“We won’t.” I swallow the stones in my throat, wishing I didn’t have to say this. “And I don’t know if we’ll be able to attend any others.”
My voice cracks. It’s full of potholes I didn’t see coming.
“Did you fake break up?” he asks, even more confused.
My shoulders shake. Tears prick the back of my eyes. Stupid tears. Foolish emotions. “Honestly, it was real. We were together for real, Stephen. And now we’re not.”
And there’s nothing fake about the hurt in my heart right now.
24
RINSE, LATHER, REPEAT
Drew
Maddox would tell me not to listen, but on the drive to the stadium I stick my finger in the flame and tune in to Pigskin Jimbo, a nationally syndicated sports talk host.
There’s nothing quite as sobering as a raspy-voiced dude lambasting you in front of millions of listeners for every single play.
“One of the sloppiest games I’ve ever watched. I watched it through my fingers, horror-movie style,” he barks. “What do you think? Let’s hear from our callers.”
When the first caller starts with, “What is up with Adams? Is his new girl distracting him?” I stab the off button.
“It’s not her fault,” I mutter to the unknown caller. “It’s mine.”
And I hope my teammates aren’t as disappointed in me as I am. But they have every right to be.
When I walk through the corridor of the practice facility, my heart feels heavy. My feet do too. I dread heading into the locker room.
I let these guys down yesterday, so when I tug open the door, I brace myself for their disappointment.
“Hey, Adams,” Rand calls out, patting his stubbly cheek. “Check it out. No shave.”
Clements tips his chin my way and lobs a yellow hacky sack at me.
I catch it easily. “New one?”
“Fuck yes. We’re gonna start a new streak. Isn’t that right?”
Rand nods enthusiastically. “Starting now.”
The running back points at me. “My game was off yesterday, bro. I should have caught a couple of those throws. But today? Today, I woke up early and did yoga. Nama-fucking-ste. I’ve got peace about the game yesterday, and now we’re gonna concentrate on fucking up Dallas this weekend on our turf.”
Holy shit. What did I do to deserve a team like this? Their attitudes are everything. I fight off a grin so I don’t look too happy about losing, but I’m ecstatic that they aren’t blaming me. It was a tough loss all around.
But I still want them to know how seriously I take my job. I clear my throat. “Thanks, guys. I’ve been beating myself up. I know I played badly yesterday, and I’m sorry I let you down, but I’m ready to put it behind us and kick ass.”
Clements scoffs. “Dude, it was one bad game. We were all off.”
“We all have them,” Rand echoes. “It’s a new day.”
It is, and I’ve got a new attitude—all football, all the time.
When we head to the video room to watch clips from yesterday, Coach pats me on the shoulder. “Let’s find our focus again, men,” he says.
Then, he breaks down each key play, pointing out what went wrong.
Not enough coverage.