36. Declan
Declan
Life is ten percent what happens to you,
and ninety percent how you respond to it.
~ Charles R. Swindoll
Halftime at the Vikings game on their turf should be a high point for me. I’m back. Game two on the field. Finally, after all these months, I’m on the lineup.
“What’s going on?” Delaney asks me. “Where’s your head, O’Connell?”
I don’t answer. We all know where my head is.
Not here. Not on the ball. Not on winning the last game of the season.
Coach Bennett steps over to us. “O’Connell, you're looking at the coverage instead of attacking it.” He stands directly in front of me. “I’d say it’s you being rusty or maybe your ankle’s still bothering you, but that's not the problem, is it?”
“No, sir,” I admit. “I’ll get my head in the game.”
“That’s all I want to hear.”
He steps away and Coach Clay addresses the room. “We’re already in the playoffs. Is that what you men are thinking? This is a gimme? Because from where I’m standing, we want a bye week. They don’t hand out the number one seed based on good looks and personality.”
Harris shouts, “Too bad! We’d win that contest for sure.”
Coach Clay shoots Harris a warning glance.
“Sorry, Coach,” Harris says. And then he glances at all of us. “Are we here to play or are we here to win?”
The whole team shouts, “To win!”
“What did you say?!” Harris shouts.
“To win!”
Harris jumps up onto a bench and pumps his fist in the air. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.” Then he looks at Coach, gives a salute, and jumps down from the bench. “Floor’s yours, Coach Clay.”
Coach shakes his head. He smiles at Treyvon and then he drops the hand holding his clipboard to his side. His voice isn’t loud or domineering, but he commands our attention. The locker room goes silent.
“Defense, you've done your job. Keep doing it.” He makes eye contact with a few key defensive players. Then he addresses us. “Offense, you’ve been trying to force big plays instead of taking what's there. We need to play a first-down game. Keep the drive alive. That’s all I want from this offense in this second half. Move the chains.”
Trying to force big plays.
Is that what I’m doing with Winona?
Was I so determined to protect us from every hit that I walked off the field altogether?
I shove thoughts about Winona out of my mind and focus on the game at hand.
We've worked too hard this season to let this slip away. I need to step up and help secure this bye week.
I can figure out my relationship later.
The second half of the game we run the ball, gaining first down after first down. Late in the fourth quarter, on third-and-six, Delaney hits me over the middle. I make the catch, lower my shoulder, fight through one tackle, and get the first down.
A few plays later, Parker Rhodes makes the winning catch on a throw Delaney lined up just for him. We come back from behind and win the game twenty-seven to twenty-one.
When Rhodes crosses the line, he holds his arms out and looks up into the sky, palming the ball and walking in a slow circle. The offensive players rush around him, doing chest bumps and slapping one another’s shoulders and helmets.
Somebody grabs me from behind and nearly lifts me off the ground. I turn to see Brady smiling the smile of a champion. Trey is already halfway down the sideline, pointing toward the Thunder fans who made the trip north, pumping both fists overhead like he personally won the game.
The scoreboard glows: Thunder 27, Vikings 21.
I glance into the cheering crowd, scanning it for her face even though I know she’s not here.
Coach Bennett catches my eye from a distance. He doesn't smile. He just gives one satisfied nod.
He knows. I got my head back in the game.
Delaney wraps an arm around my shoulders as we make our way toward the tunnel.
"There he is,” he says. “That’s the O’Connell I know.”
“We did it.” Adrenaline courses through me, but I don’t shout like I would have any other game.
Someone yells, “Number one seed!”
A chorus of cheers follows.
Trey is a few steps ahead of me. He stops and turns around so he’s walking backwards. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts. “Coach! You taking us all to dinner?”
Laughter rings through the concrete hallway near the locker room entrance.
Coach Clay doesn't miss a beat. “No, but you're all officially invited to my office Tuesday morning at six.”
Someone groans but most of us are still laughing.
I picture Winona laughing.
Did she watch the game? Or is she swearing off football?
“Hey, man?” Keller says, walking past me. “We won!”
“I know,” I say, patting him on the back.
“Inform your face,” he says, pointing at me.
We shower up and meet in the press room.
After interviews, we load onto the team bus and head for the airport.
Some guys are still chatty, buzzing from our win.
