Page 43 of Saving Barrette

I brush the blue liquid from my shirt and glare at him. “Why you haveStar Warssheets should be the bigger question here.”

He winks at me and pops the lid to his coffee to dump four sugars in it, then three creamers. “Because the force is with me, brother.”

Once class starts, finally everyone stops talking to me. Outside the classroom, that’s a different story. Coach texts and asks me to come early to the training center and ruins my plans of trying to catch Barrette before practice. I know what he wants to talk to me about. Roman. The fight. My attitude. Could be a number of things these days.

Inside his office, he stares at me with his thick, brooding eyebrows drawn together. “What’s going on with you lately?”

I shrug, trying to play it off.

“No, that’s not an answer. You’re my starting quarterback, and if your head isn’t in it, it shows on the field. Yeah, we won the last game but you and I both know we got lucky. We’re sloppy. You’re here to play football, Asa, not fight. You made an obligation and a commitment to this team. You understand me?”

I nod, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, sir.”

He raises an eyebrow and leans forward, his elbows on his desk. “Do you? I thought you did. Shit, you’re the most levelheaded player on this team, but lately, lately something’s up. You need to be able to put your personal life aside if you’re wanting to make a career of this.”

He’s right, I do, but then again, I can’t. I can’t put her aside.

I leave his office, head to the weights room, and it’s more of the same shit as before. Roman smarting off like a tool, Codey following in his footsteps and me, trying like hell to ignore their shit. I honestly feel myself slipping. There’s only so long a man can be expected to sit back and take shit day after day.

Roman, Codey, they fuck with me because they can. They know I can only do so much before I risk being suspended or worse yet, kicked off the team and ruining any chance I have of playing in the NFL. So they take their jabs and talk their crap and I’ve got to try and ignore it like the good little football soldier I’m expected to be. It’s too much. And to tell the truth, I don’t know how much longer I can take it.

My life feels like it’s not even mine. My body belongs to football, my mind belongs to classes, and my heart, my soul, my very being belongs to Barrette. I have no control and it feels like every day I’m losing a little bit more of myself.

Terrell spots me while I lift and notices my mood. “C’mon, boy. Get your head in it.”

He means into lifting, but I think he’s probably implying so much more.

Beside us, Roman and Codey are ragging on Dem and a couple others from the defensive line. And then their conversation shifts to the cheerleaders. I ignore it for the most part, but it’s fucking ridiculous the shit they talk about them. I’m the first to admit a lot of them are easy and spread their legs faster than we can blink, but they’re not all like that. Some are respectable and here to learn, not fuck. You wouldn’t think it by the way these fools talk though. What really fucks with my head is when they start throwing Barrette’s name in the mix.

I glance over at them. Roman smirks. Codey winks.

Terrell focuses in on me lying on the bench, my arms extended on the bar. “Ignore ’em. Give me five more.”

I nod and push through my frustrations.

“That’s it, bud. Get it!”

I push myself because giving up isn’t what I’m good at. I’m good at pushing through it. I know sacrifice and selflessness more than most. Maybe too much.

Cool air whips around my face, shocking, freezing. I curl into myself, wishing I’d brought a warmer jacket. I hate the cold, but I also relate to it. I crave overcast days, rain, and the stormy weather fall brings with it.

Breathing in deeply, it’s shocking, the way it hits my lungs and leaves me searching for another. I stare at my shoes as I walk, wishing my mind would stop creating situations and thoughts I don’t understand. I hate being in these moods where nothing’s wrong, but nothing’s right. I wish… I wish I could wake up in the morning and delete all the bad thoughts and be happy. It doesn’t work that way. My heart wrenches in pain, lingering in despair and melancholy, only nothing makes that feeling go away. Usually I can get it to ease. Find a way to pull myself from it.

Not anymore. Not lately.

Joey walks me home from our support group Tuesday evening. She makes me laugh and though it’s nice to have a distraction, I still can’t stop thinking about the other night with Roman and studying, and I have yet to see Asa. He texted me last night and said he couldn’t come by my dorm because he was exhausted, and I keep thinking since my breakdown, our relationship—whatever it is—might be breaking apart.

“So I went on a date and you’re never going to guess with who,” Joey says, her cheeks pink. Never would I think Joey’s cheeks would turn pink. She’s so strong and independent, and I wish in so many ways I had that.

I look ahead of us noticing the diamond-like sheen to the path. It’s frosty out. “If you tell me it’s Roman, we’re not friends anymore.”

She makes a face. A disgusted one. “What’s his deal?”

“Hisdeal? He’s… Roman.” I scuff my feet against the concrete as we walk to see if it’s icy out. “He used to date Cadence, but not anymore.”

“Your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

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