Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty
The newly built stadium, nestled beside the Sandia Mountains, felt like a museum. I’d walked its perimeter two days ago with the team; Coach Mark had insisted on it. He’d said that the University of New Mexico art students worked with local artists to paint murals that reflected the rich heritage of the region's indigenous people. The structure had been designed to ease into the surrounding landscape. It was one of the most unique sports complexes in the world, its adobe walls juxtaposed against steel and glass, creating an illusion that it was one with the pinkish hue of the mountains hugging it. The sun, relenting to the night sky, tipped the peaks with a harsh fire that turned the soft pink into intense crimson, which reflected off the glass, illuminating the adobe walls without the aid of artificial light. There had been a collective sigh as the team observed the sky shift from day to night.
After two days of running plays in Sandia Stadium, I knew we were at a distinct advantage; our guys’ lungs could tolerate the thinner air. Training in Tahoe was always tough at the start of the season, but our bodies got used to battling for oxygen, making us more physiologically efficient. Passing the opponents on their way out as we entered the stadium for our allotted time, I couldn’t stop the internal snicker, noticing some of the Iowa guys trying to regulate their breathing after they ran their drills.
Sylvia Gonzales pushed off the adobe wall. She was a captivating presence in every way imaginable; her shiny raven hair spilled over her shoulders, and dark denim snugged her ample hips, gliding down her legs before flaring over her boots. She wore a tan blazer over a tight purple ribbed sweater with a microphone clipped to the lapel of her jacket. Two camera guys flanked her, looking a tad uncomfortable, probably not sure what our reaction would be to her impending request, but she was next to impossible to turn down. I knew she wanted to interview us before the Super Bowl, but I hadn’t been prepared for her to ambush Dwayne and me as we went in for one last drill before tomorrow's big game.
“Jake Skyler,” she cooed, or that’s how I heard it; it actually seemed more like a thick purr a ravenous cat would make while eyeing dinner. Her dark eyes, with their heavy eyelashes, traced the muscles of my shoulders, leisurely making their way down my chest, and if my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, they lingered for a few scant seconds near my groin, my crotch twitching. I felt invincible, so maybe it was just my imagination because I knew Sylvia was married. In my head, she perused my body like an unattached woman or soon to be… Jeepers, Jake! I had to admit I liked it. Even if my whole being was sucked up in that Aussie girl, something about the way Sylvia ogled me puffed me up even more. Dwayne approached behind me, and Sylvia gestured for the camera guys to roll; we smiled, chanting for Sacramento. Shaking our fists in the air, we fixed our eyes on the camera, letting our fans know we would give it our all and bring back another Super Bowl trophy to Cowtown, which is how the rest of California referred to Sacramento.
This year, Dwayne and I sprang for a box so our family and friends could sit together. When we ran out on the field, I looked up and saw Rakell with one arm draped around Melissa’s shoulders and the other looped in Jenae’s…she wrangled her arms free when Dwayne and I, arms linked, took a few steps in the direction of the box and bowed toward the hootin’ and hollering fans. We stood in unison, blowing exaggerated kisses toward the box. Dwayne’s sister, Eva, jumped up and down with Dwayne’s mama, waving manically. I watched Rakell touch her chest and then her lips, tossing the combination of her heart and kiss in my direction. Using my fingers, gesturing that I’d snatched her gift from the air, planting it firmly to my lips, letting her know I was grateful for everything she offered. Every fucking thing. I wanted it all; mine, all mine , stomped through my head when I beamed back to her.
The coach’s first play of the game was a genius call. They were going ‘old school Jake Skyler,’ and I’m guessing nobody saw it coming. On the snap of the ball, Dwayne, Jaxton, and Grady took off on what appeared to be every one of our receivers on a ‘go’ route. They must have thought we were going to send a message by trying to score on the first play of the game. The secondary of the Tornadoes bought it, and then every one of them followed our guys downfield. Our O-line and two running backs ran to the left, so on second look, it seemed that we were setting up a screen pass. I faked the ball to the trailing running back; their defensive line and linebackers collapsed toward the left side. I looked to my right downfield and saw…. no one …I tore into a sprint. By the time the defense caught on, I was already fifteen yards into my run. I got thirty-five yards before going into a slide to avoid getting hit. The next play looked like a pass, and again, the Tornadoes' defense was lining up to defend our passing game. I dropped back, and as the receivers ran their routes, I handed off to the running back on a delayed run. We picked up another twelve yards. They were clearly on their heels. I had to chuckle while watching Dwayne and Jaxton line up on opposite sides of the field, knowing what was coming next. It was like watching a human ping-pong machine; both ran crossing routes after the snap. When they got close to each other, the cornerback covering Jaxton had to step around his teammate, affording Jaxton a distinct edge on the guy. Watching Jaxton was sort of like observing a human calculator on the field; I was sure he knew exactly how many steps he was from the endzone. I hit him with a pass in stride, Dwayne and me chest pumping as Jaxton scampered to the end zone for a touchdown.
