Chapter 15 #3
Hunter slid into the empty chair across from me, the only person in the locker room who dared to take it.
“What the hell, Wyatt?”
“What?”
“You have less bite than my grandma.”
I gave him the finger. What else could I do?
He shook his head and stood. I stood too, then walked out of the room into the tunnel. He followed and fell into step beside me. I knew he would.
“We need this win,” I said.
“I know that. Do you even care?”
I shot my eyes at him. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“The kind that comes from watching your distracted ass all day. Shuffling instead of jumping. Your halfhearted, worn-out trash talk.”
I turned away from him, because what the hell did I say to that? He was right and I had no idea why. Not really.
“Maybe I have the flu.”
“Maybe your mother is in the hospital and you’re heartsick.”
“That shouldn’t take away from football. Playing is what saves me from heartache.”
He snorted. I walked away before he could ask me about Mia. She was the last person I wanted to think or talk about. I walked onto the field, hoping I had the flu, knowing I didn’t.
After the game, on the way back to the locker room, my teammates avoided my eyes. I couldn’t say the same for Coach Marini or QB Coach Parker. The game had been a disaster and I was ground zero for all that went wrong. We’d lost by the biggest margin since my rookie year here four years ago.
I’d fumbled the ball on a hand-off on the first play of the game.
There was no explanation for how or why I went out there on our second possession and took a sack for a twenty-yard loss, my normally unerring scrambling powers out of order.
Temporarily I’d hoped. But no such luck—or whatever had possessed me.
Because after that I threw two interceptions, had no touchdown passes, and if it wasn’t for our running game we wouldn’t have scored at all.
The team gathered in a sweaty tired huddle around Coach Marini.
“The loss is on me, Coach,” I said into the silence.
“This is a team sport, Wyatt.” He paused, boring his eyes into me.
I didn’t flinch but I wanted to vomit. “That said, I acknowledge you had your share of mistakes.” He moved his eyes around to the others, taking everyone in.
“Suck it up, men. No one’s perfect. Next game, we get better. ” He paused. “Next game, we win.”
We shoved our helmets into the center of our circle and shouted our usual team cheer, albeit without the usual team enthusiasm.
Normally, I wouldn’t have put up with that shit, but today, since I was the major offender, I fell out of the huddle and went to my locker, peeling away the uniform, then the pads, concentrating on each layer, trying not to think about anything.
Especially not what the hell I would say to the press.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had a game like this—because I never had.
Coach came up behind me. “My office, Wyatt.”
I nodded and took off my shoulder pads.
“Now.”
I followed him through the locker room to the training room and through that to an unoccupied inner office.
He didn’t take a seat, so neither did I.
It didn’t feel comfortable, especially since I was half dressed and he was fully clothed.
Especially since everyone in the locker room watched me follow him behind closed doors.
No one waited for me outside. My family was at the hospital with Mom watching the game. I’d need to call my dad. He’d want some answers. Not that he was a hard-ass—okay, he was a hard-ass—but he knew I was better than this and he’d know there was something wrong. Same as Coach.
“What the hell happened to you today, Wyatt? Is this about your mother? You need some—”
“No, Coach.” I cut him off before he could suggest time off because that was the absolute last thing I wanted. I needed to play football. “I don’t know what it’s about, but it’s not that. Mom’ll probably give me hell tomorrow for such a piss-poor performance.”
He nodded.
I had no idea why I was letting football and my team down, but I had the sinking feeling that I was letting romance—a polite label for my obsession with Mia—interfere with the game that had sustained me.
The game that I could be the best at some day.
The game I loved because I excelled, and I excelled because I devoted myself to it.
What the hell was I doing? Loving Mia.
What the fuck was the right thing to do? What should come first? Football or Mia?
Coach got in my face and basically told me to get over myself.
“Not now, Wyatt. Of all times to let yourself get distracted, this is not it. We’re on a run, we’re aiming for records.
The team is poised for greatness and you—you’re damn well on a trajectory for Hall of Fame.
