"Are you nervous?" she asked, before scoffing and shaking her head. "Of course you aren't. You'll do great." It was like she was mad and happy about it at the same time.
"Maybe I will be when I see who I'm up against," I offered.
"You'll still do great, though. You always did."
"That's the plan."
"Good luck. I hope it works out," she said. It sounded so final when she did, like I wouldn’t be back this time next week.
"I hope so, too. I'm kind of torn."
"Why?"
"I know the timing is shitty, but it's just a week. I don't feel good about slowing down right when things are picking up."
"Who said anything was picking up?" she tried to joke, halfheartedly.
I knew she felt it, too. She was just trying to be nice, saying she hoped I did well. The best thing that could possibly happen between us was me getting there and just not being good enough, the year off catching up to me and sending me back home empty handed. I didn't want that, but it would make things easier.
"I'm gonna call you while I'm gone," I said.
"It's going to be a busy week. I'll understand if you can't."
"That isn't an option, Ron. I'm serious about this. It's not fair to keep you hanging while I'm gone."
"Just stay focused," she said shrugging. "I know how much this means to you. This could be a great thing for your career." Again, it was coming from Ron, but still somehow sounded a little disingenuous. Like it was the same thing an aunt who had never really known you, but found out about the event would say.
"It means a lot that I have your support."
"I know how much you want to do this. I..." She trailed off and sighed. "It doesn't matter how I feel about it because the way that you do is going to affect that. I want you to be happy. I know this is what it's going to take."
"It's just a week. I'll text you when I get there." She was looking down into her coffee cup.
"Okay," she said shrugging again. We finished eating, and I left, after one more kiss at the door.
How much would I hate myself if I blew this off? I wondered. That was a dangerous thought to have, but I was having it. I wasn't not going to go, but what if I didn't? It would probably make Ron happy if nothing else. If she was serious about wanting it to work out because it was what I wanted, then maybe going would be the thing that made her happy, even though it wouldn't in the short run. I hated how complicated it was.
She got a raw fucking deal dating me, I thought on my way to the airport. It had always just been easier to think about this shit happening. Now that it was happening, I wanted to make it easier for her somehow. It had all started when I had gotten deployed. If that hadn't happened, I would be graduating with her next year and trying to get drafted out of school.
Things could have gone differently during my deployment, and I took responsibility for that. It didn't change the fact that this was still going to be harder for her than it would be for me. I had been dreading the trip out, but now, I wasn't so sure about who I'd meet when I came to her apartment when I got back.
I touched down in Houston after most of the day in the air. We started immediately. During previous years, the event used to be held at the team’s training facility, but this year was a little different. This combine was at the stadium. It was massive, and could seat close to 80,000 people. Out of all the regional combines, the one here in Houston seemed to always have the highest number of competitors. There had to be something like three hundred guys competing.
The field was full of people, but it was easy to tell everyone apart. None of the players were in suits, none of the scouts or team managers were there to take part. Football was like any other industry: it helped when you knew people and politics and business mattered. That was part of the reason why after games, athletes always had interviews and had to take part in other corporate events. It sucked if all you wanted to do in the first place was play ball, but the players were who made the league. Without them, it would just be all the suits at the top who wouldn’t have any way to make money without the guys throwing the balls. Making conversation didn’t hurt.
Since it was a scouting event, you were doing the right thing if you were talking to them. It would only make things better for you if you made a good impression during the evaluations and they actually got your name and talked to you personally. That was who I had to worry about, not the other guys here. They were my competition, but they had to worry about themselves.
Football was a team sport, but we weren’t working as teams right now. I wasn’t nervous. I had hit 40 reps with 225 in the gym this past week, maxing out at 41. None of the other evaluations scared me. I wasn’t all the way back up to my game weight yet, but I could probably get away with being a little lighter since I was tall.
I didn’t bother watching any of the other guys before me. I wasn’t picking up tips. I was taking a swig out of a bottle of water, rounding the field, looking for some shade when someone stopped me. They were wearing suits. Scouts. One was taller, but both had dark glasses on. They caught my attention, waving me over.
“You Roman Blake?” the shorter one asked me.
“Yeah. Why?”
“I told you it was him,” he said, elbowing the other guy in the side. “Lucky I never made you put money on it.”
“Can I help you guys with anything?”