I watched their quarterback shift on the sidelines, his legs squiggling like someone had dropped a fucking firecracker down the back of his game pants. Randall Adams was one of the most famous quarterbacks in the league. He was known for keeping his head and had acquired the nickname “Zen Cyclone,” yeah like some badass Buda, and he reveled in the description. Yet he was rattled, and the Tornadoes couldn’t muster any offense, so they had to kick it back to us after a three-and-out. Randall Adam’s being neutered was especially satisfying as he has been the bane of my existence since I entered this league. Damn, I could taste the sweetness of a little public vengeance coating my tongue; not only had Randall Adams refused to look at me as a potential backup quarterback when I was a young, albeit misbehaving player in the league, but also knowing that he had been my girl’s original football crush. I snuck a peek at the box just as she took a swig of something, thinking to myself, God brought this girl from Australia to Texas, and now she’s seeing me beat the team and the quarterback she used to watch with her dad . A ripple of emotion ran through me as I thought about her dad, but I shook it off, loving that she saw her far-away infatuation stumble against me as I reigned supreme.
The rest of the first half continued like the first few possessions. We entered halftime leading 40-0. I had already passed for 320 yards, Jaxton had 120 receiving yards, and Dwayne 95. Our defense only gave up 110 offensive yards to the Tornadoes. Safe to say we were having our way with them, and damn, was I eating it up. Everybody always talks about the exhilaration of winning a tight game because you fought for each yard before eking out a win. You know you earned it. Yeah, that felt great, but there was something altogether super-hero when you’re wiping the field with the other team, especially an uber-popular team like the Iowa Tornadoes. Their quarterback had been interviewed more than any other guy in the league, and there was an intellectual pretentiousness mixed with spiritual yogi bullshit about him that twisted my gut when we faced them, so yeah, I was savoring this moment.
At halftime, I approached Jaxton and put my arm around his shoulder. He flinched as if he expected me to attack him. I said to him with a slight smile, “I didn’t come over here to choke you. I came over to congratulate you on a spectacular first half. You’re making them forget all about that other receiver we line up out there.” I chortled, knowing I had said it loud enough to capture Dwayne’s attention.
Just then, Dwayne sidled up to me, a cheesy grin on his face, obviously having heard the last sentence. “I see that you are appreciating the accomplishments of my protégé,” he chuckled, making sure he emphasized ‘my.’
Twisting my head toward Dwayne, I said, “And who are you?” as I side-eyed Jaxton with a smirk. The ends of Jaxton’s mouth curled; a smile? Then it disappeared into a straight line, but I saw it. This was the first time I’d registered any happiness or amusement since the San Antonio game, and I had been leaning in, trying to make sure Dwayne saw me giving this kid a chance. I’m not going to lie: it made me giddy. It was sort of like when I knew I’d connected with Cameron; that thought made me still for a minute.
I walked toward the other side of the locker room with Dwayne, stating, once we were out of earshot, “I may not remember your name, but you’re gonna have to stick around anyway ‘cause having a conversation with that one is practically impossible.”
Dwayne lamented, “Believe me, I know. I can spend hours with him, and we barely share two words. I think he might be on the spectrum.”
“Like Cameron? He doesn’t seem that involved,” I said. God, I’d been an ass to Jaxton, not trusting him, sensing something was off when maybe he just processed the world differently.
A crease deepened on Dwayne’s forehead. “I looked into it. He doesn’t have to struggle with language or school stuff like Cameron to be on the spectrum. He’s what they call high-functioning, wicked smart, but the social stuff can be really difficult. I read that sometimes people think that someone with autism is being aloof or even rude. But that is not accurate. A lot of times they’re trying to protect themselves from sensory input that most of us are able to just ignore. Plus, when you consider his background, it’s no wonder it’s tough to get him to open up and feel comfortable around folks, especially super demonstrative jocks. I can tell he’s ready to defend himself at all times. Can you imagine how that must feel?”
Then, that phrase Melissa always hears about Cameron hit me, “behavior problems.” Shit, I had completely missed that about Jaxton. Damn, that is how people judge my little buddy, isn’t it?
“ I didn’t think about that before. Damn you’re wise, Dee.” I cupped his shoulder. “If that is the case, I’ll take a whole new approach to interacting with him. In the meantime, we have another half of the Super Bowl to play. Let’s focus on the Tornadoes for two more quarters so we can hoist that trophy again.”
Dwayne nodded his chin toward the door and reached for my arm. “Jake,” he spat out, “learning more about Jaxton sort of made me face some stuff I’ve buried.” My arm stiffened, my eyes narrowing on him. “Listen,” he sighed, “not now but after…”
“We win!”
“Yeah, we win. I’m gonna need your help back in Austin.”
“Dwayne? I got something to tell you, too,” I murmured. When I heard Coach Easton start his ‘we got this’ speech, I snaked my arm around Dwayne’s broad back. “Let’s do this for each other this time.”
“Got it bro…each other.”
We hugged aggressively and, at the same time, uttered into the air, “Ride or die.” We had said that to each other drunk eight years ago, but it felt like we were back in that place, pledging to have each other’s backs.
