closed starter → @tatemedina
Nothing shakes you up. Nothing rattles your cage, Taylor.
If that were true, then why the hell were his nerves having his hands fidget and twitch like he was some sort of nervous high schooler, some dumb kid who didn't know anything? When he first even heard that this position was open, he contemplated the application entirely. It'd been, what, thirty-one whole days of being clean at the time of his interview, and he didn't even know if he'd drop dirty or not. But when they'd offered him the job, that's when everything changed, because that's when they told him who the head coach was.
Tate Medina didn't make it very far into the NFL, but it wasn't like his name hadn't been written about somewhere on the internet. What struck Dominic was the fact that he'd actually made it, he made it all the way to where he saw himself going, and life still somehow knocked him down. What kind of bullshit was that?
It didn't matter how much homework he did or how much he'd regret his Google search history in a month or two, he just knew that he was working for him now. And that's probably why he showed up to his office dressed in his nicest athletic polo tucked in to what he could only assume was some sort of dress-pant. He didn't know, he'd never lived a professional life before. Knocking on the metal doorframe, he took a few steps into the space, took a breath, and then just started talking. "Hey," he said, then cleared his throat. "I mean, hi, Coach Medina," suddenly he didn't know what to do with his hands, so he stuck one out for a shake. "Uh, I'm Dominic Taylor, the new assistant coach. I was told today was my first day?"
