Chapter Eighteen Barrett
Chapter Eighteen
Barrett
No one noticed me walk into the locker room after the last game. They were too busy celebrating.
Stopping shy of exploding champagne bottles, the music was loud, players danced around, stripped down to just their pants and a T-shirt. In the center, Keshawn lifted his hand up.
“Hey, hey,” he yelled. “Zip it!”
Eventually, his teammates noticed he was trying to get their attention, the veterans shushing the louder players around them. The music was turned down, and after a few seconds, everyone circled around.
“Floor’s yours, Coach,” he said, tilting his chin in my direction.
The team turned, everyone smacking my back as I walked into the middle of the circle.
I set my hands on my hips and turned slowly, looking at everyone around me.
“You know I’m not the guy who’s gonna yell and scream or do a victory dance that’ll end up on social media for everyone to make fun of,” I said.
“But if there was ever a game that would make me want to, it was that one.” Through their proud murmurs, I shook my head as I exhaled a laugh.
“I still don’t know where I threw my headset after the game. ”
They laughed.
I let out a deep breath. “That wasn’t easy.
We had to work for every inch of that win.
” I looked at our defensive line, pointed to the five guys in front of me.
“What you did today was incredible. You had the best—the best—running back in the league coming at you, and you didn’t flinch.
Held him to forty-two yards the entire game, and not a single run longer than five. No team has done that this season.”
The room swelled with a chorus of hell yeah’s and yeah, they fucking did’s. Waiting for the cheers and yells to quiet down, I motioned for a ball, and when my assistant coach tossed one in my direction, I caught it easily.
For a moment, I stared down at it, let the feel of it in my hand bring me back to moments like this, when I was the one bruised and tired and proud of what my teammates had accomplished.
Palming the ball, I held it up for everyone to see.
“Leadership is born in games like this. And when you see it happen, it’s fucking incredible.
” Guys nodded and murmured in agreement.
“I’ve got one game ball today, and even though I don’t need to say why, I’m going to.
” I swallowed and turned to the other side of the room, seeking out the face I was looking for. “Get up here, Carson.”
The team erupted as the backup quarterback made his way from the back of the room to the front, a few shoving him good-naturedly as he passed by. His eyes met mine, and his chest expanded on a deep breath. It was his first game ball.
“There’s no playoff run for us this year.
We knew that by halftime.” I took a moment, allowing that to sink in.
Two games in our division hadn’t gone our way, the last wild card spot slipping past us through no fault of our own.
“In the end, we had nothing at stake in this game. Nothing except our pride. Nothing except the need to prove ourselves. This season challenged every single one of us, but I think you and I had the most to prove today, didn’t we? ” I asked him.
He lifted his chin. “Yes, sir.”
“You played your game today, Carson. Messy and tough and incredible.” I handed him the ball. “Three hundred and seventy-two passing yards. Four passing touchdowns and a rushing touchdown. No interceptions, and the gutsiest performance I’ve seen under center in a long fucking time.”
His jaw clenched, cheeks still bright red from the game, and he took the ball from my outstretched hand. “Thank you, Coach. I, uh, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get one of these.”
The guys around us laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You got one today, and that’s what matters.”
There was dried blood on the bridge of his nose, streaks of green on his arm, and, if I had to guess, the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his thigh from when he got rocked late in the fourth. Goose bumps popped on my arms as he turned, looking at the rest of the team.
“Everyone said we’d lose,” he said quietly.
“When I left the house today, my wife said, ‘Just don’t get your ass kicked, okay?’” Everyone laughed.
“But we didn’t lose. We proved that we can win when it matters.
” He paused, eyes searching out the players all around the room, and I saw the moment his gaze landed on Archer, who was leaning against the wall and watching with a conflicted look on his face.
“If this is the only game ball I ever get . . . this is the best fucking win in my entire career.”
He put his hand in the middle and met my gaze. I set my hand on top of his.
“All in,” I said evenly.
Everyone crowded in, hands overlapping hands, and I nodded at Carson.
“Grit on three,” he yelled.
When the team broke apart, I let out a deep exhale, feeling the weight of another season passing. It would never get easier, but moments like this sure as hell made it worth it.
I hugged a few of the guys as I walked through the jubilant crowd, making space to allow them their celebration.
