Page 41 of Saving Barrette

Inside the locker room, Coach is going over the first half when Roman looks up at me and nods. It’s his thank you.

I do the same.

In the locker room, Codey stands beside me.

I glance in the mirror, the man staring back at me isn’t someone I know.

“Who fucked you up?” Codey asks, amused with himself.

I turn my head toward him, raising an eyebrow. As I grind my jaw, I can barely keep myself from knocking his fucking teeth. I don’t know why, but when I look at him, I see the face of her attackers and it makes me sick. Probably because he seems like the kind of sick bastard who is capable of that type of disregard for another person.

Codey finally gets the message I’m not going to answer him and turns around and looks back at his locker.

I throw my pads around and reach for my Gatorade. After finishing the last of it, I toss the container in the garbage and sit down on the bench, staring at my hands with my elbows resting on my knees. Roman stops before me. I see the question dancing in his eyes. He wants to ask me something, but he doesn’t have the fucking balls to do it.

Instead, he walks away.

I finish getting my uniform back on and head into the dark tunnel with the music blaring around us for the second half. I slap my hand against the Win The Day sign as we exit the tunnel, and I’m greeted by nearly seventy-thousand screaming fans awaiting the toughest match-up they’ll see all season long. Finally, my mind fades a little. The one place I can get her out of my mind even if it is just for one play at a time is on the field.

The game is too fucking close, and it isn’t until almost halfway through the second half when we finally get our heads out of our asses. Our turnovers are ridiculous, so I make the call to run the ball. I get 21 yards and the safety comes up on me, hesitating, knowing who I am and then goes for my feet. He makes a good solid tackle, and I can’t fault him for that.

Fourth quarter with two minutes left on the clock, Roman is held up off the line of scrimmage, so I lob it in the air where I think he’ll be. He catches it in his lap for the touchdown. He stands and tosses the ball to the ref, no reaction at all as the guys pat his back.

With twenty-nine seconds to play, we make one final drive with a final 12-yard pass to Roman in the end zone to win 36-35.

It was a bad throw and Roman deserves credit for that one. Even I have to admit that. If it had been any other player on the team, I doubt they would have snagged it. He scores every touchdown that game for us other than the one I ran in. Best performance I’ve seen out of him all year. After the game, the team and fans rush the field.

I walk off.

Everyone is celebrating as we change, as they should be. Standing at my locker, I want to be happy. Ishouldbe. That win got us a possible chance at the bowl game.

Only I’m not happy. I’m anything but that. I text Barrette and make sure she’s doing all right tonight. I wonder if she watched the game, and then my thoughts shift back to the other night with her and the breakdown.

The guys are talking about the game, living it up on the high on the win, and I’m annoyed. At everything. Not only at the game but how everything around me seems to be spiraling out of control. We won, but there was a point when I didn’t think we would, and my mind isn’t in this room. It’s with the one I can’t seem to shake.

Beside me, Roman’s mood shifts the moment the NCAA enters the locker room.

He must sense my stare on him because he looks over at me but doesn’t smile. “Good game. Best throw you made all year.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

“Winslow? You’re up,” a rep from the NCAA says, looking at Roman.

I smile because I know where this is going. They test all of us after the last game and after a bowl game as well. Random testing can happen at any time through the season. Roman knew that heading into the game. It isn’t like this shit is a surprise. “Looks like you won’t be playing.”

Roman glares, his eyes on the cup. “She’s fucked up, you know. And you’re not doing anything to help her.”

I rip gear away, slamming shit in my locker. We just won. Ishouldbe happy. I keep telling myself that. Over and over again. Ishouldbe fucking stoked, but I’mnoneof that right now. I’m fuckingnoneof that when he mentions her. “Barrette is none of your business.” I’m not in the mood for this shit. I put my pads in my locker and hang up my knee pads on the cooler and push the shelve up out of my way before I knock my head on it like I do every other time when I reach for my shoes.

“You’re fucking her, aren’t you?” Roman laughs.

I drop my shoes on the floor and turn around to face him. “Listen to me, motherfucker!” I slam him up against the wall. “Barrette is none of your fucking business. Keep your fucking mouth shut!”

“She is my business. I was her friend when you weren’t. Just because you were there that night, doesn’t mean you’re good for her. You were just in the right place at the right time to pick up the pieces.”

Pick up the pieces? I hang on those words. You mean save her life? I can’t take it. It feels like my chest just broke wide open. I pummel his ass right then and there with as much force as I can muster. Our bodies slam against the lockers. Guys start breaking us apart and I’m so pissed that I can’t even think straight. I want to kill him for saying that. I don’t like the implication. The meaning. The tone… none of it.

“It’s not even about you just being an all-around dick anymore,” I say, watching his reaction to my every word. “It’s about you having afuckingdrug problem and acting like nothing can touch you. You’re cocky and you have no right to be.” I shove him back into Coach Benning. “You and I both know you’re going to fail that drug test and you not only let me down, you’re let the whole fucking team down, you piece of shit!”

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