“These guys are at the height of their careers. They don’t need me beating them up anymore. They know what they’re about.”
I kneel down in front of him, inspecting the scar. It’s nasty, about what I expected, clearly deep and painful.
I start my massage, keeping it easy. I can tell it hurts, though, from the way he reacts. I poke and prod him gently, rubbing, kneading the muscle. He’s surprisingly strong for someone in so much pain.
“So why do you do it then?” I ask, trying to keep his mind off the massage.
“Hell, I don’t know,” he grunts. “There are a lot of reasons. I want them to respect me, listen to me like a general. It’s a mental thing, mostly. But maybe I just enjoy it.”
“You enjoy telling them to hurt themselves?” I ask.
“No—oh, shit,” he says, grimacing.
“Sorry. Too hard?”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He takes a deep breath.
I start again. He’s silent for a moment.
“I can’t play anymore, so I guess… I take it out on them. Beat them up. Punish them for being able to do what I can’t.”
I bite my lip. It’s a strange thing for him to admit to me, but I think I can understand. I’m sure there’s resentment inside of him still.
“You miss it?” I ask.
“Hell, no,” he says, laughing before he grimaces again. “At least, not really. I wish I could’ve played longer when I was younger, but I’m also happy I didn’t.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“Not really. I just know if I played longer, I would’ve walked away from the sport with some kind of brain injury. At least now I get to coach.”
I nod a little bit. Head injuries and trauma are really common in retired NFL players. There have been lawsuits about it, and the league has been trying to change the rules to make it safer to play.
It’s not helping, of course. People don’t really want to help NFL players. They want to see them smash into each other, over and over. They want the violence. They want the drama.
I hate that about football, and it’s part of why I’m here. I want to help these guys, maybe do some good for them while I can.
I massage Cole’s leg for another few minutes. When I’m done, he leans back in his chair, groaning a sigh of relief.
“How was it today?” I ask him.
“Bad,” he admits. “Worse than usual.”
“Okay,” I say, walking over to my clipboard. I plan on writing that down, but he stops me.
“Don’t put anything down on paper,” he says.
I raise an eyebrow. “It’s just for me.”
He shakes his head. “Call me paranoid if you want, but no paper trail.”
I laugh a little but shrug. “Okay, whatever you say.”
He grins. “Listen, I never asked. Are you a football fan?”
I put my clipboard under my shoulder and look him square in the eyes.
For a second, I consider lying.
“Nope,” I say.
He just laughs. “Good. Better if you’re not.”
“Why?”
“You’re less likely to try and pass these guys when you shouldn’t.”
I bite my lip. “You think that happens?”
“I know it happens. Don’t be that trainer, okay?”
I hesitate a second. “Don’t you want us to pass your guys if they’re borderline? I mean, you need them to play.”
“I need them alive and healthy,” he says softly. “If I’m put in the position of choosing in front of other people, I’ll tell you to pass them. But privately, between us, don’t put me in that position, and do the right thing.”
I laugh gently. I don’t know how this conversation went in this direction. “Do you tell your whole training staff to do this?”
“Nope. Just you.” He sighs, stands, and puts his pants on. I get a glimpse of his hard, gorgeous ass before he gets himself situated. “And I saw you staring.”
I turn bright red. “I wasn’t, I mean, it’s part of my job, you know.” I stutter like a moron.
He grins, cocking his head at me. “It’s part of your job to stare at my ass? I don’t think so, Leah.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
“Sure you weren’t. Did you like it, at least?”
Of course I freaking liked it. The guy’s built like a Greek god.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, turning away from him. “I’m a lady.”
“I bet you are!” he says, laughing, as I push open his door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Coach,” I say, waving to him.
“Cole!” he grumbles after me as I shut the door and head down the hall.
I have a stupid smile on my face the whole walk back to the training room.4ColeI rub my thigh softly. It’s early the next morning, and my leg already aches.
Not as bad as the day before, though. Leah’s massages hurt, but they definitely help, and I think even those damn torturous exercises are even starting to do something.
I wish I didn’t have to do this shit, but I’m a pragmatic man. I do what works.