Breaking the Playbook [COMPLETED]

Chapter 2

The early morning sun filters through the gaps in the blinds in my room, casting long, slanting beams across the floor. I groan, pushing the covers off and rolling out of bed. My room is a mix of comfort and chaos—soft, earthy tones on the walls and a mishmash of books and sports memorabilia scattered around. I stretch, feeling the familiar ache in my muscles from yesterday's workout, and shuffle to the window. Outside, the world is just waking up, the sky a delicate shade of pink as the city below starts its daily hustle.

I glance at the clock on my nightstand: 6:30 AM. Time to start the day. The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the coffee maker downstairs. I pull on a pair of well-worn leggings and a tank top before heading to the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of breakfast—my mom's doing. She's an early riser, always up before anyone else, preparing a spread that rivals any five-star diner.

As I descend the stairs, the house's grandeur comes into view. It's a sprawling ranch-style home, with high ceilings and an open layout that echoes with the sounds of our lives. Sports trophies and framed photos of my dad's coaching achievements line the walls, a constant reminder of the world I was born into. It's a world where every game, every play, is analyzed and dissected, where the stakes are high, and the pressure is relentless.

"Morning, sweetheart," my mom's voice calls from the kitchen, warm and soothing. Sarah James, my mom, is a force of nature. Her auburn hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail, and her hazel eyes are bright with the kind of energy that seems to make the whole house come alive. "I made your favorite—pancakes and bacon."

I grin, moving over to give her a quick hug. "Thanks, Mom. You're a lifesaver."

She chuckles, her laughter a comforting sound. "I know how you like to start your day. Your father's already in his office, going over the game plan for today. You know how he is."

I nod, knowing all too well. My dad, Mark James, is the epitome of dedication. He's been the head coach of this NFL team for as long as I can remember. His office is his sanctuary, a place where he immerses himself in strategy, analyzing footage, and preparing for the next big game. It's where he becomes a different person—intense, focused, and almost unapproachable.

I grab a plate and start loading it with pancakes and crispy bacon. "I'll bring him his breakfast. He'll appreciate it."

Mom raises an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Be prepared for him to be in coach mode. He's got a big day ahead."

I head toward the home office, my footsteps echoing in the spacious hallway. My dad's office is a testament to his career—a massive desk cluttered with playbooks, notebooks filled with scribbled notes, and multiple screens displaying game footage. The walls are adorned with framed jerseys, autographed footballs, and pictures of past victories.

I knock gently before pushing the door open. "Morning, Dad. I brought you breakfast."

My dad looks up from his desk, his face breaking into a rare smile. "Good morning, Lolo. Thanks for bringing this. I was just about to grab something myself."

I set the plate down on his desk, careful not to disturb the neatly arranged stacks of papers. "What's on the agenda today?"

He takes a bite of his pancake, chewing thoughtfully before responding. "We've got a practice session this morning, then I'm meeting with the scouts to discuss potential draft picks. It's a busy day, but it's always busy this time of year."

I nod, trying to suppress a sigh. The off-season is a time for evaluation and preparation, and it's when the pressure to build a winning team is at its peak. "Is there anything specific you're looking for in the draft picks?"