GROUNDING 🏈 Nick Bosa

#SEVENTY FOUR.

When I get to my office I realized quickly, that the only thing I had in there was a pen. one. single. pen. I grab it and toss it into the medium sized box on the desk.

I look around the room for a moment and then I slowly walk into treatment room one and place my palm down onto the treatment table. My eyes search around the room, soaking in all its features.

This was where it all started. And this is where it's all going to end.

What a fucking shit show, I think to myself. It was at this point I start to cry, I let myself feel all the emotions. I loved this job, I really did and I was proud of myself for making it this far, but the hard fact was... this was probably the last professional football team I'd ever work for. I mean, I was fired for sleeping with a client and I can't exactly put Kyle Shanahan down as a reference.

After I contain myself and wipe away all the tears from my face. I grab my box containing one pen and head out the door. As I make my way down the hallway to the exit I manage to keep myself from crying, even though, my entire body wanted to break down.

I'm walking on the sidelines when Greenlaw jogs up next to me. "Hey, Lil. You alright?"

I give him a look.

"Right, that was a dumb question, sorry." He quickly, says.

"It is what it is." I sigh.

"Want me to help you carry that?" He asks.

"Sure." I reply, shoving the box into his hands.

"Damn, I'm either really strong or this box is really fucking light." He chuckles. "What's even in here, nothing?"

"A pen." I blankly, say.

"A pen? You need this box for just a pen?" He questions me with an amused look on his face.

"Well, it's my box now and I'll be moving, so I might as well take it." I shrug.

"Yeah, that's pretty smart." He smiles. "Where you moving?"

"Florida, probably, most likely. There's a job waiting for me there." I tell him a bit uneasy saying that out loud.

"Florida is nice. I think you'll like Florida." He says, confidently.

"That's what people tell me."

"Maybe I can come visit you?" He smirks.

I softly laugh and push his shoulder. "I think I'm good off football players, Dre."

"What? I'm a football player?" He jokes.

I examine him in his uniform as we walk together through the players parking lot. "The last time I checked, you are a football player."

"Am I at least a good one?" He continues to poke.

"Didn't you make like, top ten linebackers in the NFL or something?" I ask him as we approach my car and I pop open the trunk.

"Yeah, actually. I did." He smiles.

"Then you're good." I smile taking the box out of his hands and throwing it into the trunk.