Five Days Until You

by Monica Murphy

  “That feels like a long time,” I admit.

  “Focus on the good stuff, baby. We’ll be together soon. Now it’s only four days until I see you.”

  “Four very long days,” I say with a sigh. I pluck at a thread sticking up from the new comforter we bought at Target for my room. It’s turquoise with these cute ruffles and gathers and it’s so soft. I love it. I could never get away with this sort of thing on the bed I share with Owen.

  “It’ll go by fast and you know it. Focus on work. Check out the town more. Go to that party with your new friend with the weird name,” Owen says.

  “Talby,” I add for him.

  “Yeah, Talby. Next thing you know, it’ll be Friday afternoon and I’ll be there to pick you up from work.”

  Longing fills me. “You will?” I ask, my voice a breathy whisper. I sound pitiful but I can’t help it.

  “Promise.”

  “It’s such a long drive though…”

  “You’re worth it,” he says firmly, making me smile. Making me miss him.

  “You’ll have to tell me what your coach wants to talk to you about.” I wonder if it’s about his future. Owen swears he’s not interested in the NFL. More like, he doesn’t believe he has what it takes. Why I have no idea. I wonder sometimes if it has to do with his fear of being compared to his brother-in-law, even though they play different positions.

  “Probably just wants to give me grief about the upcoming season. How I need to keep my grades up and all that shit,” he mutters, sounding irritated. He likes his coach but feels like the entire coaching staff of his team hammers on him all the time. It’s like he doesn’t realize they only want the best for him.

  “I doubt that. Maybe he wants to talk about your future potential with the NFL.” The moment I say it, he’s dead silent on the other end. I close my eyes, waiting for him to deny it or worse, to yell. Not that he yells at me but he’s super sensitive about the pro football talk.

  “There’s no future there,” he says with a finality I’ve never heard before. “So don’t get your hopes up.”

  More like he doesn’t want to get his hopes up? “How do you know?” I ask gently.

  “Because I know. And so do you. Anyway, my plan is to become a coach. High school kids, so I can mold all that potential and send them off to the best college possible,” he says.

  That would be wonderful. What about now though, or right after he graduates? I think the possibility for a pro career is there. He should at least give it a shot. But once Owen has something in his head, it’s hard to change his mind. He’s just about the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.

  Well, besides Mom but she’s crazy.

  “You can be a coach’s wife. Hope you don’t mind being in charge of the booster club,” he continues, dropping the word wife so nonchalantly. Like it’s no big deal. We’ve never talked about marriage before. Our future is together, there’s no doubt in my mind, but an engagement has never come up. Marriage. That’s too serious. We’re too young.

  So hearing him say wife in reference to me for the first time, does something weird to my heart. Like make it feel so light I’m almost afraid it’ll bust free of my chest and fly away on gossamer wings.

  “Isn’t it against the rules for the coach’s wife to be in charge of the team’s booster club?” I ask, deciding to keep it light.

  “Probably. But when have we ever really followed the rules?” He’s silent for a moment and so am I. “I miss you, baby.”

  “I miss you too.”

  “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Text me whenever you want.”

  “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you’re working on.”

  “You’re never an interruption. Ever.” I pause. “I love you.”

  “Bye, Chels.” He hangs up before I can say another word.

  Coach finally got a hold of me first thing this morning and I’m headed to his office now, curious to see what he wants to talk to me about. He had that serious, gruff thing going on that he likes to do when he’s being evasive. Which is pretty much all of the time because the guy rarely just comes right out with it, you know? His big speeches or announcements always have lead-time. He enjoys the build up.

  More like I think he likes watching all of us dudes squirm.

  I grab a coffee and a blueberry muffin along the way since I’m starving, practically shoving the slightly dry muffin down my throat while I chase it with coffee as I drive. When I pull into the parking lot, I swear I see Fable’s SUV parked there but I can’t be sure. You see one huge, gleaming black SUV, you’ve seen them all. Besides, why would she be here? And she hates driving the SUV long distances. It’s huge and she’s so little I swear she needs a booster seat to see over the steering wheel. I suggested Fable should use Autumn’s car seat once and she gave me the finger in reply.

