Bromance Bullshit

Calder

 

 

 

REGGIE HAD MAINTAINED ALMOST total radio silence since the fuck-up/break-up the day after Christmas. Couldn’t blame her. I’d royally hosed her.

Every letter sent was another piece of my heart I put out in the open.

It fucking hurt. But it was kinda cathartic, too. Cathartic. Must’ve picked up that word from all the NA meetings.

During the month since we began our playoff run, we’d crisscrossed the country several times but never had a game in Nevada. If we had, I could guaran-fucking-tee I’d have found a way to carve out some time to go to Reggie. Even if just for an hour. So I could see her. Hold her hand. Show her how I felt because damn straight words weren’t my strong suit. So maybe the letter writing thing had been an asinine plan all along.

Three games. One month. We’d begun with the astounding Wild Card game against Indianapolis Speed. Unbelievably, we’d trounced the Speed, sealing our winning fate within the first half by an incredible 28-point lead. Indianapolis hadn’t been able to dig down and come back after that whopping score difference.

Toppling the Austin Avengers during the Divisional playoffs hadn’t been quite the same joy ride. The tight game had players on both sides sweating buckets, swearing up and down the field, and coaches from our two teams getting into shouting matches with the refs over bad calls. We’d come through by the skin of our teeth, limping, bruised, but fucking victorious at the end of the night.

And just two weeks ago, we’d met up with the Nebraska Nighthawks. Nighthawks? Bullshit. Should’ve been called the frigging Neanderthals if you asked me because those corn-fed fucks took beefy and brutish to a whole new level, and I still had the goddamn bruises to show for it. Buckley had spent the game stomping up and down the sidelines, chomping at the bit to get in on the action since some of his Cornhusker teammates had ended up with the Nighthawks. But no way in hell was Coach D giving him his first play during the Conference Championship, not with Rafe in true fighting form.

With that win, we’d sealed our fate. Super Bowl bound where we’d go head to head in Denver, Colorado, against the San Francisco Sidewinders. Incredible. My life since getting kicked off the Ravens had done a complete 180. Now only one thing was missing. Well, two, including the Super Bowl Trophy. But even that paled in comparison with Reggie.

I maintained my vicious workout regime, the dietary guidelines, the no-drinking and no-drugging. Busted my ass in the weight room, on the practice field, and during every single game. No matter what, every single day, I wrote a letter to Reggie. Thought about her the whole damn time.

Wished she was up there in the stands.

The fact she wasn’t here to celebrate with me stung, but Carolina Crush’s achievement this season was nothing short of monumental.

Finally, it was the eve of the Super Bowl, the first weekend of February. One more trip to take. One more game to crush. One more team to conquer.

The most important game ever.

I plunked down on a bench next to Brooks while we waited for the buses to roll up to shuttle us to the plane.

“I think I fucked up bigtime, man,” I blurted.

“How so?”

“I feel like a freak, but I’m in love with Reggie.”

He slid me a long glance.

I bristled. “What?”

“Newsflash. That cat clawed its way out of the bag like a month ago. Maybe more. Remember the Kick’n Horse incident?”

“Wasn’t a fucking incident. All I did was ask her to dance.”

“And look like you wanted to beat up every other man who had danced with her. Including our own Gentle Giant, Bunyan.”

I slumped down, folded my arms across my chest. “He shouldn’t have ever touched her.”

“Duuuude. Bunyan would never make a move on your girl.”

“That’s the thing. She’s not my girl.” I scowled. “I let her go because I can’t stop thinking about what everyone will think. I mean, how twisted is this? Moving in on my brother’s widow?”

“If she’s interested in you too, it’s not exactly like you’re creeping on her.”

“I just can’t get it outta my head. Her and Chris. Her and me.”

“What do you think your brother would want?” Brooklyn let the question hang in the air for a moment. “You both to be happy together or miserable apart?”

“Yeah,” I said, pulling at my tie before smoothing the knot back in place. “Maybe you’re right.”

He snorted. “Always fucking right. Except when I’m totally fucking wrong. Then I have to answer to Delaney.”

