the ground.

The whistle blew, and Barrett Cassidy held out his hand. Trevor grabbed it and Barrett hauled him up.

“A few more steps, I would’ve had ya,” Barrett said.

Trevor laughed. “You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” Trevor slapped Barrett’s helmet and the two of them trotted back to the line of scrimmage.

“Good catch,” his coach said as the offense regrouped.

It was a grueling practice. It might be early October, but in Tampa, it was still hot. Sweat dripped down Trevor’s neck, but he had to focus. He was playing catch-up with the team that already had played three games. They’d won two, lost the last one. He had to meet rookies and reinsert himself with his teammates again.

Nothing he wasn’t used to, but it always took him a while to change gears from baseball to football.

He caught sight of Haven walking the side of the field. Andy the camera guy was there, too, taking shots of him at practice.

He hadn’t seen much of her since they’d gotten back to St. Louis. He’d packed up and grabbed a flight right away, while she’d stayed behind to finish up footage to send in to her studio.

It had been three days. He’d missed her. He’d invited her to stay at his place, but she hadn’t answered him. She’d told him she was arriving today, so she must have come right to the field.

He wanted some alone time with her, but damned if he knew when he was going to get it. That was why he was hoping she’d stay with him at the house.

After practice ended, he stopped and talked to his coach, George, for a few minutes.

“There’s a rookie tight end that wants your job this year,” George told him.

“Warrell Timmons,” Trevor said. “Kind of a hotshot punk.”

George laughed. “He’s good.”

“Not as good as I am.”

George slapped him on the back. “That’s what I like about you, Trevor. You’re always so modest.”

“You don’t like me because I’m modest, George. You like me because I’m one of the best tight ends you’ve ever had.”

“True. So why don’t you give up baseball and play for us full time? You’re not getting any younger and I’m tired of having to wait for you.”

“Hey. I’ve got plenty of playing years ahead of me.”

“So you say. But football’s a hard game.”

“Not for me it isn’t.”

“Those young kids like Timmons are coming up all the time. One of these days, one of them is going to push you right out.”

Any other guy would be offended—or maybe paranoid. But Trevor knew his coach. There was a place for him on this team as long as he stayed healthy, kept his stats up, and wanted to play here. And every year some new hotshot like Warrell Timmons tried to shove Trevor out of the way. He knew he couldn’t devote the entire season to playing for Tampa, so they had to develop new players at the tight end position.

And maybe Trevor couldn’t spend the entire season playing, but he was good at helping the new guys.

“So you want me to spend some time with this kid?”

“If you wouldn’t mind. Knock that chip off his shoulder and show him how the position is supposed to be played. Right now he has a God complex. He could do no wrong at the collegiate level. But you know how it is when you come to the pros.”

Trevor cracked a smile. “I do. Consider it done.”

This should be fun.

“But Trevor?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t be too hard on the kid. He’s had it rough, so he’s overcompensating by playing the tough, cocky rookie, you know?”

Trevor scratched the side of his nose, remembering exactly what that was like. “Yeah, Coach, I know.”

“Figured you did. This is his dream and I know that. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he’s not getting rid of the attitude.”

Trevor nodded. “Gotcha, Coach. I’ll handle him.”

Instead of walking off the field, Trevor went over to where Warrell was gathering up his stuff.

“Good practice today.”

The kid stood, straightening himself, trying to tower over Trevor, which was hard to do considering Trevor’s height.

“Uh, thanks. You, too. You know, for an older guy.”

Trevor laughed. Yeah, he popped attitude, all right. “Think you can beat me?”

Warrell puffed his chest out. “Know I can.”

“Good. Let’s put you to the test. If you have any energy left after practice.”

“I’ve got plenty to spare, old man. Do you?”

“More than you. Let’s do this.”

Trevor called the receivers coach over, and they went through a series of drills. Warrell had great reflexes, but he was still young and didn’t know the playbook as well as Trevor did, so on a wideout, one of the quarterbacks threw both of them a six-nine-six, and Trevor cut across the field, making a sweet catch and a run into the end zone, leaving Warrell in the dust.

They went through several formations, and while he was good, and had the potential to be great, it was obvious Warrell wasn’t yet at Trevor’s skill level. He had the stamina of youth, but not the experience.

And Trevor didn’t intend to cut him any slack. The best way for Warrell to learn was to play with the best. And Trevor knew he was one of the best.

When the coach whistled for them to finish, they headed to the drink table.

“You’re good,” Trevor said. “Not as good as me, but you’re still good.”

Obviously not ready to back down yet, Warrell lifted his chin. “I’ll get there. Once I learn all the plays, I’ll give you a run.”

Trevor grinned. “Well, you can try.”

“Hey, you’ll be off playing baseball, and I’ll be here soaking up all the limelight and stealing the starting tight end spot right out from under you.”

“Sure, kid. You keep thinking that.”

Yeah, he had a chip all right. Trevor would keep working on him. He’d come around.