THE MOMENT the pass goes over Darryl’s head, I expect the regret to kick in, but I can’t feel anything but satisfaction, savage and biting. The whole half, I tried to keep my cool, to detach and let my instincts for the game take over. It worked—mostly. Then I’d see Darryl’s face or catch sight of Bex on the sideline with her camera in hand, and the slow-simmering rage working its way through me threatened to explode. I’d see her crying face in my mind, hear the fear in her voice, and had to work at not punching his sorry ass then and there and getting ejected from the game.
All around me, my teammates look stunned. They were fully expecting me to make that pass, and I let them down. I ought to feel bad about that, especially for my fellow seniors. But I don’t care. Not now. Not when rage is coursing through me like fire and Darryl’s been put in his place.
The Alabama quarterback jogs onto the field, heading in my direction. He shakes my hand, congratulates me on a season well done. I congratulate him on the win and tell him he played hard, which is the truth. Alabama played a good game. The fact it was so close heading into the end, and that we needed a wild play to win it—that’s on me too. I should have led more touchdown drives early in the game. If I had, then we wouldn’t have been in this position in the first place.
I get caught up in the congratulations, the condolences. I shake so many hands I can’t count, but the faces are blurred; I barely recognize anyone right now. I want to find Bex, to scoop her up into my arms and hug her tightly, but I can’t leave now. This, like everything else—like the pass I fucked up on purpose—is part of the job interview I’ve been working on since I was in high school. Can I be graceful in defeat? Do I give credit where it’s due? This wasn’t the first big loss in my life, and it won’t be the last. Rookie quarterbacks in the NFL don’t tend to do well; it takes a year or two to get used to the pace of the professional level. My future employers are watching this moment right now, making sure I’m not about to fly off the handle.
Of course, they don’t know that I messed up that pass because I couldn’t stand the thought of Darryl winning the game when a couple hours before, he kissed my girl without her fucking consent.
Finally, we shuffle off the field, back into the tunnel. No one speaks. I see Bex lingering outside the locker room, but I don’t go to her, not now. I need a shower first, and a clean change of clothes, before I face her reaction to what I did for her.
She’s going to be mad, but I don’t give a shit. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. I’d burn down the whole goddamn stadium if it meant keeping her safe.
Coach Gomez gathers us together in the locker room, looking around at all of us. A lot of the guys are still breathing heavily. A couple of them are crying. I bite my lip, shutting my eyes briefly.
“You played a tough game,” he begins.
“Bullshit,” someone says under his breath.
Coach turns and glares in the direction of the voice. “You played your hearts out until the end. I saw that. It takes fucking grit to get this far, and you acted like men just now, giving the other side the credit they’re owed. This isn’t just on the last play. Our opponent was—”
“Fuck you,” Darryl snarls, shoving his way to the front, past Coach, so he gets right in my face. He has dirt streaked on his face, mixing with sweat; his eyes are wild right now, dark and filled with hate. “Fuck you, Callahan! You fucked me!”
He lunges at me, knocking me back into the lockers. His fist connects with my mouth; pain explodes across my face, and I taste coppery blood immediately. I bring my knee up into his groin; when he doubles over, I grab him by the shoulders and knock him down onto the floor. He flails under me, but I press my knee into his stomach, making him gasp, and take a swing at his face. Pain explodes along my hand and up my arm as my fist connects with his stupid, cocky mouth. He grabs at my face with his hand, trying to push me away; I knock back his hand and dodge the next fist he tries to swing at me. “I fucking warned you,” I say, digging my knee down until he gasps. “I warned you not to use those words, asshole. I warned you to leave her the fuck alone.”
“James!” I hear Bex scream. “Stop it!”
Someone grabs at me from behind, but before I’m hauled away, Darryl works his way out from underneath me and takes another swing. He catches my cheek this time, and by the way it stings I know I’m going to have a hell of a bruise. I scramble to my feet. Everything is a blur around me except for Darryl, dragging himself to his feet as well. I can’t even hear over the ringing in my ears. He grabs at me, pulling me in so close I can smell the sour sweat on his skin.
“You fucking warned me, huh? Think you’re all that? She was fucking moaning into my mouth. I had her first and she’s still my little bitch.”
I slam my fist into his stomach. He staggers backward, coughing up spit and blood, and has the nerve to grin at me. I launch myself at him, but before I can smash his face into the floor, two strong arms grab me around the middle and haul me away.
“Callahan!” Bo shouts as he drags me to the other end of the room. “Fucking stop it!”
I struggle against him, trying to get back to Darryl, but when I see someone has him wrapped up too, the fight goes out of me. I lick my lips, tasting my own blood. My head is aching so badly I’m worried I split it open somehow. Where the hell is Bex?
“Get your hands off me,” I say. “Where’s Bex? Bex!”