I didn’t run out onto that field. I pranced somewhere between a noble prince and a lion cub. I couldn’t wait for this game to be over, to win this together, and then I had something big to share with him. He’d be the first to know. That was my reward to him for being here for me for almost a fucking decade. And whatever he was going through, I’d be there for him. We’d always be each other’s ride or die.
The second half was more of the same. We ran all over them on both sides of the ball. Jaxton had an additional 90 yards, and Dwayne had 80 more. All the nerve fibers in my arm tingled, adrenaline coursing through me, my gaze momentarily shifting to Coaches Mark and Easton. They both gave me the thumbs-up; they understood implicitly what this pass would mean if I nailed it. I’d seen this very scene in my head on repeat so many times, a looping daydream that you can’t really imagine materializing. The ball soared from my hand, slicing through the air. As the Sacramento fans sprang to their feet cheering, I didn’t have to look up to know what the Jumbotron displayed as the ball slid into Dwayne’s arms. I almost jumped up in celebration. He froze for a split second, a perceptible tilt of his helmet upward to the large screen, giving the impression he was stopping to celebrate. NO…not yet!!! Aware there were microphones everywhere, I whisper-yelled, “Run, dumbass, fucking run.” As if he heard me, dawning on him what he was supposed to do, he swiveled, leaping into a jaguar-like sprint straight into the endzone. Game over! I sprinted toward the endzone where Dwayne was doing his signature wiggle-hip dance and joined him; then he and I did a little sashay as a few other players joined us.
Damn, I’d done it. I earned the Super Bowl record for most passing yards and was honored with Super Bowl MVP. I had a million thoughts swirling through my head, but none was louder than Rakell, look at me. I did it. I can do anything . People flooded the field, and then I saw her, my mom holding her hand, my sisters adjoining them on either side, my dad just behind my mom, Georgia, Eva, and Damien scanning the field, looking for Dwayne; they veered off when they saw him being interviewed by Austin’s Cody Stark near the sidelines.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Sylvia Gonzales twisting and shoving her way through the swarming bodies. There was no way I was doing an interview before wriggling my sweaty limbs around Rakell. I was dying just to snatch her hand and drag her back to the hotel, but I knew hours and hours stood between me and her alone. I took a giant bouncing step in their direction, preparing to suck her up into a hug, but she hesitated. She opened her fingers, freeing my mom’s arm, shifting to the side, letting my mom have the first crack at me. My eyes glazed over, screaming internally, you let my mom go first? I have to fucking marry you!
I swallowed, my arms tugging my mom into me as tears dripped down her face. My sisters swooped in, spreading their arms like wings around us; my dad joined us, his face beaming. He mouthed, “Son, you did it!” Melissa pulled out her phone and Facetimed Cameron and Cassie. I thought I heard Tom in the background saying something about Cameron not calming down, but I deflected it. Nothing would taint this moment.
My mom broke off our embrace, her eyes flicking over her shoulder to where Rakell stood. I lunged toward Rakell, engulfing her in my arms as I lifted her off the ground.
“I told you, pretty boy,” she uttered in a burst of laughter.
“You did, Sweets, you did!” I spun her around, my teeth nipping at the base of her neck.
“And I’m always right!!”
“Always, always.” I pecked my way up to her chin.
Sylvia cleared her throat, halting my pursuit of Rakell’s lips. Looking at the three cameras focused on me, I shouted, “I’m MVP, two-time Super Bowl champ; you’re gonna have to wait,” my voice brimming with cockiness. ‘ Turn it down, Jake ,’ I could almost hear Sylvia say; she had said that to me repeatedly when I first took the job with Sacramento. She’d coached me about how to act in front of the camera so I’d come across as more humble. But hell, that all fell away as I covered Rakell’s lips with mine, swallowing her soft, protesting pleas.
“Jake, Jake,” Rakell murmured urgently, her eyes scanning the cameras circling us.
Finally, I pulled back, letting her feet slide to the ground.
When Sylvia approached, Rakell tried to duck from my embrace as the cameras panned in even closer. “Not so fast, Sweets.”
“Well, well, Jake Skyler, MVP and two-time Super Bowl champ. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that Sacramento is wild tonight. I hear downtown Austin is a ruckus party, too, celebrating their hometown boy. How does it feel to bring home another win for the Condors?”
“It’s amazing. This feels like my year. I’ll be thirty this year, and as a boy, I had dreams of what I wanted by the time I was thirty. It seems like everything is falling into place.” After my last word, I dropped my eyes to Rakell and then back to the camera.
I felt her back stiffen.
Sylvia's eyebrows arched, a knowing smirk consuming her face. She darted her eyes to Rakell, instructing the camera guy to zoom in, then back to me before asking, “Jake Skyler, do you have an announcement you want to make?”
“Huh? Jake…” I heard Rakell hush, her tone laden with surprise, or was it fear? I wasn’t sure, but I’m not a complete buffoon. I had plans to do this right.
“Yes, I do.” My hand slipped around Rakell’s waist as I leaned into the camera. “You’re looking at the next Hollywood star…Rakell McCarthy, my good luck charm.”
I had to choke back a laugh as I felt her fingers pinch the side of my waist through my jersey.