Blind Ambition | ✓

27 | Collateral Damage

By the end of the football season, the smell of sweat and dirt and blood had seeped into the floors and the walls of the locker room. No matter how many times things got scrubbed and cleaned, it all lingered. When it was time for me to clean out my locker one last time before we all left for Winter break, I lingered too. Feeling nostalgic was dangerous - it reminded you of what was, but also what could have been.

While there was still a solid four months for me to make a final commitment decision to any DI school, football season ending meant scouting ending. I had to accept that whatever offers I'd been given - or not given - lit up the way to my future, like stars of nameless constellations guiding me into the void.

A weary tiredness hung over me like a storm cloud. While most people were going to use their winter break to party and travel and ski, I was going to hibernate like the cold-blooded creature I'd become.

"Gunther!"

Coach Knox's voice bellowed off of the hallway of the administrative coaches offices in the locker room. Of course, his was the biggest and furthest down the hall, but the emptiness carried his voice. My uniform loafers squeaked against the freshly buffed linoleum as I trudged down the hallway, balancing my backpack and my football bag on one shoulder and clutching onto the facemask of my helmet with my other hand.

"You wanted to see me, coach?" I gently rapped on the half-closed door before nudging it open with my elbow, and I hadn't realized I'd dropped my helmet out of sheer shock until the rattling sound of it hitting the floor jumped into the silence of the office.

A man in a crisp orange golf shirt stood over Coach Knox's shoulder as they fixated in on something on his computer. When the man looked up at me, a kind smile reached his eyes, like he was expecting me. He strode around the desk to greet me and my dumbfounded, awestruck self, who's feet refused to unstick themselves from the floor to meet him even a quarter of the way.

"Oh yes, Dallas," Coach Knox finally acknowledged me, and I swore there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "This is Coach Dabo Swinney, though I don't think he needs any formal introductions."

I heard Coach Knox, but just barely over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I extended my free hand out to him as he approached me in the doorway of the office, praying they weren't as clammy as I imagined.

"Dallas Gunther." I kept my chin up when I spoke, greeting him with the firmest handshake I could muster even though I was ready to melt into a puddle on the floor.

"I know who you are, son," he grinned through his thick southern twang. "Pleasure to finally meet you."

"I'll let you two speak in private," Coach Knox said as he rose from his desk, giving me one last nod of encouragement before leaving the office.

Oxygen - and quite possibly my soul - whooshed out of my body as I exhaled. Normal people got starstruck about celebrities or movie stars. Football players got starstruck over national championship winning head coaches - coaches that someone like me would give up limbs to play for. The white of the Clemson pawprint logo emblazoned on the upper left chest of his golf shirt seemed searingly bright even in the dimness of Coach Knox's office.

Coach Swinney continued with a grin. "I'm sorry I couldn't get up here sooner so we could chat, we had some unfortunate mixups in our travel schedule last week after your game."

"I'm...I'm sorry are you...?" I turned over my shoulder, half expecting someone else to be standing in the doorway waiting to meet with Coach Swinney. "You're here to see me? Just me?"

He laughed, and I couldn't tell if it was supposed to relieve me or unnerve me. He gestured to one of the chairs in front of Coach Knox's desk, and I dropped into it without hesitation.