“Douche.” I knocked my shoulder against him. “Seriously though. You’re almost as good as my sponsor.”

“How’s that going?”

“Cake.” I clapped my hands together, rubbing some warmth back into them. “Well, not always. It’s hard sometimes especially when my head’s all fucked up, but that’s the whole point, right? Facing fears, dealing with feelings and all that shit, instead of trying to tune it all out with drugs or alcohol. I’m not gonna fuck it up though.”

“I didn’t think you were. You’ve got a ton of folks here just waiting to help if you need it, right?”

“I guess. Never expected that. Probably didn’t think I deserved it after the Ravens.” I shrugged. “Did you know recovering addicts aren’t supposed to get involved in a relationship until a year of sobriety?”

“Good thing you’ve got more than that under your belt then.”

“True that.” Sitting up a little straighter, I slid a glance to Brooks. “I’ve, uuuh, been writing her letters.”

“Again, no shit. Remember that one time when Bunyan read one of ’em to us?” He smirked while my cheeks heated. “Cool though, bro. That old-school romance thing. I bet she’s fucking eating it up.”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t written back.”

“It’s your turn to pony up, Malone. She already did when she traveled all the way here just to be with you in December.”

“Sorry to break up the bromance”—Rafe interrupted as he jumped up behind us—“but bus to board, plane to catch, Super Bowl to motherfucking win, y’all.”

“Bromance my ass.” Reaching back, I smacked him on the side of the head.

“Your ass? Thought all you guys wanted my ass. Is Brooks the sloppy seconds? Didn’t you know he’s already engaged?”

“I ain’t sloppy nothin’.” Brooks stood up menacingly before breaking into a low rumble of a laugh. “And damn right I got my girl. Your turn next, Calder.”

****

Just before we hit the field on the biggest game day of the season, Coach D banged into the locker room.

We huddled up immediately, energy somersaulting through the air.

“Listen up, y’all.”

We craned closer as he pulled a Crush winter cap farther down over his bald brown head.

“This is the game we’ve been waiting for. The night that could set everything right for Carolina Crush.” Folding his arms over his chest, his voice boomed ever louder. “The Sidewinders ain’t gonna make it easy. They’re gonna try to plow right through you. They’re gonna try to outmaneuver you. You better fuckin’ believe they’re gonna get inside your heads. Fire, it’s running through their veins. But we are what?”

“CAROLINA CRUSH!”

“And what are we gonna do?”

“Carolina Crush it!” The resounding rebel yell bounced off the walls of the locker room.

Coach D nodded. “That motherfucking Lombardi Trophy, you better bring it home tonight!”

After the rousing speech, complete with trademark Coach D Yoda-speak, we rushed down the tunnels, out onto the field. And the insanity began.

The absolutely wild atmosphere multiplied a million times with the loud music, the roaring fans in the packed stadium. Towering pyrotechnics burst up to the night sky like twisting fiery columns. Throughout the player announcements, screams and hollers surged in a continuous tide of noise from the spectators. Frankie was there. No sign of Reggie, though. Of course not.

And it was so motherfucking cold in the high-altitude stadium, for once I was happy about all the padding and layers of uniform.

Super Bowl? Should’ve been called the frigging Snow Bowl.

The insane fanfare continued—shouts so loud I thought my eardrums were gonna shake right out of my head. Then the Sidewinders won the coin toss, and it was on.

Immediately it became clear San Francisco had switched up their offense. They began with a series of plays, running the ball instead of the short fast passes that’d made them playoff superstars.

Shock numbed me as we watched them sail downfield, yard after yard after yard. Our defensive line was literally left out in the cold.

The Sidewinders scored their first touchdown after just four minutes of play.

Akoni led his defense off field, muttering, beating his massive fist against his helmet, pissed at himself.

Rafe, as leader, approached him. “Ease up, big man. That was just the first possession. And I’m gonna take our offense out hard and fast. Even the score.”

San Francisco Sidewinders had hit the end zone, but Carolina Crush was ready to hit the red line.