20. Player
PLAYER
The intensity of practice isn't enough to erase the shock I felt Saturday night. Despite running two-minute drills under Coach Hacket’s watchful, critical gaze, my thoughts are focused on Dixie.
The image of the used condom I removed after fucking her dances before my eyes. There were traces of blood on it, which means Alabama told me the truth, she really was a virgin.
Dropping back, I pivot and throw the ball in my hands with all my strength, a laser beam that is too hard, smacking off of J’Evon, the receiver's hands before bouncing to the turf as J’Evon shakes his hands at the sting. “Goddamn, Player!” he calls. “Don’t need to break my fingers every time!”
"Dax, you’re in! Player!" Coach Adams roars. "Get over here!"
As I jog toward him, I wonder what the Coach wants from me. I stop near him and take the opportunity to grab a water bottle from the nearby cart.
"Good game Friday," he begins.
I gulp down half the water without answering, and he continues, "I want you to do even better for the next one. We're playing against Morgan Tech, as you know. "
"Chauncey is supposed to be back," I point out.
The coach's gaze hardens. "It's not your job to think about who will or won't be on the field."
I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.
"So you'll take the first series, and I want you to run as fast as you do in practice. That series is going to be dual threat, throwing them off balance. Morgan Tech won’t even see you coming. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and you score."
"You mean the Jaguars are going to score?"
The coach pushes his cap—which he wears regardless of the weather—back slightly on his head.
His irritation intensifies and his eyes shine with an almost metallic gleam.
"I don’t care if it’s a pass, a run, you do what the scenario calls for.
Get ready, because after the water break, we’re going to start scripting and putting it in with the first team offense. "
The message couldn't be clearer. I empty the rest of the water bottle as Adams jerks his head back to the rest of the group, dismissing me.
I can’t deny the thrill that trickles down my spine as I rejoin the Jaguars.
This is what I play football for, because out here, there are no distractions.
You have to run, throw, run some more. And that's what I love, acting without having to think about anything outside the white lines, forgetting everything that's eating at me.
Except today, it's not working. No matter how much energy I expend on the field, memories of Saturday night won't leave me alone.
Worse than that, I feel a strange twinge in my stomach when I think about Dixie.
"What's going on with you?"
Emery's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I shoot him a sidelong glance as Hacket blows his whistle, bringing the second team offense on for some reps while the first time prepares for Coach Adams’s plan.
"I'm focused," I mutter, not wanting to go into it more. Emery pulls off his helmet, letting his hair shake out as he does. He’s let it grow since coming to campus, giving him sort of a gladiatorial look on the field, that doesn’t encourage much conversation.
While he's naturally understanding and cool, he's still my childhood friend, and as such, he knows me inside and out.
He shakes his head, doubtful, before asking, "Is it because of him again?"
I give a bitter smirk. "It always is. But a little less today."
I hate to admit that this time, my father isn't responsible for my problems. No, this time, I managed to screw up all by myself. My fingers grip my facemask a little more tightly, the plastic-coated metal digging into my joints I’m squeezing so tightly.
I probably shouldn't have responded to Emery, because I can see the flash of curiosity crossing his face.
Now that he's caught the scent of a scoop, he won't let it go.
"Spill it!"
I clench my teeth and shake my head to indicate I have no intention of doing so. Turning, I walk away from him with long steps, heading for the drink table because I need something to end this fucking conversation.
"Sure! We'll talk about it later!" he calls after me.
Without answering him, I snatch a cup of salty-sweet ‘hydrating fluid’ and down it in one gulp.
I’m overhydrating, I might end up having to piss myself if I keep this up, or try and run inside to use a urinal, but at least the blooming ache in my bladder helps distract me somewhat, and that’s about all I can hope for right now.
"OK, are you going to spill it now?"
Emery catches up with me as I leave the locker room, my shoes squeaking on the tile in the hallway. With my bag over my shoulder, I walk toward the exit without paying him any attention.
A heavy silence stretches between us during which I try to keep my thoughts at bay. By the end of practice, I reached the conclusion that what we did was consensual, so I have no reason to dwell on it. Now, Alabama is just one of the women I've fucked, nothing more, nothing less.
But it was the first time you took a girl's virginity.
Looks like I do have a conscience after all, and it's decided to speak up.
"Fine, I'll just guess," Emery continues, clearly not willing to let it drop. I shoot him a sidelong glance before focusing my attention ahead. I quicken my pace slightly while knowing perfectly well that I have no chance of outrunning my friend. He’s huge, but he’s quick in short bursts, like the length of this hallway.
"If Commissar Boardman isn't responsible for your bad mood. .."
I could smile at the mention of the nickname he's given my father for years, but I don't feel like it. My throat is a bit tight and my nerves are on edge.
Fuck! I'm straying from my game plan, and I hate it!
