-33-
JAY
Driving bass blasted from the speaker system in the gym. The lifting regimen for this afternoon was light. It always was before gameday. Today was about maintaining and priming our muscles, staying loose and not sore.
“Fuck me,” Darius said, looking around the place, “you getting nostalgic?”
It was our last regular season practice, but I’d spent so much time in this gym, it was hard to imagine ever missing it. Plus, it looked like someone’s basement from the 1980’s, and I was pretty sure some of the machines might give me tetanus. I didn’t care much about it. It was a place to get lean and mean. But nostalgic? Forget it. “No. You?”
“Nah, man.” He turned his gaze up to the sentence scrawled on the wall. ‘Those who stay will be champions.’ “Maybe a little.”
I went to the squat rack and Darius followed. He hovered around me like a goddamn helicopter parent. “I don’t need a spot.”
“Okay, dude.” A proud grin widened on his face. “You can stop freaking out now. I did it.”
Um . . . okay. “Did what?”
“I hid your playbook. While you and that ball-busting Buckeye were out, I stuck it in your backpack.”
I hung the bar back in place with a loud, metallic clang. In between rounds one and two of sex last night, I’d taken Kayla downstairs to the vending machines, where I bought us snacks and soda. I’d told her we were carb loading for our next session.
What the hell was he talking about with my playbook?
Darius’ shit-eating grin drained away. “Damn, man, you didn’t even notice?”
I couldn’t find my playbook the other day, but no one ever accused me of being organized. I knew what was in my bag today though, because I only had two classes, which meant two textbooks. My blood pressure climbed. “It wasn’t in my backpack.”
“I stuck it in there. The black one, right by the door.”
Sound from the weight room faded out. Everything around us stopped moving. “That was Kayla’s bag.”
His eyes went so wide, it was scary, and he turned into a statue. On the field, he had great reflexes, but it looked like he’d just been run over by a bus.
Abruptly, he blinked. “I gave your playbook to your girlfriend.” He clearly couldn’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth. “The one who goes to Ohio State.”
“Sounds like it,” I said, keeping my voice hushed.
“Fuck. Shit! What the hell are we gonna do?” Panic tightened his shoulders up to his ears, and he took off pacing. One circuit and then he was back, his expression full of relief. “Maybe we’re okay. It’s not like she knows how to read that shit, right? Or who to give it to.”
I was going to throw up. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had puked on the mats, but my rolling stomach had nothing to do with a physically overwhelmed system.
“Right,” I said, dripping with sarcasm. “Because it’s not like her dad used to be the Ohio State defensive coordinator or anything.”
Darius stumbled backward, knocking over a kettlebell, which put the guys around us on alert. I jammed a hand through my hair. I needed to settle down and figure out what the fuck I was going to do.
“Jay . . .” He couldn’t find the words to finish whatever sentence he’d started.
“I’ll get it back. No one will know.”
He looked at me with zero confidence.
“I gotta piss,” I lied, needing privacy. I took the most direct path to the locker room, which Darius was standing in, so as he stepped out of my way, my shoulder slammed against his chest. He was a bigger guy, but he gave ground instantly.
All our plays were detailed in that book. Routes our receivers would take. Audibles for Evan to call. I’d scribbled shorthand in the margins the ways I’d read coverage and adjust.
I pushed through the door and scanned the locker room. It was empty, thank fuck. I pounded across the tiles until I reached the stalls, ducked inside one, and shut the door. I yanked my phone out of my pocket and punched Kayla’s number.
“Hey,” she answered, sounding out of breath. “Aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”
“I’m doing weights right now.” A noise came through the phone, which sounded like a car door slamming shut. “Where are you?”
“I just left the fieldhouse. You should be proud of me. I told Lisa I’m done with—”
“Did you know Darius put something in your bag last night?”
“No, let me guess.” Her voice was bright. “He decided he wants to play for a real team and it’s a request to transfer to OSU.” There was the sound of rustling, followed by a zipper.
