was never as good as you, no matter how hard I tried.”
“You were plenty good, Russ.” He should’ve sat down with his friend and consoled him for not making the cut, but he was just too wound up.
He had to keep moving.
NFL teams usually called the player they were taking before the draft pick was announced on television. By the end of the second round, he felt himself getting antsy. Midway through the third round, he grabbed a beer and found a table. He wasn’t there long before Kyd plopped down next to him. “I see you’re cool, calm, and collected.”
“So. So.”
“Hey, are you using your car this afternoon?”
Clint shook his head. “No. As soon as I get through here, I’m going to bed. I’m beat.”
“You ain’t gonna party?” Kyd looked surprised. “I figured somebody was throwing you a big bash.”
“This is it.” He jammed a hand in his pocket to find his keys. Beneath them, he felt the letter his mother had given him. Placing the envelope on the table he handed Kyd the fob. “Have it back in my parking spot before ten p.m. All right?”
“Yea. Sure. What’s that?” He pointed to the letter.
For the first time, Clint glanced down at it and his heart stopped beating.
MIT Earth, Atmospheric, and Planetary Sciences.
He’d applied to MIT six months ago with no response. What if…?
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” He picked up the letter and jammed it back into his pocket.
“Looked like something,” Kyd persisted.
Clint needed a moment alone. “I gotta go take a leak. I’ll be back.”
“Hey, what if they call while you’re gone?”
“I’ll answer it! I don’t need both hands to piss.” Clint left quickly, making his way to the back of the restaurant owned by the Saints’ Quarterback Drew Brees. His mind was spinning out of control.
“Hurry back, Clint!” His mother called and he raised a hand in a salute of acknowledgement.
Once behind closed doors, he ignored the urinal and headed to a stall. Putting the silent phone in one pocket, he took the letter from the other. Easing down on the toilet, he tore open the envelope and pulled out a piece of paper.
Congratulations, Mr. Wilder.
You have been accepted into the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Master’s Program on a full scholarship.
“God. Oh, God.” Clint felt like he was going to be sick. Standing up, he hung his head over the pot.
And then the phone rang…
“Hello?”
“Clint? Clint Wilder? This is Ray Bradbury, assistant coach with the Houston Texans. I just wanted to let you know that we’re taking you. How would you like to be a Texan?”
“Well, sir, I’ve been one all of my life.” Clint wasn’t being a smart ass; he was stalling for time.
“Good to know. So, I take it that’s a yes?”
Clint knew you didn’t keep guys like this waiting. Leaning against the side of the stall, he closed his eyes and let the thoughts come.
His dream was to be a meteorological engineer. Had been since the day he survived the Jarrell tornado.
The only problem with this dream was – money.
And now that problem was solved. The scholarship was a full ride. He wouldn’t even have to work to put himself through school. This was an honor. A privilege. A dream come true.
But what about his family?
Since his father abandoned them all those years ago, they’d struggled to survive. His mother worked two and sometimes three jobs to pay the bills. Other people had family to fall back on, but they had no one. His mother was an orphan. She’d been raised in foster care. To make matters worse, they’d never known their father’s family at all.
Even with all the hardship, Gillian never gave up on her family having the best she could manage. At her insistence, Clint and Rowan attended college. She raked and scraped to help them as much as she could, but despite their combined efforts, both boys were saddled with a mountain of student loans to repay.
If he accepted the MIT scholarship, he’d be okay – but what about the others? They all deserved to go to college too. They needed someone to pay for their education. To help them get started in life. His mother deserved a house. She deserved a damn break for once. His family needed him.
Now.
“Clint? What’s the word? Do you accept our offer, or do we move on to the next pick?”
Clint let out a heavy sigh. “I accept your offer. Thank you so much, Coach Bradbury.”
“Good deal. Watch the telecast. Your name will be called in