"I only see one person capable of turning your brain upside down right now, and that's Dixie."
"Shut up!"
Emery responds with a laugh.
"I don't want to talk," I growl.
"Well, that works out perfectly," he continues, his tone suddenly very serious. "You can listen to me instead!"
I throw him another glance before furrowing my brows.
"Dixie is a good girl. You shouldn't play games with her."
Leaving the athletic complex, I spot a bench along the path back to the dorms and toss my bag onto it before sitting on the backrest. My friend isn't going to cut me any slack, I know it, so I might as well wait calmly for the storm to pass before continuing on my way.
Immediately, images from Saturday night flood my mind. Dixie's body when she was naked on my bed, her skin striped by the light of lightning tearing through the sky...
A reaction stirs in my boxer briefs, but I ignore it.
Emery stands facing me, determined to set me straight. He hasn't done this often during all the years of our friendship, but I know I'm about to get a serious talking-to.
"I still don't understand what she did to deserve so much contempt from you," he continues.
His comment raises an interesting point.
What is it about her that made me derail?
Because I consider what happened between us a total loss of control.
I mastered our sex session, and showed her pleasures I doubt she’ll ever feel again, but that's not the problem.
The issue is that I came to desire her without even thinking before going all the way.
No woman before her had made me feel this way. And this is definitely not something positive, that Alabama has power over me. The fact that she's not even aware of it doesn't lessen my distress.
"She's nice, and she needs to study in peace. I get that you don't care about OMU, or anything else, but…"
My friend pauses. While he doesn't hesitate to tell me some hard truths from time to time, this is the first time he's brought up this subject. “Go on, Em.”
"You have nothing at stake, Player. You don't care about your classes beyond keeping your father off your ass. And you’re the only fucking starting level quarterback in college football who doesn’t give a fuck or not about eventually getting an NFL offer."
I detect a kind of bitterness in his voice that affects me, but I immediately push away this uncomfortable feeling, seething, "It's clear I don't give a fuck! I never asked to rot in this shitty college!"
Emery crosses his arms over his broad chest without stopping his stare-down. I never would have imagined he'd be the type of guy to lecture me. “You don’t mean that. I get why you hate OMU, but this school’s not shit.”
I straighten up, and scoff. “Whatever. And what I do with Alabama is none of your business! She's an adult, and she sleeps with whoever she wants."
My friend's eyes widen in surprise. While he had figured out something was off, he hadn't yet guessed what had really happened between her and me.
"And I do whatever I want, too. Just because you protect my ass on the field doesn't give you the right to lecture me off it. You know me, you know how I am."
"Everyone can change!" Emery says.
I shake my head, "I'm not everyone."
"Oh right, sorry,” Emery replies, mock bowing to me. “You're the great Player! The football prodigy."
"Are you jealous?"
The words have barely left my lips before I regret saying them. I can criticize my best friend for things—nobody's perfect—but he's not envious.
He shakes his head, and his gaze is filled with pity when he responds. "Honestly, I don't even recognize you since we arrived on campus. You used to at least be a good teammate, and semi-responsible. I’m not sure who the fuck you are right now."
Without adding anything else, he turns away from me and walks down the path.
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought!" I shout at his back .
Emery shakes his head but doesn't turn around.
I know I've just disappointed him, and somehow, he's the last person on Earth I thought I'd hurt.
I guess that's the real Player, this raw, wounded guy who spends his time fighting against the universe.
Everyone who gets close to me eventually sees who I really am deep down, and they leave.
It's almost like a law of physics, the opposite of gravity/ I eject everything around me from my orbit.
My father's voice echoes in my head, You'll never amount to anything in your life... You're only good at following what I say... Without the Boardman name, you're nothing...
Instinctively, my fists clench. If I could unleash the fury that drives me, I'd want to be face-to-face with my father. He's responsible for everything that's happening to me.
Other memories surface that I can't push away, in each one, my father has that look filled with anger toward me, and what follows, I can still feel it in my flesh.
I almost grind my teeth from rage. If the world knew what Bolton Boardman's facade of a smile concealed, his career would be over immediately.
But only I can reveal his hidden face, and I have no intention of stirring up all that shit.
I've fought too hard to forget it, to push it into a corner of my mind that I thought I had double locked.
It only took one hookup with Alabama to create a whole bunch of additional problems for me.
I sigh in frustration when I realize that what brought me here could also be the solution to my torment.
Truth is, when I buried myself in Dixie, during the entire time we were in my room, I wasn't angry anymore.
I wasn't the pissed-off Player, I was… someone else.
I push this thought away. No, Alabama isn't an answer to my problems, she's the cause of them.
In the distance, Emery's silhouette disappears around a bend in the path. I find myself alone with my thoughts, and damn, I hate this feeling.