Chapter 13 #3
And I knew once I let her weasel her way inside me, I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I knew. She would win. I would betray football for her. But I couldn’t let that happen.
Was it too late?
Hell no. We had nothing. We’d kissed. We’d never made love. I was crazy to think we were anywhere, had anything. For all I knew we would make terrible lovers.
Those were fighting words, words of challenge, like a slap in the face of my resolve to prove . . . what? To prove she couldn’t distract me? That I was concerned about nothing? Or to tempt me, seduce me into going too far, so far, so deep that I couldn’t back out.
Pushing both hands through my hair, I laughed, a bitter unhappy laugh. I never remembered being so unhappy, not since the day I’d picked up a football. And I didn’t think much about the days before football, if ever.
Football had changed everything in my life as soon as I’d started playing.
I’d been vulnerable then. I was thirteen, late to the game compared to most, and crushed by a girl.
Laura. I’d fallen for a girl older than me, a cheerleader, beautiful and smart, and she meant the world to me.
But when football season had started, the high school team’s quarterback had stolen her away.
Derek. He was older than me. I had an instant dislike for the guy, an intense confusing hate. I didn’t know how or why.
A case of puppy love gone wrong. Small potatoes, sure, but I had a broken heart all the same.
And in my life, cocooned by a loving family, I’d never suffered like that before, never been so lost, so down—or so angry and full of jealousy.
There was a hole in my heart and there’d been nothing I could do about it but simmer.
My father, being the sage that he was, asked me, “Why don’t you play football, son? ”
So I walked into the coach’s office first day of school to sign up, told him I wanted to be quarterback.
When he asked me what sports I’d played before that, I told him soccer.
He suggested I try out for kicker. I flat-out refused.
He asked my name and I told him. He showed nothing in his expression, or tried not to, but I saw the flicker of recognition, the tension of anticipation.
He knew who I was. In addition to soccer, I had also played shortstop on the Little League team that had made it to the national finals the year before.
But I wasn’t one for bragging so I didn’t make the claim.
I knew he’d figure out I had the chops, the talent, sooner or later.
He told me to report to practice first thing after school.
I did. At first I was playing football, playing quarterback in particular, to impress Laura, to take Derek’s place.
But when I got into that first season, got into hanging with the team, playing team leader, I forgot all about what had got me there.
Football was like no other team sport I had played.
And though I hadn’t mentioned it to Coach, I’d played lacrosse, basketball, and even hockey in my youth.
My parents had been big believers in making sure we had all the experiences life had to offer growing up.
I took guitar lessons too. Still played on occasion.
But football was different than everything.
The team was enormous compared to other sports teams, twice the size.
It was complicated and challenging and, as quarterback, I had to know everything.
All about offense, everything about defense, how to recognize and read plays, and I had to manage it all.
I had to know and understand each player’s role, know their strengths and who they were, how they were motivated.
This was like heaven to me, tapping into all my strengths as a person, giving me one place to exercise all I had to offer, everything I was good at.
Football had become my life by the time I was fifteen and I had taken over the role of starting quarterback of my high school team, never looking back.
That girl didn’t matter anymore because I had everything I needed back then, with a supportive family. Football had become my passion. My lover. The game made romantic relationships extras in life, not necessary. Romance was only nice if it didn’t distract me from football.
Now? I had no idea where I was, why I felt so miserable when I still had football, should still be thriving same as I always had. Mom would be okay. Everything would fall into place.
Starting Monday morning, heading into week four and the Sunday night game, I put football through its paces, testing its ability to save me from misery.
I had a full week of practice from hell.
By Wednesday I yelled at a water boy and then felt terrible and apologized.
Hunter saw it and chalked up my bad mood to my mother being in the hospital.
Still. I knew it wasn’t about that. I’d been to the hospital every day and felt relief when I was there.
Being in my mother’s company, seeing her improving and getting back to herself lightened me.
Whatever pent-up tension I felt the need to let out at football wasn’t about my mother. It was worse than that. Hunter and I trotted off the field into the tunnel, dripping in sweat from the midday sun. It was an unusually hot September day. But then New England weather was always unusual.
“How’s your mother?” he asked.
I smiled. We shoved inside the locker room door.
“She’s doing better. Out of ICU and should be coming home in a day or two.”
“When are you going to talk to Mia?”
This was new.
“Never. She’s poison.”
“Hardly. She’s a delight.”
“A delight? Who are you?”
He shrugged. “A friend. Remember that.” He walked away, grabbing a towel, heading for the showers.
Talking with Mia would do no good. I’d already tried the friend thing and failed miserably.
At dinner last week, and afterward at the hospital, everyone knew how I felt, that I had an interest in her.
It was in me, deeply imbedded, and seeing her wouldn’t help.
Not unless I fucked her. Maybe then . . .
I pulled off my shirt and pads. The idea was absurd that I could purge her from my brain by fucking her.
Because it wouldn’t be fucking, not with her.
It would be lovemaking and it would be the last thing I needed.
My ultimate undoing. The exact thing I was trying to avoid.
The way I would lose my focus on football completely.
I slammed my locker shut. The solid bang of the wooden door got a few stares and raised eyebrows. I stared back with a fuck-you look and headed to the showers. No one talked to me, no one even looked at me, which was a complete 180 from the norm. Damn. I had to get her out of my head.
I would have to talk to her.