Page 2 of The Midseason Fakeout

If he can do it, so can I. Coach pulling me from the game was a wake-up call.

“You show him respect, he’ll give respect back to you. He’s not petty, man.”

I know all this, it’s just the embarrassment of having to crawl back to where I was.

The bell over the door rings again, and I peek behind me to see an older couple walk in. Turning back around, I slump deeper into the booth, my heart hanging heavy.

“They’ll be here,” West assures me. “They’re not petty either.”

I wouldn’t blame them if they didn’t show. We were headed for an undefeated season. What happened out there today was like watching a train wreck. The crowd was as quiet as I had ever heard them in our own stadium. At times, you could hear a pin drop. Observing the whole thing made me sick. And not being able to do anything about it? That was like digging my own grave.

“Yo, QB1!”

I nearly jump, my gaze shooting up. A man behind the counter with a grease-stained apron waves at me. “You sick or what? We missed you at the game tonight. We could’ve used that magic arm.”

My stomach tumbles over. I sit there, unable to form words. Finally, West turns around. “Don’t you worry. He’ll be back in no time.”

I blink at West. Since when does he talk for me? Somehow, we’ve switched places, and it doesn’t feel great. “Thanks,” I mutter as the guy gives us a smiling salute and walks back through the kitchen doors, yelling “Go Blue!”

That chant usually sets a fire through me, but now, it’s only a reminder of my fuckups. Behind me, the welcome bell rings again, and I twist in my seat to find Zo and Colt saunter in. Both of them look grim, and it’s like a hammer driving a nail into my chest.

They pull up chairs to the end of the table while Cade enters. He forces me to move inside, and I rest my back against the cold, damp windows so I can see my team finally coming in. These guys put their trust in me on the field all the time. I’m the play-caller. I’m their leader. I’m the damn QB1, and I let them down.

The rest of the starting lineup arrives. Some sit in the booth behind us, and some sit behind West and Jackson. Others have dragged up chairs like Zo and Colt until it looks like our huddle out on the field. I’m surrounded by my team who’ve been more like my family than—

I give myself a shake, avoiding that particular dark rabbit hole.

Instead, I focus on them. Nerves skate through me as they watch and wait.

“Listen,” I push out. “I fucked up.” I open my hands wide. “I let you all down, and I hope you realize that I get that. I’m pissed at myself, and I take full responsibility for tonight’s loss. It’s not on you guys, it’s on me.”

“No shit,” Cade snarks. He gives me a teasing smile, but there’s none of his usual easy air about him. For fifth year seniors like Cade, this was his final chance to go out with a bang—his last attempt at an undefeated season. And I’m the one who messed that up for him.

“We just want to know where your head’s at now,” Zo says.

“No more late to practices, I can guarantee you that,” I tell him, voice firm.

“And the partying?”

“What parties?” I shrug, already done with them. They were messing with me anyway. The alcohol made me feel like shit. They screwed with my sleep schedule. The girls were fun but didn’t fill the part of me I thought they would.

Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking.

The guys start to look up. They give me nods as I stare at each and every one of them. “I’m sorry.” I reach my hand up and hold it over my heart. “It won’t happen again.”

Promises to football brothers are set in stone. I have no intention of ever going back to the guy who sought to be accepted by people who don’t matter. These guys? They’re the ones who matter.

At that, the conversation turns. Colt calls over the waitress, and everything goes back to normal. For me, though, guilt still hovers. Until I bring this back around, I won’t feel better. I need to nail the next practices, so Coach starts me again, and the game coming up is a must-win. If we don’t, the team will lose their faith in me. And once I lose their trust, I’m out, or as good as.

Goodbye NFL dream.

Goodbye being accepted.

My stomach churns some more, and I order a water and then nurse it for the rest of the night.

A half hour goes by, and West kicks me under the table. My gaze snaps from my water glass to him. He tilts his head, and I shrug.

All around me, the guys discuss the game. They talk about girls. They even talk about classes, but it’s like this life is slipping away from me. Every time they tell a story from tonight, a hammer drives theoutcastnail in a little deeper. I don’t have anything to add. I didn’t see the D-lineman up close to notice his snaggletooth nor the huge-ass booger hanging from his nose.

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