Page 1 of Everywhere You Look

PROLOGUE - KNOCK YOURSELF OUT

Dean

“Doesn’t it feel so much better sitting up here in the nice cushy box than being down on the field, running around like an ostrich and getting bonked in the gourd repeatedly?”

I turn to my sister, raising an eyebrow at her asinine question.

“Kira, you drink too much,” I say in lieu of an answer. She knows as well as I do that I would much rather be down there playing football than up here watching it, even if it is my week off. It’s insane for her to think otherwise. Especially considering I’ve only got one game left before I’m done for good.

But to be fair, the box here at Twin Peaks Stadium is quite nice. A heated, enclosed space safe from the chilly winter air, TV’s showing the action down on the field up close, catering and all the beer we can drink. A man can’t ask for much else. Not to mention, I didn’t have to shell out a dime for the luxury suite. In a feat of ridiculous good luck, my sister and two of her friends married actual billionaires. One of them recently purchased the San Francisco Redwoods, which makes us all privy to all kinds of perks.

James Adler’s acquisition of the team is still being kept under wraps–at least until after The Big Game in three weeks–so if anyone asks, I’m here as a guest of my sister to scope out the two remaining NFC teams before meeting one of them in Las Vegas for The Big Game in two weeks. My team, the Knoxville Crushers, clinched the AFC conference championship at home in Energy Stadium yesterday morning, and now it’s up to either the Redwoods or the Denver Hawks to overtake the other and meet the Crushers on the field.

This will be my fifth Big Game as the quarterback for the Crushers. Having won three already, I’m confident in mine and my team’s abilities to bring the trophy back to Knoxville once again before I retire.

As I lean up against the glass, watching my bestfriend Luke Cannon throw a perfect spiral thirty-four yards to an awaiting wide receiver.

I’m hoping he pulls out the win. Not because I want to kick his ass–though, if we were to face off, I would most definitely be doing some serious ass kicking–but because being a professional athlete isn’t much different from being a kid on the playground. It’s always more fun to play when your friends are on the field with you.

Luke started his career a few years after me, drafted to the Crushers from Nor Cal State as my second-string quarterback. We played together for two seasons before he scored his own starting position for the Redwoods. During that time, I might have developed a bit of a crush on him, but no matter how often I thought about it, I never made a move to turn our friendship into anything more. Luke made it clear that not only did he have no interest in dating, but he especially had no interest in dating anyone else in the league. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve shoved my attraction to my friend into a locked drawer and thrown away the key. And thankfully, Luke and I have stayed thick as thieves through the years.

The Redwoods move up the field, lining up on the twenty-seven-yard line. Given their formation, I’m guessing they’re going to go for an out route.Interesting choice, though not one I would make. This close to the end zone with four downs in my pocket, I’d be passing the ball to my running back and letting them do their thing. I watch as the rookie center snaps the ball back to Luke, who takes three steps back, scanning the field. Denver’s defense is one step ahead, blocking wide receivers and leaving Luke with no pass options. There’s an opening to his left, and if he’s quick enough, he can scramble and slide into another first down.

“C’mon, Cannon. Look left, it’s right there,” I mumble under my breath, pressing my hands and nose to the glass. I am a firm believer that there is nothing worse for an athlete than having to watch another athlete miss something that’s right in front of their nose.

Instead of taking off like I’m willing him to do, Luke lobs the ball downfield, looking for a receiver he won’t find in the end zone. My eyes track the ball as it soars, and I’m too distracted by a near interception when the pigskin tips off the fingers of a Denver cornerback to notice the crowd roaring and booing. I turn my attention to the TV screen in the corner, and that’s when I see it.

Luke is on the ground, his body buried underneath two Denver linebackers, and I try to thinkrationally and figure out what is going on. He must have been taken down as soon as the ball left his hands. There are no flags on the field, so it wasn’t deemed a late hit. The screen cuts over to a replay and I watch in slow motion as the two linebackers come at Luke from either side as soon as the ball is free from his hands. Whether it was a miscommunication from Denver’s defensive coaches—or a coordinated attempted sack—remains unclear.

