Pierce McCoy shuffled between the rows of lockers in Terrebonne’s football accommodation with his trusty tablet in one hand and a plastic shopping bad in the other. He scanned the names on the lockers and checked the old roster that he had in his tablet.
And as he went, he plucked off the names of his first group of seniors that were weeks away from graduating high school -- continuing their football career in college or heading into some other pursuit meaning those days out on the field of Thomas B. Smith Stadium from the ages of 16 to 18 would be the pinnacle of their football lives.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a bell curve on that with this senior class. Few guys were going to lower tier schools or community colleges. It was either the big boys in the bowl subdivision or nothing.
He’d never admit it aloud, but as much as he owed his success in the past 12 months to players like Devin King – quiet leaders who led by example and did whatever was necessary to win – he did it was an asset to have guys like Caesar Jenkins – unnecessarily cocky players who had the skills to back it up… who did whatever was necessary to win.
There were more than a few ways to break an opponent’s will on the football field.
His smartwatch beeped with an alert that it was half past two. Walking back to his office, he tossed the bag onto a chair then grabbed a hat from his desk to pull on before making his way out to the field where students were beginning to file into the bleachers.
As he passed the gated entrance of the stadium, he saw a group of his now-former players walking to the student parking lot, graduation packets in hand. He joined his coaching staff on the track under the stands where a barrel sat.
He exchanged greetings with the other coaches as he waited for everyone to settle. As he looked up at the students hoping to make the cut for the next season, he found Danny sitting front and center – a far cry from the scared sophomore that he’d thrust into the starting role on a team with impossible expectations. The soon-to-be junior quarterback nodded to the coach who returned the gesture.
Stepping forward, he clapped his hands to get their attention.
“Alright. I’m only going to say this once so make sure y’all listening good. My name’s Pierce McCoy. I’ll be y’all’s coach this season until they find someone better or I luck up and do an alright job and they keep me around.” He pointed to the men at this side. “This here is my coaching staff. Y’all will be getting to know them over the next few weeks. Their word is as good as mine so listen to them or you can go find a private school to play at.”
He paused and walked over to the trash can, picking up the lighter fluid. He doused the wood before tossing a match in and setting it ablaze.
He turned back to the students. “I only have a few rules for my team. One, you don’t quit. Two, keep it simple. Three, we go for it on every fourth down. Four, we might kick an onside kick or two even when we’re leading. Five, don’t make a fool of yourself. That’s it.”
A kid toward the front of the bleachers raised his hand.
“Yeah?”
“Coach, that’s not a few. That’s five.”
McCoy scratched his chin and smiled. “Good point. Rule number six, my team, my numbering system.”
“Now,” he said, picking up a state championship shirt that was on the ground. He held it up so they could see it.
“This here is the past.” He tossed the shirt into the barrel. “It doesn’t matter and as far as you’re concerned it didn’t happen. We got a lot to do in the next five months. Let’s get to work.”
Devin dragged another suitcase out to his car, just as the sky was beginning to lighten for another day. He was surprised by the amount of stuff that he both had and was willing to take with him to move into his dorm room. He looked down into the trunk that was already packed with a couple of duffle bags and two backpacks.
Shifting the other luggage around, he tried to find a way to force that last suitcase into the trunk but no matter which configuration he attempted, it just wouldn’t fit. He tossed the suitcase on the ground and decided to take a break in hopes that a little rest would bring him enough clarity to come to a solution of how to get that into the car.
His at-the-last second enrollment had left a lot of things up in the air that he was coming to realize most college freshmen were aware of heading into their first weeks on campus – even the athletes.
He’d been put in a couple entry-level courses over the summer to help ease him into the life of a student-athlete or athlete-student depending on whose priorities you were going by. However, he wasn’t sure if the courses would progress him toward a degree or if they were just random courses to take.
Not that he’d be able to tell. He still wasn’t sure what he was going to major in. Every school that he seriously considered told him that general studies wasn’t an option as it was in the past. Perhaps something easy like history would be his calling. He could go into teaching or something once he graduated.
It was still strange to him how different his life was at that moment than it was even two years before. Nicholls, UNO and ULL seemed like the highest he would be aiming in terms of colleges when he was a sophomore. He never dreamed of the kinds of doors that playing football would open for him and the opportunities that being decent at the game would present.
He sat down on the suitcase and looked out to the quiet street that he’d grown up on. It wasn’t modest beginnings, but it was a far cry from what you would expect from the family of someone who supposedly came into generational wealth – only to mostly squander it over the next forty years.
Scratching his chin, he wondered how he would react to being paid what his grandfather was when he made it to the NFL in the ‘10s. Back in those days, some starting quarterbacks were signing second and third contracts for less than $10 million a year. Devin King, Jr. was likely closer to the $1 million a year range. If he were to get to the NFL in the ‘50s, being drafted in the first or second round would come with a signing bonus that would blow that out of the water not to speak of the salary.