When I pulled away from Justice, Archer was standing in front of me, arms crossed.
The only reason he’d suited up was in case Carson got injured, but he’d spent the entire game on the sidelines, wearing a headset and watching film on the tablets with his offense when they were off the field.
He didn’t speak at first, probably because he was holding his jaw so tight, words physically couldn’t escape. I lifted my chin, angling it toward a slightly quieter part of the locker room.
The bruise on his jaw was still visible, and I had plenty of time to study it while he tried to work up the courage to look me square in the eye.
“I didn’t think you’d actually bench me,” he said, finally pulling his gaze up. “I thought . . . I thought you’d text me this morning. Tell me to get ready to start because you wanted to win.”
“I did want to win. Coaches always do.” I set my hands on my hips and shook my head. “It gave me no pleasure to do it, Archer. And I promise, if we’d lost—and lost badly—I’d be in Pearl’s office right now getting my ass chewed.”
He nodded. “What about next season?” he asked.
“I don’t know if I can answer that right now.”
I refused to let him look away. There was no saving Archer. He wasn’t my brother, who I used to swoop in and save when he pulled something stupid, hoping to spare us both the embarrassment of him getting kicked off the team. And in the end, my brother had saved himself.
“Show me, Archer. Show me how bad you want this and that you’re willing to work for it, because I have a guy who is if you’re not. He’s a good guy too. Team respects him. So do the coaches.”
Archer’s cheeks flushed, and he looked down at the ground, suitably humbled. “I know. I can’t . . . I can’t hate him, even if I want to.” When he looked back up, there was a fire in his eyes again. “But I hate sitting on that bench.”
“Then make it right.”
Archer’s throat worked on a swallow. “What if I can’t? What if . . . what if I did peak in college and I can’t be what this team needs?”
I set my hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You can. Take the offseason and figure out what that looks like to you, okay?”
Eventually, he nodded. As he walked away, I rubbed the back of my neck and let out a deep sigh.
The door to the locker room opened, and Bridget poked her head in. “Is it child appropriate?”
“I think so.” I looked over my shoulder. “Kids incoming!” I yelled. “Keep it clean, guys.”
Bridget smiled, pushing the door open fully. Maggie and Bryce ran in, heading straight to me for a hug.
“Enjoy the game?” I asked them.
Bryce nodded. “Carson was awesome! That twenty-yard run for a touchdown? He shook three defenders.”
“Impressive,” I said.
Maggie held up a container. “Can I hand these out?”
My brow furrowed. “Where’d those come from?”
“Lily helped me make some this morning after you left for the stadium. Double chocolate chip with a little sea salt on the top.” She shrugged. “She said that makes ’em extra good, but salt on cookies sounds a little weird to me.”
I smiled. “You didn’t try one?”
“Not yet. I have just enough for the team. Grandpa tried to sneak one, but I caught him.”
I ruffled her hair. “Go ahead.”
Carefully, Maggie opened the lid to the container and looked around at the celebratory chaos around the room.
I leaned down. “Want a little help getting their attention?”
She nodded.
I asked my assistant coach for something, and he handed it over with a grin. Maggie hopped up onto a chair, put the silver whistle in her mouth, and blew. Loud.
The entire team quieted immediately. Her eyes widened. “Um. You did really good today, and I made cookies if you want one.” She paused. “And there’s no peanut butter because I know Justice is allergic.”
“My girl!” he yelled.
With bright eyes, she held out the container.
Guys shoved each other out of the way, tripping and elbowing their teammates as they rushed toward my daughter. Keshawn started the chant, and soon the entire team was involved. It grew louder and louder, and Bridget pulled out her phone to record what was happening.
“Maggie, Maggie, Maggie!”
Her cheeks were flushed pink, and when she handed out the last cookie and thrust the empty container over her head like a trophy, they let out a raucous cheer.
“And then, and then, they all yelled my name,” Maggie said. “Did I tell you that part?”
“Yes,” Bryce groaned, pairing it with an over-the-top roll of his eyes.
“Mr. Archer said they were the best cookies he’s ever had in his life. His whole life.”
My mom smiled. “That’s amazing, honey. When am I going to be allowed in a locker room?”