Patton was the first out of the locker room, trotting to the field in surprisingly high spirits. His knee didn’t bother him at all, despite Friday’s flight. His shoulder was loose, and he’d slept well the night before, unaware of any nightmares or stress dreams. The only thing stopping the smile that threatened to break free was the knowledge that it didn’t matter how good he felt that afternoon, he wouldn’t be playing.
Patton began his warm-ups, stretching every major group of muscles, spending extra time on his right leg. He snagged a short jump rope from the sidelines, easily falling into a rhythm with the rope. He jumped forward, backward, crossed his arms, circled the small space he’d staked out for himself, and chanted playground songs to himself to keep time. In LA, nobody ever paid any attention to him as he went through his routine. But now he felt somebody’s heavy gaze, and he wasn’t surprised to find DeShawn staring at him when he turned around.