Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
A banquet room had been reserved in the hotel for the team and admin staff for breakfast the morning of the game.
Amil made a beeline for the coffee station. He’d gotten not a single wink of sleep last night. The night before a game.
A really big game.
Fuck.
What the hell had he been thinking last night? There ought to be a country song written about what an absolute dumbass he was. It would be an instant hit.
Him, realizing he couldn’t—or at least did not want to—live without Diana.
Drunk Diana showing up for a booty call.
Dumbass him turning her down.
Oh, but first he went and word vomited all the emotions he’d been keeping in check so she wouldn’t be scared away. And she’d hightailed it out of there so fast, he swore he saw a whirl of dust in her wake like in those old Road Runner cartoons.
Just like he knew would happen.
So why the hell had he done it?
Because he’d gotten all up in his own head. He’d so desperately wanted it to be real that he’d convinced himself she was ready, too.
She wasn’t remotely ready, as proven by how fast she ran from his room. They were lucky no one had been in the hall. That sure as hell would have added fuel to this dumpster fire, wouldn’t it have?
He glanced around, noted that Diana wasn’t in the room and that Jalen had an empty seat next to him.
He sat down, but Jalen grunted and did not instigate conversation. Amil didn’t let it get to him; hell, no one at the table was speaking. Just tucking into their meals like it was their last or something.
Pre-game jitters. He got it. Like he told Diana, he got nervous before every single game. It hadn’t yet hit for this one, but that was because he couldn’t turn off the constant replay of what happened last night. It would hit soon, he was sure of it.
The first real indication that something wasn’t right was when the guys got up from the table and left—all without saying a word. Not “see you on the bus” or “heading upstairs, meet you out there” or even, “hey, good morning, sleep well?”
When it was just he and Jalen left, Amil turned to him to ask what the hell was going on, but Jalen abruptly stood, muttered, “Tool,” and stalked out of the room.
What. The. Hell?
When he stepped onto the bus, like a scene from name-that-drama involving kids and bullying on the school bus, every player dropped a backpack or bag of some sort onto the seat next to him.
Message received.
Amil was the odd guy out.
Again.
What the hell changed since dinner last night?
What the—
Shit.
Diana.
Someone had seen her leave his room last night. Whoever it was, they’d obviously told the entire team, and now the guys hated him.
The worst part?
He didn’t even get laid. He fucking sent her away, turned her down.
Okay, no, that wasn’t the worst part. Yeah, he was being petty in his own head.
But—damn it.
The message was loud and clear. He fucked up.
He lowered himself onto the last seat on the bus, dropped his head against the cushion, and closed his eyes.
The seat shifted, and he cracked one eye, blinked them both open. Royce sat next to him, not looking at him, pretending like there was nothing weird about him coming all the way back here when the rest of the team was shunning him.
“I had a pretty shitty home life growing up,” Royce said after the bus lurched forward and turned out of the hotel parking lot.
Amil didn’t say anything. He had not a clue where Royce was heading with that statement.
“I reacted to my homelife by being a raging asshole to pretty much every single person around me,” he went on.
“As a result, everyone assumed the worst about me. Well, I suppose they were right. I was an asshole. But no one ever tried to dig deeper, to figure out why. That didn’t happen until Coach Gentry recruited me. ”
Amil arched his brows, waiting for him to go on.
“He saw something in me that no one else saw. Hell, I didn’t even see it myself. And look where I am today.” He nodded succinctly.
“I am not seeing whatever dots you are trying to connect.”
Royce tapped his shoulder. “Tell me, what did you think of that story?”
“I mean, it wasn’t exactly loaded with detail, but I got the gist. That you succeeded in life despite your rough beginnings.”
“Okay, maybe I need to get better at storytelling. I admit, I’m rusty. Because until Morgan and I got back together back in February, I hardly talked to anyone. Still didn’t let anyone in. Even my own teammates. I was definitely an outsider.”
“That’s not the vibe I got when I joined the team.”
“Yeah, because you just joined a few weeks ago, and now that my life is pretty much rainbows and unicorns, I actually let people in. Turns out, it’s a good thing. Makes your life even more warm and fuzzy, if you can believe it.”
“Are you trying to tell me I need to let people in?” This was a bizarre conversation, especially under the circumstances.
The bus stopped, the air brakes letting out a long gasp. Everybody jumped from their seats and lined up in the aisle.
“Morgan told me that Dante warned you away from Diana because of the walls she built around her heart,” Royce said, his gaze on the nearest player’s back.
Why was Amil not surprised that everyone knew everyone’s business on this team? Families talked.
A lot.
“And since you obviously did not listen to that advice, maybe you should consider letting down your walls.”
With those sage words, Royce hopped up, grabbed his backpack, and headed down the aisle toward the door.
Toward the stadium.
Toward the game.
Amil sat there for a long moment and tried to work out just what the hell Royce meant by his little tidbit of advice.
Letting down his walls was exactly what he did last night when Diana came to his room. He’d admitted everything to her. Well, almost. He hadn’t used the L word; he’d been just smart enough to shy away from that. She’d have run away even faster than a road runner if he had.
“You planning to play today or what?” the bus driver called out, making Amil realize he was the only person left on the bus.
He hurried off, speed-walked into the building, made his way to the visitor’s team’s locker room.
When they jogged onto the field to warm up before the game, they were greeted with boos from the fans.
Or maybe that was just him. They no doubt viewed him as a traitor for leaving.
The chirping started before the game.
Amil was on the sidelines, grabbing a drink from a water bottle, when a couple of guys from the 49ers defensive line walked by. Jalen was out on the field, catching passes tossed his way. Close enough to be within earshot.
Trey Smythe made a crack about Jalen not being able to hold onto his women. Another commented about how small his dick must be.
Someone else said he’d heard that Jalen’s woman was a fucking wildcat in the sack—but only with other guys.
Shit. Jalen was going to lose his cool and fast. Amil needed to intercede. Hell, this was all his fault anyway. It was his responsibility to fix it.
Trey whistled and nodded at the suites that had been reserved for Mountain Lions guests. “Which one is it? There are some fine ladies up there. Maybe I can get a shot next.”
“Shut the fuck up, Trey,” Amil snapped.
Trey stopped walking and turned to Amil. “Why? Aren’t you the poster boy for game day chatter?”
He had been. He’d thought he was doing whatever necessary to get to the Super Bowl.
Now that he’d found his team, the one he truly belonged with, he realized something: the way to the Super Bowl was not through attacking another guy’s mental health status.
It was through grit. Teamwork. Making the right decisions out there on the field.
Trey spread his arms wide and grinned, although the smile held zero warmth. Amil was officially the enemy here. “I learned from the best.”
“Yeah, and did you miss where that chatter got us? This is the team that won the Super Bowl.” He pointed at his white jersey with the cherry red number outlined in navy blue.
“Not this time, bro. Because we saw your girl out last night, and she was hot.” He bent his knees, rolled his hips, and mimed slapping someone’s ass.
Amil tackled him before his brain even registered that this was the response that always, always got him in trouble.
It might have been okay—maybe—if he’d have just jumped up and walked away.
But when he tried, Trey took a swing, caught him on the jaw, and Amil gave him one right back, the two men fist fighting until four other guys dragged them apart.
One of the refs rushed their way and blew his whistle, and Trey and Amil were both ejected from the game.
Shit.
He’d screwed up again.