Playing the Game

10. No One Is Immune to the Smirk

"Shut up, I'm not married."

"Might as well be," I shrug. "Whining about a workout, trying to get out of things so you can stay in with Elise, or cutting out early so you can go to brunch with her family." I reach over and pat his stomach, feeling nothing but rock hard abs, but I can't resist making a jab. "Putting on some weight there, too, buddy. Better watch the pastries."

He laughs and shoves my hand away. "Shut the fuck up, I'm buff as hell. The physique is why Elise won't let me out of her sight."

"I'm sure."

The conversation dies as Hart finally approaches, looking us up and down and appearing plenty satisfied as he takes in how rough we must look. I've never been worked that hard in my life.

With his hands on his hips, all typical and coach-like, he throws us a smirk. "Got good news and bad news. Good news is that you're done for the day."

"Thank God," Brandon sighs.

"Bad news?" Hart tilts his head. "That was a fraction of the conditioning you'll see at summer training next week."

"Fuck," we say in unison.

He laughs. "Don't be too worried. You guys did well. You've always done well. It's why you're my favorites, and allowed certain privileges. Like spending the morning with me when I have about a million things to put together for the movie this weekend."

"Thanks for making the time for us," I offer with a smile, sarcastic but completely genuine at the same time.

Hart picks up both sentiments, his eyes meeting mine with a spark of emotion I don't see from him too often. He glances over at Brandon and then back at me, his hand reaching out to pat my shoulder.

"I'm proud of you guys," he tells us. "I wish I could tell you what to expect. Or offer some kind of advice from actually being in the cleats you're about to lace up." When his head drops, my stomach goes with it. I can't imagine having to settle for the shoes he ended up in.

All I've ever wanted to do was play ball. I worked my ass off to get where I am, and the thought of having this chance taken from me sends my giddy heart into a panic. Every time I see Hart adjust his right shoulder, still grimacing in pain to this day, each time I watch him throw me a pass with his left hand. I'm reminded how lucky I am to have this opportunity. To play college ball, to try and go pro, build my life around the game I love.

"You'll be working with the best of the best," Uncle Hart goes on softly, lifting his head and looking right at me. "You'll have lots of people around you to help you out, guide you, and make sure you succeed. But don't forget, I'm only a phone call away. And I'll be watching every single game, cheering you on like I always do."

Well, damn. I think I might cry. The shift I seem to be experiencing in my life at the moment is making me act funny, turning me into someone different. Not bad different, just... different.

Before things get too mushy, Hart clears his throat and lets out a laugh. "By the way," he says to me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. He brings up a photo he took of his stopwatch, the time paused on a number I've never seen before. Because it's two seconds less than the last time I saw it.

"Congrats, Gray," he says to me, his voice full of pride. "You beat your record."

*****

After hitting the showers, Brandon and I are heading through the main building and out the back doors to see what's going on as camp comes to an end for the day. He's gotta work soon, washing dishes at Elise's family's restaurant, and I'm hoping to see where I can pick up the slack since I had most of the day off.