I glance at him. “I know.”
“We may need to make some changes.”
I sigh. “I know.”
“Good.” He clears his throat.
“Anything else?”
Hesitation. It’s never good when Robby hesitates. “One other thing.”
“Just spill it.”
“About the trainer, Leah.”
I keep myself composed. I don’t look at him, as much as I want to. I stare straight ahead, out across the field. “That’s the one involved with Gage?”
“Correct, or so the rumors had it,” Robby says.
“And now?”
“Apparently it’s all cleared up.”
I hesitate. “Cleared up, how?”
He shrugs. “I’m not sure. But the new rumor is, she turned him down and they aren’t seeing each other anymore.”
I bite my lip. I didn’t know about this. I did see her speaking with him yesterday though, only briefly. Their conversation looked intimate, comfortable.
I don’t know what she told him. Part of me worries she told him about us, but that can’t be right. She knows better than that…
“Thank you, Robby,” I say.
He nods and stiffens. I frown, looking at him, and follow his gaze. “Speak of the devil,” he says softly.
Atlas Gage is striding toward us from the tunnel.
“You should go,” I say gently. “Before you get sucked into this.”
“Thanks,” he says, and starts off in the opposite direction.
I sigh and watch him go. Robby is a good worker, but all numbers. He wouldn’t notice if I were balls-deep in Leah right in front of him.
Or maybe he would, but he’d be too busy counting strokes to care about anything else.
“Coach!” Atlas calls out, getting closer, a big smile on his face.
“Hello, Atlas.”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your win again.”
“Thank you,” I say. “You’re here early.”
“I know,” he answers, stifling a yawn. “I was out late with the players and, well, I wanted to stop in and see how things were here.”
“All is well,” I say.
“Were you watching tape?”
“Always.”
“And it looks good?”
I hesitate. I hate telling him stuff, especially when I don’t need to, but he’ll hear it sooner or later. “Defense needs to change,” I say. “We need a corner that can keep up with the big guys, and we need a new tackle.”
He nods. “Whatever you want, you’ll get.”
“If only that were true.”
He grins at me, stretches. His suit is rumpled and his hair is a mess. I wonder if he slept here, somewhere in the clubhouse.
He probably did. I know some of the guys do that sometimes, when they’re out late around the stadium and don’t feel like going home only to show up early the next morning. They sleep here, shower here, and just wear whatever we have lying around. There’s always food, so it’s not exactly a huge sacrifice.
I sigh and look back out at the field. If only the game was just that patch of grass out there. I could live my whole life out there, in those hundred yards.
Everything in life happens there. All the drama, the excitement. Heartbreak, victory, everything. It’s all out there.
But football happens mostly out here, off the field. It happens in deals, in cultures, in effort, in ethos. I give the guys a reason to work for me, and they provide me with results.
That’s how this works, or how it’s always worked in the past. Now, though, I’m afraid it’s not enough.
“I heard about Leah,” I say abruptly, changing the conversation.
He hesitates a second, but doesn’t look overly surprised. “I was wondering if you’d bring that up,” he admits.
I look at him. “Why her?” I ask.
He shrugs. “She seemed interesting. Pretty. I just wanted some company, I guess.”
“You can get company anywhere. Why her?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “Convenience. She was there. I don’t know.” He shrugs a little, grinning. “Doesn’t matter, though.”
“Why not?”
“She turned me down. Said she wasn’t interested in me.”
I nod once tightly, trying to control the relief I feel. I don’t know if he can see it on my face but he doesn’t react at all if he can.
“It’s hard when you’re in a position like this,” I offer.
“I’m aware.” He sighs. “I don’t need to talk about my love life with you, Coach. I wanted to talk about something else.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Okay, what?”
“The playoffs.”
I wince a little. It’s bad luck to even mention the damn playoffs this early in the season. They’re so far away and it’s not at all guaranteed that we’ll even get close. I hate even hearing the word.
“What about them? It’s too soon to be thinking about it.”
He shakes his head. “I wanted to offer you a little… incentive.”
“Incentive?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Two million dollars if you make the playoffs, and another million for every game you win. And five for the Super Bowl.”
I blink, shocked. “Atlas, that’s a lot of money.”
“I’m rich, remember?”
“But still…”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’re worth it, Coach. Just get us there, make some money.”
I stare at him. That money could go back into the team. It could buy us new helmets or something like that.