Pearce makes a noise. “What other one is there? Won’t lie, son. Might not be your best option in the long run. It’s obviously a strong team, but I think your talents could take a lesser one to the top. You’d be famous for making a name for someone else.”
“Or losing with the rest of them,” I refute, not seeing why he’d deter me from choosing if it ever called for a decision.
Wilkins laughs. “He’s not wrong, Bill.”
Coach Pearce scrubs his face with a palm and levels with me. “They drafted Jacob Mahone. Kid has the kind of stats that will make him the next Gronkowski if he plays the way he did for the Raiders.”
“Funny. I’ve been told the same thing.”
“I’m not saying it to piss you off,” he returns. “Stating facts, that’s all. With the big names leaving other teams, it opens up spots for your talent to shine. That’s all I’m getting at.”
“New York has talked about you extensively,” Wilkins tells me. “They’ve seen what you can do here and what you did at Wilson Reed. There’s no doubt you’ve got what it takes to take a team to championships like you’ve done for the Dragons. You don’t get into fights, you stay out of the drama, and you’re dedicated to getting better. That’s more than a lot of prospects, especially your age, can say.”
“And,” Pearce adds, “it’s more than people can say for Mahone. He may be a fierce competitor, but he’ll get himself into trouble soon enough with that mouth and personality of his. Wallace is going down the same path. Ruined potential as far as I’m concerned if he doesn’t get his act together soon.”
Both men nod, leaving me blowing out a breath and sinking into the chair. “What does that mean for me? We talked about the combine next year.”
Coach hums. “I was filling Wilkins in on your plan to take a leave of absence so you can focus on training. There will be multiple scouts watching for you. Your game is improving with every competitor we crush out on the field. I have no doubt you’ll be saying goodbye to this school for good after winter finals.”
My nostrils twitch over that. I may not love school, but Mom has always wanted me to get a degree. She understands what this opportunity could mean for me though. If Dad hasn’t drilled it into her head, dozens of other people—Grandma included—have reminded her that I could make a name for myself without a mundane piece of paper signed and stamped by the college.
I look to Wilkins. “You think I could be first pick with the Bills?”
His lips stretch. “Hell, kid. I think you could be first pick with anyone. Not many people can do what you can out there. That takes sacrifice and loyalty to the game.”
Sacrifice.
Ivy’s face pops into mind, and I have to push it away for the time being. As if he knows what I’m thinking, Pearce says, “I’ve reminded him what his priorities are this close to the combine. He knows what’s most important. Knows not to get distracted.”
I look to the ground, jaw tight.
Wilkins walks over to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. “There are going to be perks no matter who chooses you and who you sign a contract with. But consider New York. You’re from here. You’ve got family around. You can bring the team to a lot of victories. Any team would be lucky to have you though.”
After leaving the office, my head fills with about a thousand different thoughts that are hard to sort. The tornado of what-ifs and worries leave me mentally drained, and I’m grateful I have class to force me to focus on something other than my future football career and the girl I left naked in my bed.
What is it that Dad says? Oh, right.
It’s not really a dream if you don’t sacrifice anything for it.
Chapter Seventeen
Ivy
The soft mumblings of other students gathered at the tables in the library fill the otherwise quiet space as I tap my pen against my notebook and stare at the row of unoccupied computers. Glancing down at my phone screen and staring at the last text I sent that was left unanswered, I swallow my doubt and push back my chair.
I’m usually the one who leaves the rumpled bed without another word and doesn’t look back, so I tell myself it’s just my bruised ego getting to me. Karma. I’ve never been the girl who waits for a guy to text her back, and I don’t want to start now.
Logging into one of the school’s computers, I pull up the old social media site that I haven’t used in a long time. I’m not sure why my talk with Aiden stirred a need to do this, or why waking up alone left a hole in my chest that I feel the need to mend on my own, but the temptation for change is too much to ignore.
Aiden’s always been the person to make me want more. Make me want better. And I’m the only person who can make it happen.
The second I’m on, my fingers only hesitate a moment before typing in the name I’ve thought about more times than I can count.
There he is.
Porter Underwood.
His account is private, but the profile picture is undoubtedly him in… “A football uniform?” My eyes narrow as I study the image, running my fingertips over Haven Falls High’s name on the jersey plastered to him.