“You banging your assistant, Raine?” Peevy asked.
Antone’s forehead creased in concern. “Better yet, you banging Coach’s baby boy?”
I swallowed, frantically searching for an answer that wasn’t a lie. “Why are you asking me that after all this time? Mikey always travels with me.”
Antone sat forward. “Raine…”
Before Antone could warn me off something we all knew was stupid and inappropriate, Coach V. came in and told us all to shut up and listen.
It was hard to concentrate with the sting of Antone’s unspoken rebuke in my ears. Every time I focused on Coach, I couldn’t help but see him as Mikey’s dad instead of my boss. He did the same odd little head tilt Mikey did when waiting for someone to answer a question, and he used the expression “You snooze, you lose” just like Mikey did every time I complained about not getting one of his peanut butter brownies before everyone else ate them all.
For an hour and twenty minutes, all I saw was proof I was banging the boss’s boy. It was like sitting in a courtroom while the prosecutor trotted out every single piece of irrefutable evidence against the defendant. And I was the defendant.
I squirmed in my seat and jostled my leg until Peevy clamped his giant hand down on my knee and squeezed to get me to stop. When the meeting finally finished, I blew out a sigh of relief until Coach called out, “Raine, Mopellei, meet me in my office.”
The cool, modern hallway leading from the film room to Coach’s office filled as players made their way to different post-meeting appointments. Some went to the locker room to change out for practice, some headed to the trainers or the weight room, and a few walked in the same direction I was going in order to meet up with the assistant coaches. Derek Mopellei caught up with me and asked how I was feeling. I could see the hope in the quarterback’s eyes.
“Shoulder feels stronger,” I said. “But my hand still feels numb and tingly sometimes, and my grip isn’t where it should be.”
He nodded. “Okay. We’ll go out there and run through some passes. Figure out what we can do, alright?”
I hated to disappoint him, but I wasn’t quite as optimistic as he was. Instead of trying to temper his expectation, I simply agreed and followed him into Coach’s office.
When I stepped into the room, I immediately looked in the direction I always did. There, on the bookcase to the right, were framed photos of the Vining family. There was a shot from Eddie in his orange-and-white Vols uniform, a photo of Jake in his Bengals uniform grinning wildly at a playoff win a few years ago, one of Wally in cap and gown at his Clemson graduation with his arm around his coach’s shoulders, and one of Richie in his A&M wrestling singlet holding a medal of some kind.
The only photo of Mikey was a family group photo taken at Eddie and Ashlynn’s wedding several years ago. In fact, with the exception of the Bengals playoff shot, all the photos on display had been around longer than I’d played for the Riggers. I wondered why he didn’t have a picture of Mikey’s graduation from Texas A&M. I knew Mikey had walked in his graduation because he had photos from it in a collage on his bedroom wall.
When Coach came in and closed the door behind him, I had to bite my tongue against the desire to ask him why he didn’t seem as proud of his youngest son as he was of the other four. Was it because Mikey wasn’t into sports? Was it because Coach had simply overlooked his youngest or lost interest when Mikey came along? Or was there something else there, the seemingly shorter attention span for a son who didn’t seem to have much in common with his dad?
The thought made me feel unexpected rage.
He started off talking to Mopellei. “Derek, I want you to get in some practice with Brent regardless of what happens with Raine. You have more than one wide receiver, and I’d like you to get to a point where you don’t play fucking favorites when you’re under pressure in the pocket. When you’ve got that shit squared away, you can watch Raine’s practice and give me your thoughts on where we are.”
Mopellei shifted in his seat. “Yes, sir.”
Coach V. flapped his hand. “Get out of here. Brent is already warming up. If he asks you about Raine, tell him to mind his own damned business.”
Mopellei shot me a wink on his way out. I could tell he thought everything was going to be A-okay now that I was back. I didn’t want to disappoint him. Derek and I had been a smooth, successful team for several years now. It wasn’t easy creating that kind of comfort level with someone new.