03 | caffeine crystal ball
I'd quickly met with Mariah and Elijah before Mariah jetted back to ESPN's headquarters in Connecticut. Kayla sat in on our meeting, and while she was mostly there for moral support, it also served as the metaphorical changing of the guard from her to me as student head of sports media.
Mariah reassured me again that my work study internship wouldn't be affected by Reid's indecision on this comeback story piece, and they would have something else for me to work on. Although, what that something else was seemed conveniently vague - vague enough for me to question whether or not it would be pickleball related.
After all, Mariah had also made it clear that if I could somehow convince Reid to do it before preseason started in August, it would be monumental "for everyone involved." Once again, conveniently vague.
She had me read from the moment I walked into that conference room, and she knew how to pull the linchpins of my personality. I sought challenging opportunities to show that I could not be dissuaded from something challenging, and by extension, I took risks to get those opportunities. Mariah Roe dangled all of that conveniently vague information in front of me like bait, knowing I'd bite.
Afterward our little meeting had wrapped up, Kayla and I reconvened in the football complex parking lot before going our separate ways for the day.
"I'm above saying I told you so," I said as I leaned on the door of my Jetta. "But I told you that Reid Donahue is still a purebred ass. He just thinks he's so much better than everyone else. He's unpleasant and ungrateful, and like...does he not realize he's lucky to even still be playing football?"
Kayla slid me a coy smirk. "That's exactly why you need to try and get Reid to reconsider."
I let out a frustrated groan. "I think I'd rather get a tooth pulled."
"You heard Mariah," she retaliated quickly. "If you can convince Reid to do it, it would be monumental for everyone." She put sharp air quotes around her last words as she narrowed her eyes on me. "Especially you."
Truth hurts, and that particular truth made me feel like I was getting several teeth pulled.
"Why can't you convince him?" I glanced down at a chip in my gel manicure. "You've known him longer, whereas I don't even think he knows my name."
"Because I graduate in two weeks." Kayla placed her hands on my shoulders. "And after that, this will be your team, and your year. You work hard, and you deserve the best opportunities, because you'll make the most out of them. I know this is not what you want to hear, but getting Reid to do this ESPN piece is your best opportunity, and I think it's his too. Someone just needs to find a way to let him know."
I arched an eyebrow. "I don't really think someone like Reid is short on opportunities of any kind."
Kayla took a step back from me and assessed me with a soft, almost distant smile. "Reid's been through a lot. I don't know everything, but I know he's changed. I also know that you can tell the story that should be told better than anyone else. Who knows, maybe it'll help both of you."
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Kayla's words had stuck with me all weekend, and come Monday I was staring into my big ass cold brew as if it had answers to all the questions I'd been asking myself. Did I actually need Reid Donahue? How much would it injure me to admit that I possibly did? Did he need me? I only hoped the caffeine crystal ball could tell me.
"I know you like coffee, but you look like you're about to propose to it."
Across the table, Derek stared at me with furrowed brows.
"Sorry, sorry." I shook my head, hoping to shake any Reid Donahue thoughts out. "What were we talking about?"
"You're the one who asked me to hang out, Jo." Derek rolled his eyes as he twirled his straw in his latte. "So you tell me."
Derek had played and acted like he had a chip on his shoulder, despite the fact that he'd earned the starting kicker spot on the team freshman year - but maybe that was why we'd always gotten along. Nobody can make you feel small if you act big, and both of us knew that.
A kicker was an underrated position, and Derek Chase would be the first to tell you that. Games could be won and lost by your kicker, and Derek was a good kicker. So good in fact that he would probably be playing professionally on Sundays like a lot of these other guys on the team. He could easily drill a field goal from mid-field, which was out of range for some current NFL kickers.
I took an avoidant sip of my cold brew, knowing I didn't need a caffeine crystal ball to tell me Reid Thoughts™ were inevitable.
Derek and I sat at one of the round wooden tables in the nutrition center, emblazoned with a big orange paw at the center of it. Like everything else in the multi-million dollar football complex, the nutrition center (since calling it something like a cafeteria felt reductionist) had state of the art everything, including a coffee/smoothie bar that I frequented potentially too many times a day.
While the football complex was open year-round to anyone involved in the program, it was light the week of graduation. The spring game (and the preparation leading up to it) had been enough off-season football for these guys, and a lot of graduating seniors were spending time with their friends or enjoying campus before it was all over and the real world came calling.
I glanced around the sprawling purple-carpeted room, where most but not all of the tables were empty. Idle chatter mingled with faint R&B that floated down from the ceiling speakers.
"Okay, I'm going to ask you a question," I began, sliding my drink to the side. "And I need you to not judge me and just answer."
"How long have you known me?" he scoffed. "Just spit it out."
Since junior year of high school, if we were getting technical, when he transferred to Tarrytown from some small town in Colorado and we bonded in our homeroom about our bad fantasy football bouts. When Derek had earned the starting kicker position on our high school's football team, he acted as my locker room liaison when a bunch of prepubescent boys felt insecure having a girl reporting on them. We hadn't made the decision to go to Clemson together, but that kind of happy coincidence could not be understated.
