While I’m waiting to meet Dani for lunch at the student center, I’m thinking about my life. About if I even want to keep playing football. Wondering if I should give up on my dream.
Part of me knows it’s stupid to think that. It’s not me. It’s not in my nature to want to give up. But sometimes, I wonder if it’s worth the battle. I’m talented. I work hard. I was taught to be humble and show my work ethic to my teammates. Uncle Danny says that’s how you get buy in.
It wasn’t easy when I did that in high school, but it was different then. When I was brought up to play, it was because of injuries. There was literally no one else. And if the team wanted any shot at winning, they sort of had to rally around me.
Here, it’s different. There are good quarterbacks. Who are practicing just as much as I am. Who were probably just as good in high school as I was.
I get what Dani said about high school in regard to her sorority. How, back then, she was a big fish in a little pond. And how, when she came to college, she was in a bigger pond, which made her seem smaller.
I have been feeling small. I know it’s all in my head.
And the one person I wish I could really talk to about it is Dani.
But I can’t.
Football is a big part of our cupcake dreams. Me playing pro. Her on the sidelines. And I don’t want to disappoint her.
Or ruin our dream.
Part of me wonders if I’m depressed. Part of me wonders if I’m being a wuss. And part of me questions if I have what it takes. Because I’m tired of having to prove myself.
Tired of listening to Bart’s shit.
And tired of the fact that he might be right.
I’m lost in thought when I hear my name being called. I turn to find Eddie.
“Hey,” I say, happy to see him. At least he is usually nice to me.
Maybe I should pitch it all in, join a frat, drink some beer. Have fun.
“Chase. Chase. Chase. I haven’t seen you in forever. You know, all work and no play makes a man no fun. Seriously. You can have a little fun during spring practice. Trust me. A lot of the guys do.”
And although I literally just thought the same thing myself, I react instantly. “Well, I’m not one of them. I can’t be. I’m trying to get reps. Climb the depth chart. I have to work harder than everyone else.”
A girl walks by, gives me a smile and a wave.
“Do you know her?” Eddie asks.
“I don’t.”
“Must be rough. Dani’s gorgeous, but man, there is a lot of temptation.”
“Not for me,” I say.
Eddie shakes his head. “Can you imagine being great like her dad? I bet every time Danny Diamond left home he had women throwing themselves at him…”
I scoff. “Her dad never—”
“I didn’t say that he did. By tempted, I don’t mean he considered it. I mean that—okay, let’s just say, I bet his resolve was tested every time he left the house. By girls who would offer to do things to him that, well, maybe his wife wouldn’t do. And for us men, conquering is sort of hardwired into our DNA. We need to survive, to best the next man, kill our predators or be eaten. Sex is a primal urge, and being offered it,” he lowers his voice and says in a female voice, “and no one will ever know.”
To this, I laugh. “Yeah, right. That’d be the girl to tell everyone. Be the one to give you a defective condom and probably have her friend in the closet, recording it all.”
“Okay then, so you, Chase, are perfect, and you’ll never be tempted. You’re too smart for that. You consider the consequences before you act. But will Dani?”
“Are you suggesting that Dani will cheat on me?” Let’s just keep piling on the pain. I rub my hand across my temple, instantly more stressed than I was when I got here.
“I’ve told you this before, man. If I were dating a girl like her, I would be wining and dining her, taking her to every date night and formal the frat had. When was the last time you two went out? Because I haven’t seen you around anywhere.”
And that comment does hit home. When was the last time? Valentine’s Day? And that was, what, a couple of months ago?
When I don’t say anything because I’m lost in thought, Eddie claps me on the shoulder. “Look, I’m sure all is good. She just seemed a little off the other day when we chatted between classes. Said you’re tired a lot. That practice has been tough.”
I take a deep breath. Try not to panic. But I feel like a three-hundred-pound lineman is barreling in to sack me. And I’m not sure I can outrun the pressure.
“Dude,” he says with a grin. “I’m just saying, maybe you need to blow off a little steam. Have some fun. Come to a party together. Take your girl on a date. Not that it’s any of my business, but I like the two of you together.”
I close my eyes. “Uh, yeah. That sounds good. Thanks, Eddie.”
“Oh, here she comes,” Eddie says, looking behind me.
I turn to see Dani heading in our direction. And she looks beautiful. Long hair moving in the cool breeze and a smile across her face.
I greet her with a kiss and say, “Hey.”
“Hay is for horses,” she teases. “Thought we could have lunch at the condo. Sound okay?”
“Absolutely.”
Regardless of what Eddie said, I still want nothing more than to snuggle up in bed and hold her tight. I think if I can do that, maybe I won’t unravel.
