Chapter 32
Gray
“So are you engaged now?” Dex asks me as he squints into his locker mirror and begins to smear on eye black.
Smiling, I continue wrapping my wrists. “More like engaged to be engaged.”
Which I’m totally cool with. Ivy’s wearing my ring, and that brings out the caveman in me. Better yet, she wants me as much as I want her. It’s all I need.
“And the dreams of horny chicks all over the sporting world are dashed,” Johnson pipes in from the other side of me.
“Guess they’ll just have to settle for you, big guy.” I give his belly a light slap and it jiggles, earning me an irate look from Johnson as he covers his gut with one hand.
“Married?” Marshall parrots from behind us. “Man, I can’t believe it. You’re the last dude I’d expect to fall for that trap, Grayson.” He shakes his big head. “Next thing you know, one of you will confess to being gay.”
I don’t even have to be looking Rolondo’s way to know he’s gone stiff. I worry for him, wondering just how much shit he’ll get if he ever comes out, and how hard it is for him to keep his life secret. But for now, I keep my eyes on Marshall. “Careful, man, your asshole is showing.”
“What?” Marshall whips around, craning his neck to look at his ass. And the guys laugh.
“He was being figurative,” Diaz deadpans. “As in you’re being an asshole.”
Marshall’s beefy face turns red. “You know what you can kiss, D?”
Diaz just grins and continues tying up his cleats.
We finish dressing, and Coach walks in with the staff. “Take a knee, gentlemen.”
It’s time for the pregame talk. Now, some coaches shout and yell to rev up their team. Not our coach. He’s always calm, almost meditative. He likes philosophy, visualizing a victory, thinking in terms of mental toughness. And not one of us has ever complained. Because his methods work. He speaks, and we listen to every word.
We all drop to one knee, forming a circle around him. Coach stands in the middle, his body loose and relaxed, his voice steady and low. “So, here we are. The playoffs. It’s what we’ve worked for. What we knew we could achieve.”
He looks around.
“I know each and every one of you. I know your strengths. I know your weaknesses. And if those boys have done their homework, they’ll know them too. Strengths and weaknesses. Everyone’s afraid of weakness. Don’t be. Use it to your advantage. They think you’ve got an ego to exploit? Let them think it. Twitchy on the snap if taunted? Make them believe it. Turn that weakness into your strength. Confuse them. Do the unexpected.” Coach points to his temple. “This game is as much up here as it is on that field.”
We’re silent, watching as he strolls before us.
“Lot of knuckleheads in this game. Guys who think they’ll play the hero and do it all alone. But on that field...” He points toward the doors. “We play as a team, and we win as a team. Teamwork. We’re the team they all want to beat. They want our blood.” His gaze wanders over us. “Because we’re the best damn team in the nation.”
“Red Dogs!” we all shout as one.
“‘Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.’ Sun Tzu.” Coach’s voice rises. “Men, we’ve already won. Now go out there and get the job done.”
“Yes, Coach!” It’s a roar.
Coach’s eyes flick to mine, and he gives a small nod. Every team has their traditions, little rituals that they do before games. Ours is no different. The university tradition is to get into a mass huddle and bump our helmets together before running out on the field. Here, in the locker room, we have another one for just after Coach’s speech.
It started when I was a redshirt freshman, and I’d plugged my phone into a set of speakers, making the guys listen to music before a game. We’d crushed it that day, and, being superstitious bastards, we’d decided that we had to listen to the same song before each game.
I complete the ritual now, pulling up “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons and hitting Play.
Some guys close their eyes, let the pulsing music roll over them. Others kind of sway, start getting worked up, their blood pumping.
“Visualize,” Coach says over the music. “See the win. It’s there. Yours. Already.”
It happens slowly, heads bobbing to the heavy beat. It draws us together, makes us form a huddle. Then we’re jumping, one mass of bodies feeling the same rhythm, same beat, same mind. We are one. When the refrain hits, a bunch of them shout it out: “Woahoh.”
