42. Leave It All On The Court
42
Leave It All On The Court
Clayton
T his is the last time I’ll wear the Panthers uniform.
This is the last time Rocky and I will don blue and yellow as teammates.
This is the last time our names will be called over the speakers as the announcers introduce us.
This is it.
This is the game.
I’ve played countless games during my career as a volleyball player, and I can count on one hand the amount of times nerves have truly shaken me to my bones. But none of those compare to the way I’m feeling today.
Anyone who’s ever been in love with a sport will understand the complex mixture of emotions you feel during your very last game, regardless of the level of play.
You’re buzzing with excitement at the possibility of taking home that championship trophy, yet dreading the start of the game because once it does, you know the end is moments away.
You’ve never felt prouder to stand on the court with your teammates while simultaneously experiencing a wave of sadness that’s impossible to put into words.
But most of all, you try to take in every play, every cheer from the stands, every boom of the announcer’s voice. All of it feels like it goes in slow motion, but before you know it, you’ve played the fastest game of your life.
Sure, we still have a chance to make the Olympic team. This might not be our last game together. But none of that is guaranteed. But what is guaranteed is this moment, right here, right now.
With Rocky.
With the number one on the back of my jersey.
With the Panthers logo adorned on my chest with pride.
Rocky and I sit side by side on our chairs, with Coach Taylor standing off to our right as the announcer introduces the opposing team and the coaching staff. Both of us sit in matching positions, elbows resting on the tops of our legs, heads hanging as we look down at the sand, getting in the zone while we wait for our names to be called. Today, though, we each have one hand wrapped around the other’s thigh. Silently grounding one another, silently communicating everything we’re feeling at this moment.
“And now for your home team, the Palm University Panthers!”
Rocky and I turn our heads slightly, and I’m met with the comforting sight of his deep green eyes looking back at me. The eyes that have now become a reflection of my soul. Who I am at my very being shines in his eyes. When I look at them, I’m at home.
He is my peace.
He is my strong side.
“Ready, Campos?”
“Ready, Aldrich.”
“Great game, man,” I say as I pull Arizona’s other player in for a hug. None of us care about the fact that we’re caked in sweat and sand. All four of us here are seniors, and opponents or not, we all absolutely kicked ass out there today. “You guys played amazing. I wouldn’t have wanted to play against anyone else today.”
He steps back and grabs me by my shoulders. “You two earned this. Now go celebrate.”
?? 1 With that, I turn toward Rocky and yell at the top of my lungs, “WE WON, BABY!”
He’s not within reach for more than half a second before the entirety of the men’s sand volleyball team is piling on top of us, Jackson included.
Rocky and I are stuck beneath a pile of sweaty screaming men as the crowd roars in the background and the Panther’s fight song plays over the speakers, and I can say without a doubt in my mind that I will remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Finally having enough of their shit, Rocky groans, “Alright, enough. Enough. Let us go get our trophy.”
The team piles off as they chuckle at his usual grouchiness. Rocky stands first, and he reaches down toward me. Grabbing his hand, he pulls me upright and into a searing kiss. His tongue fights for dominance with mine, and after a few moments I relent, more than happy to let him take over. I groan into him as his tongue explores my mouth, savoring the way he feels against me. We only part when Coach shouts, “Would the two of you get over here already! I’m about two seconds from taking this trophy home myself!”
I laugh against Rocky’s lips, “Come on, Baby. We have a trophy to take home.”
Our home.
The next thirty minutes pass in a blur as Rocky and Coach Taylor are subjected to an endless wave of congratulations and interviews with local and national news channels.
The majority of the students and opposing fan base have begun to clear out. It’s only then that I see a familiar face standing alongside the bleachers, lurking in their shadows. Likely trying not to sweat through his five-thousand-dollar suit .
How long has he been here?
Why is he here?
I don’t want him ruining this.
Tapping Rocky on the arm, I look in the man’s direction. “He’s here?”
“Hmmm?” It takes Rocky a moment, but he follows my line of sight and snarls, “What is your dad doing here?”
“Boys, I think we just have one more interview, and then—” Coach Taylor stops mid-sentence as his gaze also lands on Dad’s. Clearing his throat, he pulls his sunglasses off his eyes and sets them atop the brim of his hat.
As much as I didn’t want to involve Coach Taylor, Rocky insisted we fill him in on what happened at the beach. He wanted to ensure that Coach Taylor knew Dad and I were no longer on speaking terms and to not provide him with any details about my life unless I said it was okay.
Coach Taylor didn’t hesitate for a moment. He simply nodded and said I was doing the right thing. But it’s when he said he was proud of me for standing up for myself that a sob caught in my throat. Never once in my entire life do I remember my own father saying he was proud of me. So when the man I have looked up to for as long as I can remember—the one who has never stopped striving to help me be the best I can be while simultaneously accepting me for who I am and am not—said he was proud of me, it quite literally felt like it stole the breath from my lungs.
