We all laugh a bit. I can sense the energy in the room, the nervous anticipation, the excitement. We’ve played on a big stage all season, but even the other postseason games can’t hold a candle to this.
“Let’s go out there and get one last win,” he says. “We know our game; we know our opponent—we have a plan and we’re going to stick to it. Callahan?”
I step forward.
“Fucking Heisman champ!” Demarius says as Fletch whistles.
“That’s our guy,” someone in the back calls out.
I grin, shaking my head. “Men. Let’s fucking do this.”
The team explodes into cheers. Coach shakes my shoulder, starting a chant that quickly grows to echo throughout the room. It’s so loud you’d think we won already; I can barely hear Coach when he shouts that it’s time to get into our gear.
I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle to shut everyone up.
“Coach said to suit up!” I shout. “Let’s rock and roll!”
“Like you’re not about to blast Lady Gaga,” says Bo, earning him a hearty laugh from the guys. I flip him the bird as I walk over to my locker. Someone does turn on the team mix, which includes a healthy mix of pop, rap, and hip hop, and we’re laughing, shouting across the room over the music, as we get ready to go.
I take off my watch and store it in my locker, then pick up my helmet. Tap twice against the locker door, the same way I’ve done since I was in ninth grade.
I’m ready.
Only thing left to do is play a good game.
38
JAMES
I bark out orders as we line up again, glancing at the clock. Less than a minute left before halftime. We’ve been clawing our way through long drives all game, grinding out first downs, and we’ve been rewarded with several touchdowns and a field goal. Alabama isn’t far behind, however, and another score here would mean it’s a two-score game heading into the second half. Alabama will have the ball first when the third quarter opens, so scoring here is essential.
We’re on third down, however, and need to make a first to keep the chance of a touchdown on this drive going.
I scan the field, adjusting a couple of my men quickly, then get into position for the snap. I make it seem like we we’re going for a rush up the middle, but that leaves a lane open for me to the right. I fake passing the ball off, then tuck it under my arm and take off running into the first down.
I swipe my tongue over my lip as I watch Coach give me the signal for the next play. With a fresh set of downs, we have more options.
Next, a rush up the middle. Then a short pass that nets a couple yards. We try for the end zone, but it goes wide. I glance at the clock again; see Coach telling me to go for it. We have time for one more passing attempt before we need to drop down to the field goal.
I see Darryl fan out in the end zone, shaking the man-to-man coverage, and throw to him. It’s a little high; he leaps and catches it one-handed, hauling it down to his chest before tumbling to the ground.
“Fuck yes!” I shout, pumping my fist as I jog over to him. Now I can breathe easier heading into halftime. He comes up grinning, mobbed by a couple of the guys, and does a little endzone dance. I reach out and pull him into a one-armed hug, slapping his back.
There’s only a couple of seconds before halftime, so Alabama chooses to let the clock run down, counting, I’m sure, on that first possession next half. But I’m not worried. I trust my defense.
I haven’t looked for Bex on the sideline, wanting to avoid the distraction during the game, but now I see her waving to me. I wave back, grinning. I’m sure she’s gotten some amazing shots of the game so far, but really, all I hope is that she’s loved doing it. If this helps her realize that this is a future she can have, that she deserves to pursue photography seriously, I’ll be thrilled.
Darryl leans in as we jog to the tunnel that leads to the locker room. “Throwing a little high, C.”
“That was a great catch,” I say, totally sincere. It was. “You came up big.”
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure Bex loved it.”
I almost stumble. What the hell is he doing, talking about my girl again? First the press pass and now this. Bex hasn’t brought him up in ages, so I’ve followed her lead, not wanting to bring up bad memories. Darryl and I have been mostly good—or at least I thought that, up until two seconds ago. Even though I’m soaked in sweat, the back of my neck prickles like I’m cold.
“Hey,” I say, pulling him away from the crowd before he goes into the locker room. “You trying to say something to me?”
“That depends,” he says. “What do you think I should be saying?”
“Nothing,” I say shortly. “Not where Bex is concerned. She’s not yours, asshole. Hasn’t been in months.”
He shrugs, an infuriating little smile playing on his lips. “Okay, man. Whatever you say.”
I’m not sure what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, but Coach calls me over, and I can’t disobey, so I reluctantly glare at Darryl for a moment before leaving. Something about his smirk isn’t sitting right. If he even so much as looks at Bex, we’re going to have a problem.
I wipe at my sweaty forehead with a towel as I listen to Coach break down the game so far, working over the plan for the second half. This is an important moment, and I need to be 100% focused. But I can’t help looking over to Darryl from time to time.
He has no reason to try to throw me off my game; we’re on the same side. Unless he hates me that much? But I didn’t steal Bex from him. He lost her all on his own.
I tense when I hear him say Bex’s name, but don’t turn around. Even when I hear the word kiss.
“Yeah,” he continues. “She’s just as good as I remember. One kiss and she was begging for more.”
I feel my fists curl at my sides. Blood pounds in my ears, but I still hear his next words, clear as fucking day.
“Was always a slut for it. She’s been a little whore with Callahan all semester, but I’m getting her back.”
My whole world narrows to a tiny point, the ugly words echoing in my head.
He kissed her. He fucking kissed her. When? How? And if it’s true, why am I hearing about this from him?
“James?” Coach Gomez says. He clasps my shoulder, a gesture that usually grounds me, but right now, I want to rip his hand away. “You all right, son?”
“Excuse me,” I say tightly. “Give me a second.”
I want to throw Darryl against the bank of lockers and smash his fucking nose into his skull, but somehow, I manage to walk past him, out of the locker room. Bex is standing by the door, right where I saw her when I went in, and I hate how the cute, excited expression on her face dies the moment she sees me.
“James?” she says. “What’s wrong?”
“He kissed you?”
Her silence would be answer enough, but her lip wobbles too, and my veins feel like they’re filled with ice as I realize she’s about to cry. I shut my eyes for a long moment, trying to stop the way my heart is pounding. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Wait,” she says, grabbing my hand. “Just calm down.”