  Sisterly love at its finest.

  When I walk into Coach Halsey’s office, I stop in surprise. Drew is sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, chatting it up with coach like they’re old friends. And they are of course, since he used to play for the team too, before my time. The moment they see me standing in the doorway with my mouth hanging open, they stop talking, giving each other a look. One I can’t decipher. Drew stands to his feet and walks over to me, pulling me into a hug.

  “What are you doing here?” I mutter as he pats me on the back before he releases me.

  Drew smiles, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. Women all over the world would love to see that smile aimed right at them. He’s got star quality written all over him and I’m a chump. Most of his success comes from his skills on the football field. His personality and good looks make up the rest. He’s so freaking popular it’s mind blowing. His face stares down at us from billboards, in magazines, on TV. It’s fucking unreal, that this dude who’s my brother-in-law, is so famous.

  Looking at him right now, at his open, friendly expression, I suddenly remember the time I was so pissed at him for breaking Fable’s heart I socked him in the jaw and sent him sprawling to the ground.

  I’m still secretly proud of that moment, not that I’d ever admit it out loud.

  “We wanted to talk to you,” Drew says, settling back down in his chair.

  Coach waves a hand at the other empty chair across from Drew’s. “Have a seat,” he says gruffly.

  I sit down, warily looking at the both of them. I feel tag teamed here. Like they’re both going to come at me with something and I hate that I have zero clues as to what. “What’s up?” I ask, keeping my voice even though inside, I’m twisted up in turmoil. It couldn’t be bad news, could it? I’ve done everything right. Kept up my grades, no more drugs and alcohol clogging up my system. It’s off season and I could drink if I want but I don’t.

  One drink leads to another until I’m tempted to smoke out and I just…can’t risk it.

  “We wanted to talk to you about your upcoming season,” Halsey starts out, his face like a mask. I couldn’t read his mood if I tried. He’s real good at that stoic thing.

  “It’s your senior year,” Drew says, like I need the reminder. “There are going to be a lot of people watching you.”

  “Scouts,” Halsey adds.

  My gaze meets Coach Halsey’s and I swallow hard, unable to find my voice. There’s been talk before about NFL interest in me but I figured it was because of Drew. The whole reason I went into football in the first place is because of him. I went through a major idolizing Drew Callahan phase. I wanted to be him when I grew up. I wanted to be rich as fuck, good looking, a great football player and a good guy that all the chicks wanted.

  “I’m already getting calls,” Halsey continues. “Hell, I’ve been fielding calls about you for over a year.”

  He’s already told me this and I’ve blown him off. I can’t even explain why.

  Okay, fine I can explain why. I don’t want to get my hopes up. Mom fucked me up so bad my self confidence is in the toilet most of the time. Having
to deal with Drew’s fame doesn’t help. It’s not his fault. I have my own hang ups and most of them were instilled by Mom. It doesn’t matter how many times Fable’s told me I’m good. Or Drew. Or Chelsea. Or Coach Halsey, Wade, any of the guys on my team.

  When I start thinking of the possibilities, that I could make something of myself, the naggy little voice inside my head starts in on me, telling me I’m not good enough, I’ll never be good enough and that I’m just like her. A liar, a manipulator, a drug addict. Useless. No good. A waste of space.

  And the voice always sounds just like my dead mother. Those words, aimed right at me, were her weapons. They worked too. Did some major damage.

  “We want you to participate in the Draft Combine,” Drew says, knocking me from my thoughts.

  “Wait a minute…what?” I shake my head, like I can clear it but the nagging voice is still there, accompanied by the tiniest ray of hope.

  “I’m fairly positive you will be one of the three hundred who are invited,” Coach Halsey says. “But just because I say that doesn’t mean you’re going to actually get an invite.”

