Chapter Thirty-two Vaughn
Chapter Thirty-two
Vaughn
There are few times in my life when I’ve been able to truly disconnect from everything, close my eyes, and disappear, but that’s exactly what state I’m in after the game.
Eyes closed, head resting back against my locker, legs splayed out in front of me, I just stare into a black abyss. My thoughts are quiet, as if my brain has decided this is the only way to survive.
“What are you still doing here, Cap?” Rowan’s voice sounds far away, but when I crack open one eye, he’s standing a foot from me.
It feels like hours since I saw him last, but a glance at the clock hanging on the wall near Dad’s office says it’s only been fifteen minutes or so since the last guy left and I was finally able to stop pretending I didn’t want to slam my head against the wall.
“Nothing,” I say, getting to my feet. All the despair and pain I was putting off comes back like a tidal wave.
“Bullshit. I know sulking when I see it.”
“I’m not sulking,” I say.
“We’ll get them next year.”
“That won’t make up for losing now,” I say. “Winning doesn’t even out the losses. It doesn’t work like that. At least not for me.”
“You did everything you could. Today wasn’t our day. Beating yourself up over it won’t help.”
He means well, and I even know there’s some truth to his words, but I refuse to accept it was just some cosmic fate instead of a failure to do everything we could have.
One more steal, one fewer mistake, one more practice or hour of preparation. You never know what’s going to make the difference. We lost because we didn’t do something we should have to win. No, we lost because I didn’t do something I should have.
“Are you heading out soon?” he asks. “Everyone else already left, but I had a feeling you were still in here punishing yourself.”
I ignore the last part and focus on the question. “Yeah. I’ll be out in a minute.”
He hesitates, watching me like he doesn’t believe me.
“I’m not going to sit in here all night.” It smells like sweaty socks and Barrett’s cologne. If I were going to sulk, it’d be somewhere I can breathe through my nose.
“Good. I’ve got a bottle of Jack with your name on it, and I’ll bet Lacey is waiting to smother you in glitter and kisses. Question, does she put glitter everywhere?” His eyes widen and he gives me a knowing look before mouthing, “Everywhere?”
The mention of Lacey has another prick of embarrassment needling my skin. She was there, cheering me on. She wore a shirt with my name on it. My number was painted on her face. And I blew it.
“Fuck off.” I try for a joking tone, but it sounds flat even to my own ears. I manage a small smile for his benefit, and it must work because he chuckles.
“See you soon, Cap.”
After Rowan heads out, I go back to sitting and stewing in my thoughts.
It’s Dad’s familiar footsteps that break through the white noise. When I look up, he’s standing in the doorway with his hands on his hips.
“I don’t have it in me for a lecture right now,” I say, letting my head hang.
There’s a beat of silence before he asks, “Do you want to go to the diner and watch the replay?”
“What?” My head snaps up. Is he for real right now? In what world could I possibly want to feel the defeat twice in one night?
“Losing is hard. It never gets easier, but you can learn from it.”
“Spare me the lessons tonight, Coach.”
I stand and turn to face my locker, fuming at him and myself.
Eventually he leaves me alone again. I punch the locker door and the metal clangs and echoes in the silence. Fuck.
The cold air feels good nipping against my skin when I finally make it out of the locker room. I start my SUV and plug in my phone.
I have a dozen texts, mostly from Austin and Rowan. One from Lacey. I can’t bring myself to read any of them yet.
I drop my phone into the center console and wrap my hands around the steering wheel. I squeeze until my knuckles go white and then flop back against the seat.
I can’t believe we fucking lost. My first chance to prove myself as captain, and I can’t even get us back to the State Championships. No matter what else we accomplished this season, that’s the thing that people will remember. We didn’t make it.
I pull up outside of Doyle’s camp and park without remembering the drive out. Blinking out of my daze, I turn off the engine but don’t make any move to leave the quiet cab of my Rover.
Instead, I grab my phone and finally read the texts that are waiting for me.
Austin: It didn’t go the way we wanted, but this season was a blast. I appreciate everything you did for me, Cap. Let’s kick the ball around tomorrow afternoon.
And then a few minutes later he sent another.
Austin: Are you coming out to Doyle’s? Lacey’s looking for you.
The next one is from Rowan.
Rowan: Are you hiding in the locker room? Nvm, I’m coming to find you.
Then about fifteen minutes ago he sent me a picture of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.
There are similar messages from the rest of my teammates. They want to celebrate the season, but I’m not ready to shrug off the loss yet.
I save Lacey’s text for last, hoping it’ll pull me from my misery.
Lacey: I’m so sorry. Heading to Doyle’s with Claire and Austin. Text me if you need anything. See you there. X
No smiley faces or exclamation points. Such an un-Lacey-like text that it just makes me feel worse. I bet she toiled over what to say, muting her usual optimism for my ego.
Glancing toward the cabin, I wonder what she’s doing in there. Is she drinking with Rowan or chilling with Claire? Is she happy and smiling? And more importantly, if I walk in there, am I going to kill the vibe and her mood all at once?
I want to see her, but I can’t seem to make my legs carry me inside. I open up the sports news app on my phone. The headline guts me: FROST LAKE KNIGHTS FALL TO PACIFIC SHARKS.
My emotions bounce all over the place as I read the article.
They call out the talent of both teams, how Frost Lake looked like we were going to come out ahead for most of the game, and that it all came down to defense.
The reporter suggested we weren’t as sharp as we have been in other games and wanted to blame it on the long season and playing Mountainview two days ago.
I’m skimming by the time I get to the end, but my dad’s name brings me up short.
Jude Collins, Head Coach of the Knights, said after tonight’s loss, “We’ve had our share of setbacks this season. The boys played well tonight, but Pacific kept their composure and focus until the end.”
Focus? The word rankles at first. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s used it to get me back on track. But this time I wonder if he’s right. And the “setbacks this season” is definitely a jab at me.
Maybe he’s right. If I hadn’t had to sit out and force the team to shift our game play, then maybe that time would have been better used to prepare us for today.
A knock on my passenger window pulls my attention from the phone. I hit the button, and the window rolls down revealing Eddie Whitlock.
“Hey,” I say to him.
“Are you coming or going?” Eddie asks. He tries a hesitant smile like he isn’t sure how he should act in front of me.
“I just got here.”
I don’t make any move to get out, and he eventually nods.
“See you inside.” He taps his fist on the side of my vehicle once and then heads off toward the party.
By the time I’ve rolled up the window, I’m only certain of one thing. I can’t go in there. Not tonight.