Most of us are wiped out. We nurse protein shakes and chug electrolyte drinks with our headphones on—a clear sign we’re not looking for a conversation.
Delaney takes the seat next to mine.
Linc sits in front of us. Jaxon sits next to Linc.
I close my eyes, in case my invisible Do Not Disturb sign isn’t flashing loudly enough.
Delaney pokes me. “Hey, O’Connell?”
I pull one side of my headset off the ear closest to him. “Yeah?”
“This?” He points to himself, Linc and Pierce. “Is what you call a little intervention.”
I shake my head, placing the headphone back over my ear and shutting my eyes again.
Delaney pulls my headset off.
“Hey!” I say, grabbing for the headset.
He holds it overhead and passes it to Linc.
“You’ll get them back when we’re finished,” Linc says, setting the headset on his lap.
Treyvon is across the aisle. “Oh, are we talking to O’Connell?”
“No,” I say. “We’re not.”
Jaxon says, “Yeah. It’s time to address the elephant in the room.”
“You mean Winona?” Treyvon asks.
“No,” I say again.
“Yeah,” Linc says. “It’s time.”
“What happened?” Delaney asks me. “We know you broke up.”
“That’s what happened,” I say, extending my hand toward Linc.
He doesn’t put my headset back in my hands.
“You didn’t even get hit in the head,” Treyvon says. “But you’re making decisions like someone knocked the sense outta you.”
“This is not a team situation,” I say.
“Beg to differ,” Delaney says. “As your QB, I have to address anything that affects your game. Today you were sucking for air the first half. And we all know your head was elsewhere.”
“I fixed that,” I say.
“Did you, though?” Linc asks.
His eyes are soft. I can see the care beneath the ambush.
“I fixed my game.”
“I thought you loved her,” Jaxon says.
“I do,” I say.
“Yeah,” Treyvon jokes. “Nothing says I love you like a breakup.”
“I’m protecting her. The media went rabid. She got hassled in the stands. She ended up in tears. That’s all on me. She hasn’t been harassed since I broke up with her.”
“So, she’s happy now?” Linc asks, holding my gaze.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
“So you aren’t even talking to her?”
“We broke up.”
“Declan, my man,” Linc says. “You haven’t been this green behind the ears since you were a rookie. Don’t tell me you don’t even know how to break up with a woman.”
“I did a good job.”
Jaxon says, “I bet.”
Treyvon says, “I can only imagine.”
“You guys,” I say, putting my foot down. “You haven’t been here. You don’t know what it’s like to have the media come for the woman you love—to have to watch while they tear her to shreds—to know you are the one who should stop it, but you can’t—to watch her suffer because of you.”
“Haven’t been there,” Linc says. “But I’m going to say this once: I wouldn’t leave Shanay for anything.
I don’t care who says what about her. She might get dragged through it sometime.
And if she does, we’ll face it together.
" I think he’s done, but then he says, “You’ve got to fix this. Like Mama Walker always said …”
He doesn’t even finish before all five of the guys pestering me groan.
“Hey!” he says. “Don’t disrespect Mama Walker.” He looks back at me. “As I was saying … Mama Walker always said, A broken fence won’t mend itself.”
“Preeeach it, Mama Walker!” Treyvon shouts. A few heads pivot our way.
“I know,” I say. “I want to fix it. But I think I might have broken this beyond repair.”
“No, O’Connell. That’s where we come in,” Keller says. He’s sitting on the other side of Treyvon. This is quickly evolving into a full-blown team meeting.
“Thanks,” I say. “But no thanks.”
“We’re convincing,” Treyvon says. “And she still likes us. We didn’t break her heart unnecessarily.”
I shake my head. I’m not interested in them stepping in. I know they mean well, but they don’t see the whole picture. The storms will keep coming.
“This won’t affect my game play,” I promise.
“You think that’s why we called this meeting?” Jaxon asks.
“Yes?”
“No, man,” Linc says. “We want to see you and Winona together. She’s good for you.”
My lips thin into a line. I nod, but I don’t say anything else. Linc hands me back my headphones and everyone settles in.
A lot of the guys sleep on the charter flight home. My head swims with thoughts of Winona and what the guys said.
The one piece of Coach’s halftime talk keeps running through my mind: Stop trying to force the big plays.
Maybe I shouldn’t have walked off the field.