While I didn't have the access issues I did in high school and worked hard to earn my respect in the football program, sometimes Derek was still the inadvertent liaison I needed.
"What's Reid Donahue's deal?" I instinctively lowered my voice to a harsh whisper, hyper aware that anyone could walk by and catch my words. "And I mean coming from someone who's in the locker room with him, not the shit we all already know."
Derek arched an eyebrow at me. "Is this for that ESPN thing? I thought Reid already said no. If he finds out you're going around behind his back-"
I held my hand up to cut him off. "It's nothing like that. It's just...I'm going to try and convince him to change his mind. So if you could tell me something - anything, really - that may help me do that, I will bake you those impossible meringue cookies that you're obsessed with."
Derek leaned back into his chair, brows still furrowed as he ran a hand down the side of his face. "As tempting as that is...what I'll tell you is that you're not going to be able to change his mind."
I rolled my eyes. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, champ."
"It's nothing personal, Jo," Derek shrugged. "Reid's as stubborn as they come. You don't need me to tell you that."
"Then tell me something I don't know. C'mon Derek, I...I need this." I had to stop myself from wringing my hands in front of me on the table. Caffeine crystal ball, did I actually need this?
As if conjured by the universe itself, Reid Donahue came strolling through the doors to the nutrition center, the hood of his sweatshirt up and his hands jammed into the front pocket. Team-run physical activities weren't allowed until July when summer access started, but judging from that same big, fancy, specially made titanium brace he wore during the spring game, he'd clearly just been doing something physical.
Derek followed my gaze to Reid, and when he looked back at me, his features softened. "You could just try being nice, for starters."
"I am nice."
Derek shot me an unamused look. "I don't just mean nice like make small talk and compliment his fluffy hair. I mean try treating him like a normal person. You'd be surprised how many people outside of the team just...don't."
I thought back to his volatile reaction to the initial pitch, and the venom in his voice when he said y'all concocted this without even asking me. Maybe it wasn't venom at all, but rather just an angry veil to hide something more hurt. I knew that trick all too well.
I looked back at my caffeine crystal ball and asked it one more question - what risks would I take to tell a story that should be told? I decided in that moment that I would risk throwing myself on the grenade that was Reid Donahue, even if that meant it might explode.
"Thanks Derek, I owe you those cookies." I gave him a genuine smile as I quickly gathered my things to make my way to Reid.
I wove in and out of empty tables until I reached him at the smoothie bar, and every time I stood next to him I was reminded of how small he made me feel.
"Hey," I greeted him casually.
He kept his head down and tapped his fingers on the counter as he waited for his drink.
"Reid?" I tried again.
When he finally lifted his head and made eye contact, he recoiled with a jolt, as if I'd just electrocuted him. It was then I noticed the big black Bose headphones he wore, and I clenched my jaw.
Reid slid them off and let them hang around his neck. "You know, when someone has their headphones on in public, it generally means they don't want to be bothered."
Bothered, bored, and unamused was the cocktail of expressions on his face, but his dark eyes were as warm as ever - almost enticing. Like he could get you to rob a bank if he asked. Brown eyes like his should be illegal.
The whirring of the blender punctuated the near unbearable silence, and I finally found the will to tear my gaze away from his. That was the moment I could have and probably should have aborted, but my gaze was drawn back down to the brace on his knee.
"Can we talk?" I asked as soon as the blender stopped.
"About what?"
He took his exceptionally green smoothie (the kind that people drank when they wanted everyone to know they were healthy) from the barista and made his way towards the closest table, with me right on his heels. He didn't bother hiding the eye roll as I sat down across from him.
Be nice, be nice, be nice.
"What kind of smoothie is that?" I blurted out.
"Kale, celery, lemon, cayenne pepper, and protein. I get it every morning." Reid pressed the cup against his cheek, and what almost could have passed as a smirk graced his lips. "But you already know that, don't you?"
"I did not," I insisted.
"Well now you do. Anything else before you make another attempt at getting me to do this ESPN thing?" He heaved out another bored sigh.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Why don't you want to do it, Reid? It could only help you."
"Enlighten me, then. How?"
"I know you want people to stop thinking you're just a personification of your injury." I took a measured pause, trying to pour the genuineness I felt into my words. "And I do truly think you deserve that."
He maintained eye contact with me as he took another sip of his smoothie, slowly and contemplatively nodding. He was, if nothing else, an intentional listener, even if it was just to formulate the perfect stinger in response.
"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Jo," he said in a low voice.
"And here I'm surprised you even know my name," I scoffed. I could sting too.
Reid leaned forward on his elbows, close enough for me to catch a whiff of whatever musky body wash he used. "And you thinking that's the kind of guy I am is exactly why this isn't going to work. You don't know me. You just know what people say about me."
"So don't you want to change that?" I asked. "You don't want to give people like me an opportunity to have their opinions of you change?"
Reid let out a humorless chuckle. "See that's the thing - I don't care about people's opinions of me."
I stood up from the table and slung my Marc Jacobs tote bag over my shoulder. "For all the things that you are good at Reid, lying is not one of them."
I wasn't relinquishing my quest so easily, but I knew when a conversation was over. I could get the last word too, Reid Donahue.
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