Chapter 14

“What’s the matter, Sammy?” Nigel said, sitting down next to Sam on the bench opposite King. “Tell old Nigel all about it.”

“I’m trying to get my head in the game,” Sam said, tossing an extra shoulder pad into his locker.

“The Seahawks are always a bitch to play at home,” King agreed calmly.

“I’m trying to help,” Nigel said. “Come on, give me a try.”

“He’s got girl trouble,” King told him. They hadn’t heard from Jane since she left their place two days ago, even though they’d texted. King had faith. Jane was a woman who liked to take her time about things. He could tell. That was a good thing. King tended to leap into situations without thinking them through. A woman like Jane would be good for him, make him think.

“Ah,” Nigel said, looking surprised. “Wasn’t expecting that. I thought it would be something hard, like flashbacks or, you know, messed up psych shit. Girl trouble, my friend, is my specialty.” He said it like the British did, pronouncing each letter. King liked the way he talked. Of course, people said that about King, too.

“Thanks,” Sam said to King.

“No problem,” King said.

“He’s got girl trouble, too,” Sam told Nigel, pointing at King. “Why don’t you help him?”

“Sure,” King said gladly. “Same girl.”

“Oi, another one of those situations, eh?” Nigel said. “Well, it just so happens I’m an expert on that sort of thing.”

King could see that next to him Mal Goodman was avidly listening to their conversation. Mal was quiet to the point of social awkwardness. Even worse than Sam, which was saying something. He didn’t have many friends. King and Sam had been working with him on the playbook. They were pretty sure he had some kind of reading issue, but neither one of them wanted to mention it. “Goodman, you come over here,” he said, waving him over. “You’ll learn something.” He turned back to Nigel. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I sort of need to know the problem first,” Nigel told him. “I mean, it could be jealousy. You care that Sam is interested in the same girl?”

“Nope.” King pulled his foot up on the bench to tie his turf shoes.

“Hmm, all right,” Nigel said around a lollipop. He was suited up already. He pulled the candy out of his mouth. “Somebody’s shy about three to a bed.” He indicated Sam with a twist of his head.

“Wrong again,” Sam said. He was carefully tucking his photo into the back corner of the shelf in his locker, picture facing out, so he could still see it.

“Why do you do that?” Mal asked quietly. He didn’t speak very often, and they all looked at him in surprise.

“Do what?” Sam asked.

“Tuck the photo like that,” Mal said. “I mean, you could put it in your pocket or something, right? Then you wouldn’t lose it.”

Sam blushed and turned to fuss with the photo. “Because I want them to see me doing what I said I’d do,” he finally said. “They all wanted me to come back and play football. And I want them to see me doing it.” He put his hands on his waist with a frustrated sigh. “It’s part of my crazy.”

“That’s not crazy,” King said again. He must have told Sam that a thousand times. “It’s honoring the dead. Lots of cultures do it. It’s tradition.”

“It’s not crazy,” Mal said softly, looking at Sam’s picture. “If I had anyone who cared, I suppose I’d want them to watch me play football, too.”

“And that requires explanation,” Nigel said to Mal, sounding like a talk show host. “But it will have to wait. Only one patient per session.” He turned back to King. “So no jealousy, no shyness. Maybe she’s just not that into you.” He shrugged and looked at Sam. “Or you.”

“Ding ding ding,” Sam said. “Give the man a prize.”

“Really?” Nigel said with a laugh. “What is she, a Kardashian? I can’t see anyone else turning you two down. Speaking as a man whose door swings both ways, you two are a dream tag team.”

“How can you do that?” Sam asked, turning a questioning look on Nigel. “Just announce to everyone that you’re bisexual? Doesn’t that bother you? Don’t they bother you? About it, I mean?”

“Sammy,” Nigel said in that voice that clearly indicated he was about to pontificate at some length on a topic. He liked to do that. King found it funny most of the time. “I consider myself a man of the future. And the future is now, only most people don’t realize it. You see, in the past, sex was for procreation. You wanted a baby, you had to have sex. Now, however, sex is for recreation. Even if you don’t want a baby, you can have sex just for shits and giggles. Now, a discerning man like myself realizes this and takes it one step further. If you don’t have to make a baby, then you don’t have to have sex with someone who can make a baby. That’s logic. Right? Doubles your chances, I say. And if you can have both at the same time, male and female parts all shagging and rolling around together, then go for it. It’s recreation, my friend. Plain and simple. My male parts don’t care who’s rubbing them.”

