Page 39 of Faking Ties

I slam the ball down and pump my fist in the air. That’ll show Evren that I’m a great player and silence any doubt he may have about renewing my contract.

But a yellow flag flutters in the distance,and my stomach lurches.A collective groan ripples through the stands.

“Illegal formation on the offense," the referee announces,his voice amplified through the stadium speakers.I glance at Jake in confusion, and he shakes his head, also not knowing what’s going on.

The replay on the jumbotron confirms my worst fears.D-Rock, our wide receiver,takes a subtle step inwards just before the snap. The officials huddle,the tension thick enough to chew on.Every second stretches into an eternity.Finally,the referee emerges,his face a mask of grim determination.He strides towards the center of the field,the stadium falling silent in anticipation.Raising his arm,he barks into the microphone,“Upon review,the touchdown is called back.Penalty:illegal formation on the offense.Five-yard loss and replay of the down.”

A collective groan ripples through the stands. The air whooshes out of me,the weight of the overturned score settling on my shoulders like a lead blanket.

I storm to D-Rock and grab his helmet. “What the fuck? You blew the play.”

“The ref has it out for me,” he seethes. “I didn’t do shit.”

“Stop fucking around and do your fucking job.”

Quincy claps me on the shoulder and tugs me away. “Calm down. Coach is watching.”

I shake him off, even if he’s right. I’m supposed to be integrating with the team, but I have zero desire to do that if mistakes like that cost us a touchdown. Everyone’s always watching me, waiting for me to mess up but also hoping I won’t. The cameras follow me on the field nonstop, a result of being one of the best players on the team. The fans wearing my jersey, Coach, and my dad are relying on me to do well. The pressure to perform is almost too much. Everyone is expecting perfection, and so am I. Why is it so difficult for my team to expect the same from themselves?

The rest of the game passes in much of the same way. The team is disjointed, dropping passes and missing blocks. We’re playing like we’re all rookies and not a team that’s won the Super Bowl. Frustration crackles inside me. Even if I play my best, it’s not enough.

No matter what I do, it doesn’t help because we still end up losing by fourteen points. Fourteen points too many. We all trudge to the locker room with our heads hanging low. Muffled thuds echo as players slam their helmets into lockers. I throw my helmet onto the ground and rip the sticky tape off my gloves, the sound a harsh rasp against the tense silence.

“What the hell was up with you today?” I ask Trey. We may be the same height at six-six, but he’s biggerthan me, more broad-shouldered, and Jake’s main protection as left tackle.

“Nothing,” he says glaring at me.

“Getting Jake sacked isn’t nothing. It’s your job to protect him, not be a revolving door.” I point to D-Rock. “And you. Have you forgotten how to play the game?”

“Shut the fuck up,” D-Rock explodes, getting into my face. “I made one mistake, but what about yours?”

“I don’t make mistakes,” I say. It sounds cocky, but it’s true. My dad made sure of it.

D-Rock snorts. “Yeah? What about your sloppy running route.”

“Sloppy?” I laugh. “The only thing sloppy out there was your footwork.”

“Say that again.” D-Rock gets into my face and pushes me in the chest.

Trey pulls D-Rock back with an arm wrapped around his waist. “He’s not worth it. We all know Hunter is Mr. Perfect. It’s a wonder he doesn’t play the whole game by himself.”

I’d probably do better by myself than with the lot of them. They don’t seem to care like I do that we lost. All our asses are on the line with Evren in charge, not just mine, if we don’t turn it around. Somehow, they’re not getting it, and the fact that they don’t get it makes me want to scream in frustration.

Quincy grabs my shoulder and tugs me away. “Walk it off.”

“Everyone get cleaned up,” Coach bellows from the doorway. “Jake and Hunter are needed for post-game interviews in ten minutes. Tomorrow morning at eight, we’ll have a film session to review whatever the hell just happened on the field.”

I run a towel over my face and remain in my gear. Jake goes first into the conference room, and while I’m waiting for my turn, Coach pulls me to the side. “Tough game out there today.”

“Yeah…” I hate disappointing Coach, and a loss is a disappointment no matter what. He’s the type of coach I’ve always wanted—a steady,unwavering force. He has a quiet authority about him that commands respect. He’s stern, talented, but also fair, which makes me respect him more than anything else. Being under his leadership has turned me into the player that I am today. Dad likes to think it comes from him, but it’s because of Coach.

“Listen, I’ve always respected how much you care about the game and your work ethic. It’s why I want to give you a heads-up. As we saw today, the team dynamics are off. And if you’re not careful, fingers will start pointing your way.”

“But it’s not my fault.”

“You’re right, not entirely, but you’re also not helping your situation.”

Shit. My contract, my security, and my future are hanging on by a thread. Part of me hoped I didn’t haveto make nice with the team, but it looks like I’m going to be forced to.

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