In the event of that happening, it was probably a good thing that the flashy lifestyle never suited him. He hadn’t even put any thought into NIL matters and doubted that would be something that would cross his mind in his first year or two in college.
He stood up and decided to finish packing and hit the road with a long drive ahead of him. He’d need to get on the highway soon if he was hoping to beat the morning rush hour traffic.
Picking up the suitcase, he tried to force it into the trunk once more but there was nothing he could do that would get it to fit. Sighing, he set the suitcase down and opened it before upending the contents into the trunk and pressing the clothes into the nooks and crannies between the other bags.
Slamming the trunk shut, he headed back inside to leave the suitcase and his childhood home behind.
“You know that part of moving in means that you have to actually take things with you to move, right?”
Caesar looked at Kaley, a beignet in one hand and a bag of more in his other, and turned his body so the backpack on his shoulder was facing her as they walked to the residence hall that he’d been assigned to on Tulane’s campus.
“That’s not moving,” she said, rolling her eyes.
“It doesn’t make sense to lug all kinds of shit from Houma when I can just go buy whatever I need and have it delivered here,” Caesar said. “And you didn’t say anything about it when I told you to do the same thing.”
She snatched the bag of beignets from him. “It’s hard to say something when I ask you to help me move in and instead of coming with a moving truck or any damn truck, you come with your little sports car and then take all the shit out of my car.”
“Slidell is just over the lake. You can drive back and get it and I can cancel all of the stuff that I just bought.”
“I can protest the act of you thinking moving means just buying new shit wherever you go while benefitting from you thinking moving means just buying new shit wherever you go.” She took a beignet out of the bag and handed it back. “I just figure that your love language is giving gifts and who am I to stop you from showing me that you love me?”
“My love language is giving you dick, not gifts.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said, slapping his arm.
Caesar laughed as he swiped his key card to get through the pair of doors to enter the building in front of them. The halls were quiet as most students had cleared out for the summer, leaving only a handful of people milling about.
And things were quieter as they stepped off the elevator on the fifth floor save for a custodian who was mopping the far end of the hall.
He tapped the placard that had his name on it next to the door. Unlike the other rooms, there was only one placard. “Looks like I have a room all to myself.”
“They didn’t tell you who your roommate was?”
“Nope. Maybe I’ll get lucky since I’m moving in when they’re shifting everything around and end up without one.”
“Doubt that.”
The two of them walked into the mostly spartan room with beds, desks and dressers on either side of the room, a sink and a doorway to the bathroom that the room’s occupants were to share with the room next door. It was a far cry from the lap of luxury that Caesar had grew up in, but he only shrugged and tossed his bag onto one of the beds and sat on the other.
“You’re supposed to pick one of them. Not take both,” Kaley said.
He paused mid-chew of the last beignet. “Until someone walks in here and says that they’re my roommate, I’m going to use both of these beds so I can spread out wearing them out in the middle.”
“I think you’ve gotten too used to those fancy mattresses back home because these things probably don’t have much wearing out to be done to them before they start feeling like sleeping on a prison cot.”
“Okay, then I’m going to use one to sleep on and we’ll fuck on the other one.”
She laughed. “And how are you going to decide which one is better for which?”
He reached out, grabbed the waistband of her shorts and pulled her closer to him so she was standing in between his legs. Then he unbuttoned them.
“Caesar, your fingers are covered in powdered sugar! You’ll get that shit all over my clothes,” she said, smacking him on the shoulder.
He pulled his hand away and licked his fingers clean.
“And now because you licked them they’re covered in spit.”
“Won’t be the only thing I’m licking.”
She gasped when he picked her up and flipped them both around onto the bed so he was on top of her. His hand went back to work taking off her shorts as they kissed. She was kicking them off as the ratcheting sound of a key being inserted into the door sounded through the room.
Caesar looked back expecting the person to have the wrong room and move on, but instead the door opened.
Devin paused, door partly ajar, as he noticed he wasn’t alone in the room. He had a couple of duffle bags on his shoulders and dragged a suitcase.
“Holy shit,” Kaley said, maneuvering her body so Caesar was mostly covering her bottom half.
Devin and Caesar stared at one another for a moment before Devin stepped fully into the room, walked over the empty bed and tossed Caesar’s bag on the floor and replaced it with his own.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Caesar asked, starting to sit up but Kaley stopped him to preserve some level of modesty.
“Keep that shit over on your side of the room,” Devin said plainly before leaving the room again.
Kaley scrambled to get her shorts back on. “Carla didn’t tell me he wasn’t coming here. I guess you do have a roommate, after all.”
Caesar snatched up his bag and tossed it into the corner with a bit more force than needed.