The second we’re in my condo, she tugs at my waistband and starts kissing me.
Which is exactly what I need.
I’m lying in bed, Dani wrapped in my arms. I kiss the top of her head and smile as I glance at our clothes, carelessly discarded on the floor.
“Before you attacked me,” I tease, “I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out tonight.”
“Out where?”
“To a proper dinner. Somewhere nice. Either just the two of us or we could invite some other people to join us.”
Her face lights up. “That would be so fun, but are you sure you’re not too tired? You’ve been really tired lately.”
“That’s because I’m working harder than I ever have before.” And struggling more than I ever have before. “But I’m positive. Plus, those cute shoes you got on break need to go somewhere besides your closet.”
“Ohmigawd, Chase, you are so right.” She pauses. Looks deep into my eyes.
God, I love this girl.
“What?” I ask, wondering what thoughts are going on behind those baby blues of hers.
“I was just thinking how much I love you, Chase.”
“I love you, too. And I’m sorry if I have been a little—”
“Off,” she says.
“Yeah.” More than she knows.
“Wanna talk about it?” she asks sweetly.
And I know I need to.
I just … can’t yet. Not until I figure things out.
“Yes, but not tonight. Tonight, we go on a date.”
“And after?”
“We come back here.”
“And tomorrow morning, we talk? About what’s been bothering you?”
“Sure.”
“And it’s not me?” she stutters out.
“It’s most definitely not you. You are the brightest spot in my life,” I say seriously, causing her eyes to fill with tears.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. Because why the tears? We just had an amazing time together.
“I have just been really worried that you are unhappy with me. With us. You’ve just been so …”
“I know. I’m sorry. And I promise it’s not you. It’s me.”
Her eyes go wide. “Are you breaking up with me, Chase?”
“What? No.”
“That’s what guys have literally said to me every time they break up with me. They blame themselves, so I can’t get mad or argue about it.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve been …”
“Yes, I’ve been worried, Chase. About you. And about what that means to our relationship. I love you. I always will, but I just feel like we are—I don’t know—at an awkward place or something.”
And now, I’m really upset. She thinks we’re awkward?
“Not to mention, your new obsession with your phone. Did you meet someone on break? Are you cheating on me?”
I cannot deal with this right now. I just can’t.
I respond with the truth even though I can’t believe she even suggested it. I say flatly, “No, I’m not cheating on you.”
“Then why have you been sneaky? Yesterday, when I saw you on your phone and called you on it, you got that deer-in-headlights look. Like I had just shone the truth in your eyes.”
I let out a sigh. I need to tell her something—something close to the truth—then I need to get out of here. “That’s because … look, I never have and never will lie to you about important stuff. But sometimes, particularly when one has a special event coming up, there has to be a level of secrecy involved.” I say this as calmly as I possibly can.
“Who have you been texting?” she says bluntly.
“Your mom,” I reply truthfully.
“My mom?” She starts laughing. Then crying. “You’re talking to my mom? Is it about my birthday?”
Shit, her birthday. Yes, that’s it. I’m not talking to her mom about our engagement. I’m talking to her mom about her birthday.
“I can’t say,” I say as I roll my eyes and nod.
“Oh my gosh, Chase. I have been so worried.”
And this sort of upsets me. “What do you mean, you’ve been worried?”
“You’ve been sneaky with your phone since break. I thought maybe—”
“So, here’s a question for you, Dani,” I say, instantly pissed. “If you were feeling that way, why haven’t you said anything?”
“That’s not even fair, Chase. And don’t you dare blame this on me. You have been upset. Constantly mad. Like, it’s always there, just simmering at the surface, and lately, I feel like you’re ready to blow. You’ve been short with me. And I haven’t wanted to upset you by asking when it’s clear you already are. I thought you’d tell me. Chase, you always tell me, but you haven’t, and I thought if it was school or football, you would. And since you haven’t, I can’t help but think that means it’s me, and we just got”—she shudders, sucking in a breath—“together, finally. But lately, it feels like we’re sort of not.”
And I realize not telling her what’s going on with football has not protected her, but rather hurt her. I should know that she knows me too well for me to hide stuff from her. I love her more than anything, but …
I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. Because she’s right. I am about to blow, and her tears and words make me feel like she’s standing over me, dumping alcohol on me and holding a lit match, ready to let it fly. “I can’t deal with this from you right now, Dani.”
“Can’t deal with what? Me crying? You’re being a dick, Chase,” she tells me as I get out of bed and start throwing my clothes on.
I’m still pulling on my shirt when I say, “Yeah, I know.”
Then I walk out the door before I completely explode.