  “Then why say it?” The NFL Scouting Combine is an annual event where the best college players are invited to participate in a national invitational camp. The players are run through endless drills, all while being watched by various NFL coaching staff, along with player and medical personnel departments. Four days of brutal, nonstop playing, drills and questions. It’s a huge step in getting into the NFL draft.

  “You need to train,” Drew says, his expression serious. “And when I say train, I mean hard. The combine is tough, mentally and physically. You’re going to need to prepare for it.”

  “I don’t think I can handle it,” I say, my words rushing out of me. “There’s no point.” I drop my head, not wanting to face them. My heart’s racing and my fucking palms are sweaty.

  “What do you mean, there’s no point? And I know you can handle it. You’re the one who thinks you can’t,” Coach Halsey says but I don’t look at him. I can’t. How many times have I had to suffer through a speech from him? Too many to count. “You know what your problem is, Maguire? You don’t take any of this seriously. None of it.”

  He’s right, but why bother? Nothing is going to come of it. “This conversation is pointless,” I mutter.

  “When the hell are you ever going to believe in yourself? Huh? Aren’t you tired of sitting around boo-hooing like a little baby? Don’t you get sick of this whiny shit? Because I know I sure do.”

  I glance up to find Drew glaring at me, his eyes blazing with anger and disappointment, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He looks ready to spring out of that chair and come at me, but I can’t look away from him. I feel frozen, in shock. “I-I’m not acting like a baby.”

  “The fuck you aren’t.” Drew leaps to his feet and with me still sitting, he’s like a giant. Looming over me, his jaw tight, his mouth a thin line. This is the most pissed I’ve ever seen him. And I’ve witnessed him get pretty pissed. “Either you want it or you don’t.”

  “Drew—” Halsey starts but Drew silences him with a look before returning that vicious gaze back on me.

  “Well? Do you want it? Or don’t you? It’s a simple question, Owen. Answer me.”

  I don’t want it. To want means…it’ll hurt that much more when I don’t get it. That would devastate me. It’s better to keep on with my plan. Finish out college, try my best during the season, graduate, eventually get my fucking teacher’s credential and become a coach.

  Teacher’s credential, me teaching a bunch of high schoolers, guiding them, teaching them what exactly? I’m just a dumbass kid myself.

  Give me a fucking break.

  “Owen.” Drew’s voice is low, downright deadly and I know I need to answer. I’m fucking sweating, I can feel my T-shirt growing damp and it’s like my life is on the damn line, all with this one decision. I wish Chelsea were here. So I could look at her and ask what I should do. She’d know the answer.

  She knows all of my answers.

  “I want it,” I choke out, shocking myself that I actually said it out loud. “I shouldn’t but I…fuck, I do.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Drew says almost smugly, the bastard. He rests his hands on his hips and turns to where Halsey’s sitting behind his desk, sending him a look that says, ‘told you so’.

  “Jesus, Callahan,” Halsey mutters and I glance over at him to see that he appears semi-traumatized. “I thought you were going to force his hand and he’d walk. He’s stubborn like that.”

  “He wouldn’t walk,” Drew says confidently, his gaze meeting mine once more. “Deep down inside, he wants it too bad.”

  Drew’s right. Damn it, there’s this tiny part of me that still wants it. Wants what he has. So fucking bad, it almost hurts. It had been a kid’s dream that I never truly believed I could make a reality.

  “You’ll need to start training right away. Extra stuff. Outside of the team,” Halsey says, rubbing his hands together, like he can’t wait to get started. The relief radiating from him is palpable. I guess he really did think I would walk. “You’re the only prospect, Maguire. The rest of the seniors, they’re a talented bunch. Great players, but you’ve got that focused drive. And you’ve got the charisma, the star quality, like Callahan here. If you signed with the NFL just like your brother-in-law, the media would have a field day.”

  “The media is going to have a field day with this, with my name attached to it. And Fable’s,” Drew adds. My sister is almost as famous as he is. They’re like America’s couple or something. It’s wild. “You ready for it?”