I spot her across the room, her hand clasped over her mouth. I try to go over to her, but Bo doesn’t let me, even when I start struggling.
“What the fuck was that?” Coach roars, looking between me and Darryl. I’ve never seen him look so pissed. I straighten up as best I can while still held back by Bo, glaring at Darryl. His chin and mouth are covered in blood, and I’m not in the least bit sorry. I hope he swallowed a fucking tooth.
“Into the office,” Coach says, stalking over to the office and ripping the door open so intensely the hinges rattle. “Now.”
He slams the door shut behind us when we’re both inside. “Want to tell me what just happened? Two of my seniors getting into a knockout fight two seconds after a loss? I thought I was coaching men, not fucking children!”
His voice rises with his last words. I look down at my dirty cleats, swallowing down a mouthful of blood, before looking up and meeting his eyes. He’s right. I’m a man, I can handle the consequences of my choices as a man. But he deserves to know why I did it. Darryl, for his part, doesn’t say anything. He’s glaring at me like he wants to shove his thumbs into my eyeballs, so I just stare back. I imagine throwing a football right at his crotch. I can be plenty violent with a football.
“He kissed my girl and then bragged about it. Called her a slut and a whore, sir.”
Coach rounds on Darryl. “This true?”
“He stole her first,” Darryl retorts.
“I didn’t steal her,” I snap. “She’s not an object. She broke up with your sorry ass and found someone better.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Coach says, pinching his nose with his fingers.
“He should have made that pass,” Darryl says. “He sabotaged us all on purpose.”
I turn to look at him. “I’d do it again. I warned you what would happen if you didn’t back up, you slimy fuck.”
Coach crosses his arms over his chest. I hate the surprise on his face, but even if he hates me forever, I’m sticking by what I did. If he recommends that the university suspend me for the fight, I don’t care. Let it come.
“Darryl, go wait outside,” he says.
“Sir,” he protests. “He lost us the fucking game!”
“Out. Now.”
After he goes, Coach just stares at me. I resist the urge to fidget. I’m sure he’s expecting me to start apologizing, but I’m not going to. If he wants to punish me for defending myself and my girlfriend, he can go right ahead.
Eventually, he sighs. “You did throw wide on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Goddamnit, James!” He slams his fist down on the desk, making it rattle. “You can’t do that, even when you’re upset. Even if your personal life is going to shit. When you’re being paid to do this—paid millions of dollars—you’re not going to have the luxury of choosing when to perform! You can’t bring your issues onto the field. We’ve spoken about this. You might hate all your teammates, but they’re your teammates, so you stick by them.”
“I know that, sir.”
“So why didn’t you do it?”
I wipe my bloody mouth. “Because he scared my girlfriend. He forced himself on her. And as much as I love football, I love her more.”
The moment I say it, I feel lighter. It’s the truth, and while I’m not looking forward to telling my father that, telling Coach eases some of the tension inside me. If the price to have Bex and make sure she’s safe is my football career, then I’m willing to let it go. I can always do something else with my life. What matters, at the end of the day, is the future I know I can have with her.
“You didn’t just hurt him,” he says, his voice softer. “You hurt the whole team. Men who have worked hard beside you for an entire season. They trusted you, and you let them down.”
“Yes, sir.”
He leans back, cupping his jaw. “I don’t agree, but I respect why you did it.” He drags his hand over his mouth, thinking. “James. You might get suspended for this, even though he started the fight. The university almost always punishes both parties in these situations. You were still in uniform, representing the school, and if McKee doesn’t act, the NCAA could.”
I just nod. I expected as much.
“I’ll explain that you were defending yourself,” he says. “I don’t think either of you will get expelled, although if Bex chooses to report Darryl’s actions, then that’s a possibility. Sexual misconduct is a serious offense.”
“Good. He should.”
“And I don’t disagree. But that’s not for you to decide. You can’t act like this, no matter how you feel. I thought you learned this lesson at LSU, but apparently not. You can’t make a bad pass on purpose because you don’t like the guy.”
“With all due respect, this is different.”
“How?”
“I’m going to marry Bex one day,” I say. “This is my present, but she’s my future. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. Maybe it’s wrong, but I’m going to defend her. I couldn’t just give the ball to him.”
He sighs. “And what good did that do? We lost.”
“Even if I did throw it right, there’s no guarantee he would catch it.”
“No, but he deserved the opportunity to try. Even if you’d have hated it, he deserved that.”
“And I disagree.” I meet his eyes. “Sir.”
He presses his lips together tightly. “I hope you’re willing to explain that to all the guys out there.”
He rubs at his temples, making his way around the desk to clasp my shoulder. He looks me in the eyes. Seeing the disappointment in them hurts, but I don’t back down. I’m willing to stick by every word. “And to her.”