I could see it on his face, though. He really was proud of me. But right now, when I look at his face, all I see is a simmering inferno ten seconds away from exploding.
“You boys stay here. I’m going to go have a chat with Charles.”
Coach Taylor stomps off, and Rocky chuckles under his breath before mumbling, “Oh, shit.”
My head snaps in his direction. “What do you mean, ‘oh, shit’? What do you think he’s—”
“You son of a bitch!” Taylor’s voice booms, followed by a crack, and by the time my eyes land back on Dad, he’s bent over, hands cupping his nose as blood begins to pool through his fingers.
“Oh, shit,” I repeat Rocky’s words as I take off in a sprint to the side of the bleachers.
“I think you broke my fucking nose! What the hell, Taylor?”
“You’re lucky that’s all I broke, you manipulative, money-hungry piece of shit.” I stand next to Taylor as Dad stands up straight. His eyes go wide when he realizes I’m not about to come to his aide. “I don’t know why you’re here after the stunt you pulled at the bonfire the other night. ”
“I—”
“Save it,” Taylor snaps. “They told me what happened, and I don’t give a fuck about your side of the story. For years, I have watched you berate and belittle this man. Your son. You’ve not only done it to him but to your wife and everyone around you.” Dad’s eyes darken with rage as blood continues to pour from his likely very broken nose. “You were once a man I admired. Someone I called not only a teammate but a friend. But this”—he waves his hand up and down in my dad’s direction—“this isn’t someone I recognize.”
I feel Rocky come up behind me, and he doesn’t waste a second threading his fingers through mine. Dad’s eyes dart toward the gesture before refocusing on Taylor.
“For four years, I haven’t been able to say a word because I’ve been Clayton’s Coach, but as of thirty minutes ago, he is no longer my player. And I’m not going to let you soil what should be another incredible day for him. So”—Taylor takes half a menacing step toward Dad—“you are going to leave now. And if you’re not gone in the next fifteen seconds, I will not hesitate to break another one of your bones.”
“Clayton…”
“Uh-uh. You don’t talk to him. Leave, Charles. Now . Before I make you leave.”
Without another word, Dad spins on his heels and shuffles through the sand toward the parking lot. I don’t know when I’ll see him again or if we will ever be able to mend our relationship, but I can say with complete confidence that I’m not upset as I watch him walk away.
Taylor sighs as he spins to face us, shaking out his hand. “Clayton, I’m sorry.”
My mouth hangs open for a moment before an uncontrollable laugh bubbles from my chest. “Sorry? That was amazing! I mean, I know I should probably be appalled that you just decked Dad across the face, but that was totally epic.”
“Yeah, Coach. That was totally badass. I just wish I would have recorded it,” Rocky adds. Taylor huffs an incredulous laugh and rolls his eyes.
“Come on, you two. We have one more interview, and then the night is yours.”
We’ve been at Jack’s, a sports bar right off the beach, celebrating with friends, family, students, and members of the community for several hours now. “Sweet Home Alabama” is loudly playing as Emerson and Liliana down another round of shots. They’re not the only ones, though. There are more people in this bar drunk than not, with Rocky and I both being well on our way.
Liliana leans over and whispers something in Emerson’s ear, and Rocky and I watch as his entire face turns a comical shade of pink. I look over at Rocky, laughing, only to find him clenching his jaw in irritation. I roll my eyes and pull him from his stool, not wanting him to get sent to jail for murder on such a special night.
“Come with me,” I shout over the music.
Rocky looks from me to his sister. “I don’t know if—”
“Baby, your parents are literally right there. They’ll keep an eye on her.”
He looks back at me deadpan. “You mean the same parents who are currently doing J?gerbombs with Jackson? Yeah, they’ll do a great job.”
I bark out a laugh as I watch Big Joe and Cassandra down their shots and make a mental note to have breakfast delivered to my apartment tomorrow morning for them. “Come on, ya big baby. Come for a walk with me. ”
I don’t give him much of a chance as I pull him through the bar, with him mumbling and grumbling behind me. We’re only walking through the sand for a few minutes before we’re only a couple of yards away from the rising tide. Stopping, I toe off my sandals and set my phone, keys, and wallet on top of them. Rocky raises a brow at me and I just smile. Relenting, he does the same and grabs my outstretched hand. We walk until the cool, salty water is resting at our ankles. The sound of the waves crashing against the shoreline, mixed with the muffled music blaring from Jack’s, is the perfect soundtrack to end the most perfect day.
Rocky and I stand hand in hand in the water as we look out at the Gulf before us. “We really won,” his deep voice says softly.
I turn my head to look at him. His dark curly hair blowing in the breeze, his full lips that I could never live another day without kissing, his emerald eyes that I could get lost in over and over again, and his walnut skin that I want to spend the rest of my life exploring. What started as a partnership by happenstance, one once filled with animosity and misunderstanding, is now filled with so much love that it has woven its way into the very marrow of my bones.
It’s a partnership I want now and always.
“Yeah, Baby. We won.”
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