“She’s good, a few bruises from where he grabbed her. And you have nothing to apologize for. I was so fixated on making sure Marisa was okay, that piece of crap probably would’ve scurried away if you hadn’t been there.”
He swiped his chin back and forth, his nostrils flared and he squeezed the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time…” His lips tightened. “I’m glad Marisa’s okay. I fucking hate that she’s got bruises at all.”
“I know. But I paid Chris a visit, so he won’t come anywhere near her again.”
Keyton’s shoulders relaxed like he’d been on edge since Tuesday night. “Let me know if he does and I’ll go with you to kick his ass all over again.”
I laughed and punched him in the shoulder. “We’re good, man. You don’t have to go into hiding over something like this.”
The breath he let out felt like he’d been holding it for days. “I know. I just…I don’t like losing control like that and I didn’t want you guys to think I was a loose cannon.”
“You’re the most even-keeled guy out of all of us. If there was a time to lose your cool, it was on Tuesday.”
The door to the locker room flew open. Coach Saunders marched in. “You’ve got twelve minutes to get out on the field. The bus to the airport leaves at three tomorrow. If you miss it, you’re buying your own ticket to Michigan. I’d suggest everyone gets here on time.
“Today we’re running the three new defensive line plays and we need you all to know these and be able to run them in your sleep. Offense, there were two turnovers in the last game, so you’re going to drill those passing plays until they’re branded on your brains. Let’s get a move on.” He clapped his hands against his clipboard and disappeared back out the door.
Keyton rushed off to get changed and I left the locker room, following Coach out to the field and taking my spot on the bench.
First one suited up. First one ready for practice. First one to ride the bench all season.
Guys slowly made it to the side of the field, breaking off as the defensive and offensive coaches called their squads over.
I joined the defensive coach on the sidelines. Sixty guys stood around him, all itching to get out on the field and prove themselves in the ten games we had left this season.
“I want my seniors out there to start. We’ll be taping to add to your reels, so don’t fuck it up.” His words ignited a flame in my chest. Practice tape wasn’t as good as the real thing, but I’d take what I could get and push it to the max.
Keyton jogged beside me, smiling, headed to the offensive line. “How encouraging.”
We stood in the center of the field, finding our spots for the play.
I glanced at the sideline against my better judgement. Coach Saunders walked up and down a six-foot track with his headset on and clipboard in hand.
The second string QB made the call and the snap kicked in.
We broke off, covering our players on the other team, but I spotted a gap in the defense. Slipping into the pocket, I took down the receiver before they made it ten yards.
The next play, I spotted my opening, smacking the ball from the air and swatting it to one of the cornerbacks who ran it in for a touchdown.
On the next, I blocked, giving an outside lineman the opening to sack the quarterback.
Running to the sidelines, it felt like I was riding through a car wash with the top down from all the knocks and nudges to my helmet. My grin was 50 yards wide, satisfaction settling deep into my bones. I wanted to show the guys I hadn’t been benched because I didn’t have it in me. I still had all the same skills and wanted to use them to get us our next W.
Coach Saunders’s stare was the pinprick to my helium-balloon feeling once I left the field.
The whole team huddled around, some standing, some taking a knee.
“Good hustle out there. Those plays looked sharp. Keep them that way and you’ll make everyone proud this season. Don’t let your heads get too big. We’ve got a lot to prove and even more people coming for our necks. STFU is ready to end our streak and we’re not going to let them, are we?”
“No, Coach.” Everyone shouted at once, as one. And the vibrations rumbled in my chest.
“Are we going to get complacent?” His voice rose, higher above the team shout.
“No, Coach!”
“Are we going to give them a chance?”
“No, Coach!”
“That’s what I like to hear. Hit the showers and be ready for our trip tomorrow. We’re going to break Michigan’s streak and show them how we do things at Fulton U.” His words energized the guys and everyone got up, charging toward the locker room.
Sweat, steam and the steady beat of the showers filled the locker room with chaos.
Berk found me after I’d gotten my shower, still standing in my towel, fishing my clothes out of my locker.
He panted, shower sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Do you need a ride home?” His shirt still clung to his body.
“You’re in a rush.”
“Jules is baking something new today and she told me to swing by after practice to pick it up.”
“I can’t blame you then. No, I’ve got my car. And I’ll see if Keyton needs a ride.”
“Cool, awesome.” He was already jogging backwards. “Thanks!”
Everyone was amped up for Saturday, like an electric current running through the humidity in the air.
Ten games were left in the regular season for the underclassmen to prove themselves and get their spot on the starting line-up.
Ten more games for all the seniors to get enough solid plays in to boost their draft prospects.
Ten more games until I might be relegated to playing pick-up football in a local park.
“Alien or Aliens?” Marisa called out from the living room finishing up folding my clothes.
I didn’t hate how she’d come right in and trudge out with my baskets of clothes grumbling about one day setting it all on fire in the backyard. But she’d also wrestle the pile of clothes away from me muttering about how I couldn’t do it right if I tried. Although I only usually tried to get her to spring into action to do it.
The microwave counted down and I waited for the popping to slow, counting the seconds between each one. A charred bag sat in the sink—Marisa’s handiwork.
I shoved the zipper up on my hoodie even higher. The breeze raced through the house from the open back door straight through the windows at the front of the house to purge the charred popcorn smell from the air.
“What about Terminator?”
“Terminator, T2, T3: Rise of the Machines, Salvation, Genisys, Dark Fate?”
“I only recognize those first two as actual movies for my own sanity. Maybe Salvation, if I’ve had enough to drink. Maybe.” I filled the bowl with popcorn.
“You’re such a movie snob.” She grabbed cups and poured us some soda.
“Protecting my brain from the plot holey-est terrible movies that tried to ruin two of the best movies ever doesn’t make me a snob. You’re into 18th Century paintings and Greek statues. You’re telling me you’d choose T3 over T2?”
“No, but I love to see how worked up you get when it comes to crappy movies.” I kicked her butt on her way out of the kitchen.