Energy flows through us, vibrating with the bass. The power of eighty guys jumping in unison shakes the floor. The music fades, and it’s just us, revving up. My heart pounds, my body pulled tight with anticipation. That tension within us reaches its peak, and as if we’d planned it, we roar as one,
“Go, Red Dogs!”
“God, I’m nervous,” Anna says at my side. “And Drew isn’t even playing. I don’t know how you deal with this.”
Third quarter and the score is 35-30, and our team is the one down.
Fi shrugs. “I deal by people watching and hitting the buffet.” She nods toward the impressive buffet spread at the back of the luxury box we’re sitting in.
Anna laughs. “I used to cater that buffet spread. Well, not that one, but you know what I mean.”
I’m trying not to notice the buffet because my stomach is roiling. Is it nerves or morning sickness? I don’t know. Aside from slight fatigue and breast tenderness, I haven’t had any pregnancy symptoms. It’s early, so I’m guessing they’ll develop. My fingers are cold too, so maybe it is nerves.
I take a bracing breath. “They’ll win.”
“Of course they will.” Anna nods then glances at me. “You’re looking a little peaked. You want me to get you a ginger ale?”
“Yeah, that would be great, thanks.”
From the corner of my eye, I see my dad chatting with the university’s athletic director, and a tinge of guilt hits me that my friends know about the pregnancy but my parents don’t.
One thing at a time. Bowl game, then confess to the parents. Yay.
Leaning back in my chair, I wave the big foam finger Fi gave me back and forth to get some air movement. It’s freaking hot in here and too confining. I cast a longing glance at the stadium seats below. I want to be out there where it’s nice and open. But Anna, Fi, and I are all up here with my dad, the university staff, and a couple of wealthy boosters.
I watch Gray take the field again. He’s not hard to miss, towering above most of his teammates, the number eighty-eight clear on his wide back. Football uniforms aren’t exactly sexy. Pads and helmets obscure a lot. But the pants? Shining red Lycra lovingly covers Gray’s tight ass, which is now currently displayed on the multiple flat-screens along the suite wall as the cameras zoom in on his team’s huddle. I have to smile; if Gray were here, he’d be making tight end jokes.
He looks focused now. They have plenty of time, but I know Gray won’t be complacent. He’ll push and fight for every inch gained. Always will. His confidence on the field borders on cocky. Only he never shows off—he simply plays with his whole heart.
Anna comes back with my soda, and I take a grateful sip. The ginger ale is ice-cold and fizzy. But it doesn’t shake off the growing nausea. If this keeps up, I’m going to give up a good chunk of this game to the porcelain goddess. Grimacing, I run a hand along my aching neck.
Oppressive heat swarms up my body. Saliva coats my mouth and sends my stomach churning. Setting aside my soda, I stand up. My lower belly feels heavy, as if a bowling ball is rolling around in the small space between my hips. Queasiness rises within. The heaviness turns into clenching, and I rest a hand on my middle.
Faintly, I hear people talking. Someone is calling my name. But my innards are writhing too much to pay attention. The room swims in and out of focus, and my heart begins to pound. I need to get to the bathroom. The thought barely passes my mind when a violent cramp wrenches through me, knocking the air from my lungs. I double over, and a gush of slick, hot wetness flows between my legs.
“Ivy?” Anna’s voice comes at a distance, buzzing and indistinct.
Tears blur my eyes. Something is running down my legs. I lift my head, find Fi reaching for me.
“It’s bad,” I say through cold lips.
The room is spinning.
Dad is suddenly at my side. “What the hell is wrong with her?”
Fi is whispering in his ear. He turns pale and glances down at my lap. He winces. They’re moving me back, making a circle around me. The room fills with murmurs, gawking faces.
“Daddy. I’m sorry.” I want to tell him I’m pregnant, but I don’t think I am anymore. Someone calls for a doctor, and all I can say is, “Don’t tell Gray. Not now. Promise not to tell him yet.”
Fi’s hand is strong and warm on my icy one. “It’s okay, Ivy. It will all be okay.”
But I know it’s a lie.