“I need you to not look at—”
“Oh, holy shit!” She rushed the words out. “Is this what I think it is?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed my fingertips over the crease in my forehead. So much for her not knowing about it.
“Dad, watch the road!” she said. “What the hell is this doing in my bookbag?”
“Your father is with you? Shit, don’t show it to him!” Jesus, this couldn’t get any worse. “I need you to turn around and drive it back right now.”
There was a pause from her, and my heart slowed to a crawl.
“I can’t,” she said. “My car broke down outside of Toledo this morning.”
“What?” I shoved aside worry for myself for a moment and focused on her. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because you don’t have time to spare, and I’ve got it covered.” Like she was trying hard not to need something from me. It sucked extra hard because I needed a big favor from her now. Her tone firmed up. “I can’t get back there today. I’ve got a parade performance tonight.”
My mouth went dry. “Just losing a playbook will get you benched. Imagine what’ll happen when they find out Ohio State’s got it.” I’d be riding the pine the biggest game of my career, and could kiss the post-season goodbye, too. “Please.”
“If I miss an event, I’m done. Lisa will make sure of it. I’ll find someone, or—”
“No, you can’t let anyone know you have it. If it got out, it’s not just me who’s fucking done—it’s my whole team.”
“I can borrow a car from my parents, and drive it up right after,” she said quickly.
“Yeah? What time does the parade end?”
There was a long pause. “I’ll probably be dismissed by ten.”
Hope died as quick as it had started. “So, best case scenario, you’re here at one a.m. and then you gotta turn around and drive right back, all through the night. No way you’re going to stay awake and be able to cheer tomorrow. You’ve got to leave now.”
“Jay, I can’t.”
Frustration itched across my skin and balled my hand into a fist. I pressed my knuckles against the stall door. “Why? Because you’ve got the keys to winning now?”
I regretted it instantly, but it was too late.
Her sound of indignation was fair, followed by, “Excuse me? Of course not.”
“I’m sorry. Look, Darius doesn’t trust you. He’ll tell them what happened if that book’s not back soon. He’s a team captain. I can stall him at least to the end of our rally tonight, but he’s the worst at keeping secrets.” I slid my hand down the door and hung my head. “It’s the biggest game of my life. Kayla, I have to play.”
“I’ll get it to you as soon as I can, I promise, but I’ve spent my whole life wanting to be a Buckeye cheerleader. I can’t lose my spot.”
I’d made tough choices for years to lead me up to tomorrow. Made so many sacrifices. I’d given up friendships, girlfriends, and basically my whole goddamn life. Not playing wasn’t an option.
It was too much pressure, and I cracked under the weight of it. “Because that’s more important than my career. Got it.” I was pissed at the situation and didn’t bother to sugarcoat things. I knew I was lashing out, but couldn’t she understand I was desperate?
I’d swear I could feel her icy look through the phone. The temperature around me plummeted along with her voice. “This isn’t my fault. I shouldn’t have to choose.”
“No, you shouldn’t,” I said softly, “but you do. I told you, football’s not always fair.”
The line was quiet. Kayla didn’t seem to have anything to say. The seconds dragged by as she made me wait to hear her answer. The only sound was the muted bass thumping and occasional laughter from the weight room.
Was she going to give me an answer? Was I a chump for not knowing it right away? Four weeks ago, I’d been worried she’d pick OSU over me. Now I knew it was fact, and it hurt way too much.
“So, that’s it, huh?” I said. “I don’t know why I’m surprised your decision’s not in Michigan’s favor.”
The music got louder like the door to the weight room was open. “Harris!” one of the trainers yelled. “How long is this piss gonna take?”
“I’ve got to go,” I announced. “There’s a lineman I need to put on injured reserve.”
I hung up and threw the stall door open with so much force it slammed into the wall and hung crooked. Over the course of this day, I’d lost my playbook, my chance at a spot in the NFL, and my girlfriend.
It felt like the last one was the hardest hit to take.