Second Chance: A Military Football Romance

I laughed, relaxing a little. Coach had always been hard, pushing us when he knew we were half-stepping it, but he was a pretty cool dude, too. Maybe other guys on the team didn't tell it like that, but that was how he had always been with me.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry I left you in the lurch."

"We lose good guys every year, that wasn't the bad part. It just came out of the blue with you," he said. "Where'd you end up? Korea? Europe?"

"Afghanistan." He whistled.

"Right in the shit, huh? Still got all your factory assembled parts?" he asked, joking. Lucky I did because that wouldn't have went down as smooth if I hadn't.

"Still like new."

"What about this part?" he asked, tapping his finger against his temple. I was glad he wasn't sugar coating it. I didn't like being treated like there might be something wrong with me.

"Sound of body and of mind, Coach. I'm ready to play."

"I bet you are. How much field time did you get in Afghanistan?"

"Not enough," I said. More like none. "That's why I'm here now."

"I was looking forward to sending you to the draft," he said almost wistfully.

"I was looking forward to going. I know I lost a year, but I'm ready to start over. Whatever it takes."

"You did lose a year, huh," he said. "The guys getting picked up by the league for next season? None of those guys did." I nodded gravely.

"I know. I'm confident about building my base back up. I'm still in good shape, strength, cardio… I'm ready to give it everything."

"Are you coming back this semester?"

"Is that what it's going to take?"

"Why are you here, Roman?" he asked me, straight.

"I've wanted to play ball since I was six years old. That didn't change when I was injured, not when I was deployed, not now that I'm on the other side of it. I'm ready, Coach. I'll do the work. I just need an in."

"You come back from a year off, and you really think you, out of all people deserve to land a spot in the league?"

"I know nothing's going to stop me. I'll work as hard as I need to, then harder than that. I know what I'm capable of, Coach."

"I think I do, too. Losing you was unfortunate, son," he said. "You would have had teams fighting to get their contracts in your lap first."

"Still will," I said, determined.

"You would have been as good as signed if you hadn't left. Would be an awful waste to let you go."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I might have a way to help you," he said thoughtfully. "I have a connection, works with a lot of

scouts, league owners, and managers; he might have a way to get you into the combine." My heart jumped into my throat.

"When?"

"Your best shot would be the one coming up. That's next month." That was about a week away. I hadn't played in a long time, so it would be risky.

"I'd appreciate that, Coach," I said instead, knowing it was the right thing. When would this come around again?

"I'll make the call and get back to you," he said. I thanked him, grateful for the opportunity. The combine was mostly a fitness test, and I knew I was up to scratch there. In my life, I had probably done more hours of workouts and drills than actual football games. I left Coach Fitz's office with an anxious, excited ache in my stomach.