Either way, I’m silently cursing the refs for not calling them for roughing the passer. Like the goalie on the ice at a hockey game, it is common football sense not to fuck with the quarterback, and Denver just shat all over that courtesy. I want to scream, to boo, to call out to the refs and tell them they don’t know what the fuck they’re doing, but I can’t. There are cameras on me, and as the quarterback of the AFC champions, I can’t be seen showing any favoritism to anyone down on the field.

Kira, thankfully, has no such scrutiny attached to her, and she’s doing enough cursing for the two of us.

“Luke isn’t getting up,” I mutter under my breath when I realize my friend is still on the ground. “Why isn’t he getting up?”

The dreaded white medical cart rolls out onto thefield, and my stomach drops out of my ass. Glancing up at the TV screen where a camera pans over a wide shot of Luke’s right side, I see what I couldn’t before. Luke’s right knee is twisted, the bottom of his leg contorted in some kind of ungodly angle. My sister takes my clammy palm in hers, squeezing so tight that my fingers go numb as we watch the Redwoods medical team load Luke onto the cart and drive him off the field.

The next few hours happen in slow motion. The Redwoods lose, but I can’t force myself to care about the outcome of the game. I can’t get down to the medical tent, and I can’t get to the medical facilities either. Whatever is going on with Luke is privileged information that is being kept a secret, especially from me. My connections within the league get me absolutely nowhere. For the first time ever, being the franchise quarterback on a dynasty team is a detriment to my personal life.

No one will give me any information about Luke, and it doesn’t matter that he’s my best friend. It doesn’t matter that, besides his sister, I’m the person he’s closest to in the world.

I’m not family, I’m not on his team. I’m Dean Hayden McKenna, Captain of The Knoxville Crushers, the AFC championship-winning, Big Game-bound team. I’m the enemy. That doesn’t stop me from trying, though. Twin Peaks Stadium security sure gets an earful from me as I try to bully my way into their medical facilities, but my arguing gets me nowhere.

I almost feel bad when I call Kira’s next-door neighbor and Luke’s sister, Gigi, to press her for information. She’s a single mother—six-months pregnant with twin toddlers in tow, and a brother who was just wheeled off a football field on a stretcher. She doesn’t need me bothering her, but I’m desperate and Gigi is kind. She answers her phone on the first ring and directs me to the nearby hospital, where Luke is being seen by a surgeon. I have to wait in the lobby for two hours before Gigi waddles up to me and tells me what happened.

A torn LCL. Surgery. Out for the rest of the season—not that that matters. The Redwoods season ended when Luke went down. Physical therapy. Injured reserve list. No clear answer on what this means for training camp, or pre-season. Or Luke’s career.

In one moment, one play, one blink of an eye, everything has changed for the worst.

The day that I play my last game in the NFL is the day Luke has his second surgery, this time to repair the torn ligament. The Crushers win The Big Game,and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thrilled to end my professional football career on the highest of highs. But that doesn’t mean the experience isn’t tainted. I FaceTime with Luke between press junkets. I bug Gigi about his recovery, his therapy. When a parade is thrown in The Crushers honor in downtown Knoxville, I give a speech where I thank my team, the city, my family, and my best friend, Luke, for sitting shotgun with me on this incredible journey. And after the celebrations are all wrapped up and the press tour is over and I’m finally free of my quarterback and captain-ly duties, I fly to San Francisco to be by Luke’s side through his physical therapy. Gigi gives birth to another beautiful baby girl in April, and we celebrate.

In June, Luke finds out he won’t be cleared for training camp or to start the season and we drink his sorrows away. In October, another Redwood quarterback gets hurt, and Luke and I watch from the sidelines as the last round draft pick—Breaker Lawson out of Pennwood University in Philadelphia—takes the spot that was Luke’s and leads the Redwoods all the way to the playoffs. In December, another surgeon tells Luke that his knee is shot, and he should not—cannot—play professional football anymore. On New Year’s Eve, Luke announces his retirement, and we make plans to spend threemonths fucking around in Buenos Aires and drinking our bodyweight in Fernet and cola cocktails.

And then, two weeks into January, the unthinkable happens.

Everything changes for the worst, once again.

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