  “Ready for what?” I ask weakly, rubbing at my chest. I feel like I’ve just run a marathon, my heart is still hammering and my limbs are weak. Being cornered by Drew is fucking tough.

  “The attention. The training. It’s going to get intense fast. A specialist is coming this weekend. Someone we’ve used before with the Niners. He wants to test you out and see what you’re capable of,” Drew explains.

  “Wait, this weekend? I’m supposed to go see Chelsea.” Damn, my girl is going to be so disappointed I can’t even begin to imagine it. She’ll pretend she understands but I know she’ll be sad. Because I’m already sad. I miss her something fierce.

  “Cancel your plans,” Halsey says, his voice gruff and surly again. “If you want to get in with the NFL, then this is what you need to do. This guy Drew found for us is going to draw up a training program for you like you won’t believe. You’re good, there’s no doubt about that, but he’s going to make you even better.”

  “He’s going to make you fucking shine,” Drew adds.

  “Yeah, no, I understand. I’ll give her a call. She’ll be fine. She wants this for me,” I say, wishing I could leave. Wishing I could wrap my head around all of this. I feel like it got sprung on me out of nowhere, and though I’m excited at the possibilities, I can’t deny that, but I know it’s going to take a lot of hard work.

  I also don’t want to get my hopes up.

  Because all they’ll do is come crashing down if I fail. And my track record leans more toward the fail side if I’m being honest with myself.

  The moment she answers my call my skin prickles with awareness at the first sound of her sweet voice. I tell myself she’ll be all right, she’ll understand why I can’t go see her this weekend but damn. I really don’t want to disappoint my girlfriend. Not right now. Not if she’s still feeling vulnerable.

  “How are you?” I ask, bracing myself. Yesterday I wanted to hear how much she missed me. Tonight, not so much. Only because I need her gaining confidence and having a good time in Santa Augustina, not falling into a pit of despair because I’m not around.

  Not that she’d fall into a pit of despair being without me, I don’t think that highly of myself. But hell, we were both sort of a mess when I left her Sunday night. The past few days have been a lot of upheaval for her and I’m about to add to it.

  Big time.

&nb
sp; “I’m great! I had a good day.” She launches into an explanation of exactly everything she did and she sounds bright. Happy. Relief grips me, shakes me up and I withhold the big sigh that wants to escape. Instead I make a few of those noncommittal ‘yeahs’ I’m so good at, asking her all the right questions at the right spots. I let her ramble, let her get it all out and she has plenty to say.

  Like how excited the interns were to push right into the launch stages of this new program they’re creating. How they put together a decent plan after they brainstormed their various ideas. How nice Professor Michaels was and that she went to lunch with the chick with the weird name and some other girl, and she likes them both. Chelsea was so closed off when she was younger, advancing through school like she did at such a young age, it was difficult for her to make friends. She’s still pretty shy. Doesn’t really open up to new people so I’m glad she’s making friends.

  “How about you?” she finally asks, laughing a little. “You just let me take over the entire conversation for the last fifteen minutes and now I feel bad.”

  She rarely talks this much, especially nonstop like she just did. My girl is quiet—unless I’m making her come and most of the time, I can turn her into a screamer. Something I’m quite proud of, pervert that I am. “I finally talked to Coach Halsey this morning.”

  “Oh, yeah? And you’re only just telling me now?”

  “I was giving you your turn first,” I point out, making her laugh.

  “True. But I know you were worried about what he wanted. What did he say?”

  Gear up, dude. Brace yourself for her eventual disappointment when you have to break the bad news.

  “Drew was there. Uh, they wanted to talk to me about getting me into the scouting combine,” I say.

  “What’s that?” She sounds…perplexed, which is typical for Chelsea. If she doesn’t know how something works or doesn’t understand it, that makes her crazy. She’s a knowledge freak. She wants to learn everything. Back when we first started dating she hated that she didn’t understand much about football. I’d catch her on her phone looking up football stats or reading websites about plays and stuff. She favorited the ESPN site for the love of God. All because of me.