Don’t ruin that now.” He looked at me, pausing to assess my response.
I kept my face as neutral as I could while every word he said stabbed at my heart until it felt like I should be standing in a puddle of blood.
In a quieter, less strident voice he said, “Son, there’ll be time for women later. After the season. It’s all I ask. All your teammates ask of you. Put us first—for now.”
Keeping my shock at his words to myself, I nodded. I didn’t bother telling him he was all wrong, because he wasn’t. “You’re right, Coach.”
It was the least I could do. Put aside Mia. Finish what I started. But what if Mia saw things differently? What if she didn’t want to wait? If she insisted I put her first now? Hell, I shouldn’t even assume she wanted anything to do with me now after the way I’d left her standing in my kitchen.
I turned to leave, but Coach Marini had one more thing to say in his hard voice.
“Of course I’m right. Remember, Wyatt, team first. Any one individual is expendable.”
His warning shuddered through me, making my mind go blank and my heart skip a beat.
Fuck. How could I have forgotten that maxim?
It was the ever-present imperative. The fallout of the competitive world of professional sports, the price of playing the game, was that you were always one game away from losing everything. One game away from being replaced.
Shoving my hands through my hair as if to shove away the doubt, I realized this was exactly what a woman did to your head if you let her.
She played with your motives, with your priorities, messed you up and stole your focus.
Denise had been my guard against that. We were together, but not.
I’d been able to keep her at emotional arm’s length, especially when she’d moved to Atlanta.
But that had been messed up too. Women were hell.
“Team first,” I said, more for myself than him. “Football first, one hundred percent.” I meant it. I’d come too far, started this season with my focus and my promise to myself and the team to stay on top and I wasn’t going to let them and myself down now. Football was more than just a game to me.
I’d made no promises to Mia. Barely. I’d almost promised her everything. Thank God almost didn’t count.
“Tell that to the media,” Coach said. “You’re up first for the postgame press conference. Best to get it over with and move on. You know what to say.” He gave me an evil smile. My punishment for today’s performance.
Shit. I did know what to say, but I knew it wouldn’t be pretty, or easy.
Taking a deep breath, I went back to my locker and finished undressing.
Taking a record-breaking fast shower because, like Coach had suggested, I suddenly needed to get this all over with, I then dressed. Time to face the music.
I opened the door to the press room and went to the podium.
The shouts of the media vying for my attention, asking their questions, didn’t unnerve me.
I wore my game face and they were the opponents.
No matter how affable I’d been in the past, or how positive they’d been in their coverage, I knew we were on opposite sides today.
They were like sharks circling with the scent of a good bloody story in the water.
And they were all asking more or less the same question. What the hell happened to you today? I gave them the bullshit story that I wasn’t perfect and everyone has a bad game now and then. Most of all, I reassured them it wouldn’t happen again, and that I was onto the next game.
I was determined as all hell that I would make no mistakes next game. There would be no distractions.
After the press conference, I shrugged into my jacket, pulled my Red Sox cap on, and shoved out the door.
Slicing through the crowd, I was surprised when someone caught my arm and I turned to see Mia, her wide, deep brown, soul-wrenching eyes, her impossibly smooth skin that made her look like she was a photograph, so unreal that you needed to touch her face to make sure she was real, those lips that looked like they belonged on a grown-up, X-rated version of Cupid.
If I wasn’t determined to be cool, desperate to be immune from her, I’d have gulped.
As it was, my cock had no idea how to be cool around her and couldn’t care less about my determination.
She’d been waiting for me. I hadn’t planned on this and looked around for Fontanna, heart beating fast like I was in danger of drowning and he was my lifesaver, but I suspected he was long gone.
“Gabe,” she said, her eyes telling me more than her voice.
There was no sympathy in them, thank God.
But I saw the question, the support, and I felt the promise.
“I hope you’re ready to forget that game.
” She half smiled. I moved then, walking toward the exit, and she fell into stride next to me.
The implication of her arm though mine made her intentions obvious.
What the hell was I going to do about it?