He tilts his head, making my joke fall flat.
“I have until January to decide.”
Krueger shakes his head and then scratches behind his ear, my answer clearly surprising him. “You’re good enough.”
“What?”
“I said you’re good enough.”
I stare at him, wishing he was Peters, berating me or screaming about last week’s trick play that gave us the win.
“You know how good your team is and how good your teammates are, but you grossly underestimate how good of a player you are. You could be drafted, save the risk of getting injured and land a decent contract.”
“Why’d you come work for Peters? Everyone knows he muzzles his offensive coordinators.”
“Same reason you came to play here. It had nothing to do with Peters but the program. Camden is going somewhere; Peters will have the choice to go along or step off the train.”
I scoff. “He won’t even step aside when needing a damn hip replacement.”
“Last week was proof that he has to be able to adapt. You guys proved that.”
“He’s still receiving the credit for last week’s game.” I hate acknowledging it, and hate even more to admit it. “No one even understands how he keeps us under his thumb. Half the damn team doesn’t even see it.”
“You’re always going to be at someone else’s mercy. If not Peters another coach or another boss if you decide you can’t accept being told what to do.”
“What is that supposed to mean? I jump through fucking hoops.” I’m on my feet, pacing the short distance of his office. “I don’t see my family for Thanksgiving or Christmas. I wake up and go to the gym, I get out of class and go to the gym, I finish classes, and go to the gym. I memorize plays. He says jump, and I have to ask how damn high.”
“But you gamble. You moved out of the dorms. You play your pranks on the goddamn soccer team. You encouraged Hudson to run that play Saturday.”
“I’m confused, Coach. Are you telling me I’m good enough or that I’m not cut out for this?”
“I’m saying you need to take smarter risks.”
“Risks that you approve of?”
“Risks that your future coaches will approve of.”
I’d like to flip his desk, instead, I move to the door. “Noted. Anything else?”
Krueger flexes his jaw. “You could be great.”
“I could also be a total asshole or a drunk or a degenerate. I guess we just be grateful I’m mediocre.”
“Don’t play the martyr role. Not here. Not in my office. Not to me. You have the drive and the skill and the brain to go far in this game. The question you need to ask yourself is if you want it.”
I pull his door open and leave without another word.
“Everything okay?” Corey asks as Krueger follows me out of his office, stopping at the bank of lockers near us.
I nod at Corey. “Yeah.”
“Get some rest. Tomorrow’s going to be one hell of a fight,” Kruger says.
It’s another undefeated team, another high-stakes game that will likely require taking risks that include defying Peters to win.
The drive home feels a little longer tonight, my thoughts too damn loud.
Hadley’s in the living room, bundled in blankets as she types on her laptop, humming as she does except for when taking notes. “Hey,” she says, brushing her hair back. “You’re early.”