By the end of his speech, Sam was gently banging his head on his locker. “Why do I ask these things? Why?” he mumbled to himself.

“Keep your faggot parts away from any part of me,” Dominique Reyes growled from further down the bench. “Just what this locker room needed, more gay.”

“Indeed,” Nigel said with a sly wink at King. “I agree. More gay for everyone!” he called out happily. “Reyes has spoken!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Reyes growled. “Let Sam get his head on straight. Mal, don’t be listening to any of that dude’s shit. He talks shit more than any guy I ever met.”

“Y’all shut up and let Sam get his head in the game,” Darius Alvin, the senior linebacker, barked from the end of the row. “I’m going to kick some ass if I hear any more about sex. From this moment on it’s all football, football, football.”

At that moment Sam’s phone chimed with a text. King watched him pick it up and look at it with a resigned expression. Carmina got lonely in her apartment when they were gone and texted Sam like crazy. Sometimes her texts were hard to decipher. Sam’s expression changed to one of surprise at the same moment King’s phone chimed. Suspicious, King opened his messages and saw one under Jane’s name.

Just wanted to say good luck, or break a leg or whatever it is you’re supposed to say in football. Don’t actually break anything. Jack Brown’s for burgers when you guys get back. On me. But only if you win. NO pressure.

“Shit,” Sam mumbled. He looked up at King. “No pressure.”

“You got this, Sammy,” King said with a smile. “For burgers.”

“For Jane,” Sam said, smiling back. “My head is in the game!” he called out to Darius.

“Pussy will elevate a man’s game,” Nigel said knowingly, reading over Sam’s shoulder.

“Pussy will suck the game right out of you,” Reyes said. “Stay away from that shit.”

“First more gay, now a warning about pussy,” Nigel whispered loudly. “I see where this is going.” King dodged the shoe Reyes threw at Nigel.

“All right, kids,” coach Shannon Ludwig called as he walked out of the office. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Sam shook his head. It was still ringing a little from his tackle of the Seattle running back that had resulted in a fumble and a turnover. Jo Jo Jones came running over and jumped on his back, shouting in excitement, which didn’t help the ringing in his ears.

“Sam, Sam,” Jo Jo was shouting. “My man! That’s some shit, right there.” He jumped off his back and smacked the side of his helmet, and Sam nearly stumbled. “You are a beast today!”

Sam grinned despite his ringing ears. That was his third tackle today. Clearly the Seahawks had considered his piss-poor stats in previous games when coming up with this week’s game plan. He could see the running back yelling on the sidelines as he watched the replay on his tablet. King ran up to Sam and slapped him on the shoulder.

“Good job,” was all he said, but it was enough. “I’m going to see that scoreboard in my dreams tonight.” He pointed downfield and Sam kept grinning as he looked at the 17–3 score in favor of the Rebels. This had been a crazy game from start to finish. If the Texans lost today, the Rebels would move up in the division standings, to second place. That was the highest the team had ever been ranked in their short history.

Quarterback Ty Oakes walked by, putting on his helmet. He stopped just long enough to pat Sam on the shoulder. “Thanks,” he called back, as he ran onto the field.

“I like the way this feels,” Sam told King.

“Winning?” King asked. “Pretty good, yeah.”

“Not just winning,” Sam said. “Feeling like I’m contributing something to the team, finally.”

King put him in a headlock. “You always contribute,” he said. “Just not always on the field.”

Sam laughed. “Gee, thanks.”

“Anytime,” King said, laughing that big, booming laugh of his as he let Sam go.

Sam watched with satisfaction as Danny Smith ran the ball to the Seahawks’ eight-yard line. If they made this one, it would give them a comfortable margin for the last three minutes. Miracles happened, but not for the Seahawks so far today.

Ty handed the ball off to Tom Kelly, the rookie running back. Smith was a finesse player and a great runner, but Kelly was in a league of his own on first-and-goal situations. When he flew over the Seahawks’ defensive line and scored, the Rebels’ sideline erupted in cheers.

“Burgers,” King said over the shouting, nodding his head.

“Burgers,” Sam echoed, anticipation almost overriding his elation at winning and his performance in the game. Almost.