I leave the condo, wanting nothing more than to hit something. Hard. And the worst part about it all is that the person I want to hit is me. I’ve always tried to protect Dani against other guys, but how do I protect her when I’m the shitty boyfriend?
I find myself heading toward the stadium. The place that’s become like a dysfunctional second home.
A girl says something to me, momentarily taking me out of my angry haze. A girl who always seems to be hanging around whenever I am here.
“You look like you could use a friend,” she says. “Want to come back to my place and talk about it?”
I roll my eyes. “You should probably use that line on someone else. Thanks, but no, thanks.”
“You know, a simple no would do. You don’t have to be a dick,” she fires back.
I want to yell at her. Instead, I march directly into the locker room, change clothes, and go to the weight room.
I know exactly what the record for quarterbacks is when it comes to bench pressing reps. And since I’m pretty sure I could knock over a car right now, I decide to go for it. Set a new record.
The first guy I see is Bart, the upperclassman who has been giving me the most shit.
I give him a fierce look and say, “Spot me.” It should be a question, but it doesn’t come out like one. It’s an order. A demand.
He tilts his head and thinks about it for a quick second, then follows me over to the bench press.
A lot of guys are here. I can see some of the coaches up in their offices.
But that’s not what this is about. This isn’t to impress anyone. This is about me calming the fuck down before I do something drastic, like try to whoop the guy’s ass who is spotting me.
Damon always says, sometimes, you have to have a little brawl in order to become friends.
And while that used to work on the playground when we were kids, punching Bart straight in the face would get me kicked off the team. And even though I’ve considered quitting, I don’t want that to happen.
I realize once I’m lying under a two-hundred-fifty-pound bar that I probably chose the wrong lifting partner. Bart would be the guy who would let it fall on my chest and allow me to suffocate.
But at least I’d be dead and I wouldn’t have to deal with his shit anymore.
As I push the bar up—one, two, three, four reps—I think of other guys like him. Starting on the high school team as an eighth grader first and then as a freshman was hard. Older guys were intimidated by my talent. Pissed their friend who they thought would be the QB that year wasn’t. Guys who thought I didn’t have what it took. Back then though, Damon always had my back, and when someone was a jerk, he’d always joke with me about it later.
Prove them wrong on the playing field, was something he must have said to me a million times.
But he’s not here. It’s just me. And them.
And this bar.
Sure, compared to the three-hundred-plus-pound linemen, I’m small, but I’m not small for my position. I’ve grown since that summer Dani and I got together. Back then, I was nearly six-three, but only weighed about one eighty. When I arrived on campus in January, I checked in at six-five, two hundred ten, and as of yesterday, my weight has gone up to two twenty-five. Somehow, I’ve been able to add the weight and actually not lose any of my speed. My power rating, which is how we’re measured against each other, has gone up in the forty-yard dash, the agility test, and weight lifting.
I’m sweating, still pissed, and pounding out the reps.
Bart is surprisingly encouraging, and the more reps I do, the louder he gets, causing a small group of players to gather around us.
It’s weird how you can be hyperfocused on a goal but still know what’s going on around you. And when I hear pounding on glass and echoed cheers of encouragement, I know it’s coming from above. The coaching offices don’t have windows that look outside. They overlook the weight room. And the first time I watched a teammate set a new record, the coaches knew what was happening, and they were cheering from their offices, pounding on the glass, jumping up and down.
It was a sight to see, and I know instinctively it’s what’s happening now. They are cheering for me. They want me to succeed.
And I realize that I’ve been acting like a boy, who is surrounded by men. Taking their shit personally instead of doing what I did in high school, which was to earn their respect. It sounds silly that simply lifting some weights could do that, but it’s more than that. I’m showing them I’m not just hype. I’m not just my stats. I’m not here to rest on the laurels of what I’ve done in the past, thinking I can coast through college to the pros. I’m here to get better, faster, and stronger. Day by day. Hour by hour. Lift by lift. I’ll get better and better. And we’ll be a team that can’t be beat. That won’t allow themselves to get beat.
At least if I have anything to say about it.
Because I can’t give up.
No matter how much I feel like it sometimes, I really can’t.
And I think the person I’ve been most disappointed in for even considering the possibility is myself.
I want to drop the weights and run back to the condo and find Dani. Tell her the truth. Apologize profusely.
“Come on, man. You only need five more,” Bart says. “You might not know it, but I study the power rankings and am majoring in statistics. You’re not just close to scoring the most for your current position, but I think this will increase your overall performance and strength index points to above 2,686, which is the top mark in program history for a quarterback.”
And although part of me doesn’t care about records, I can tell by the charged atmosphere in the room that it’s important.
I want to quit. My arms are starting to shake. The adrenaline I felt when I got here is abating.
Just a few more.
It’s then when my thoughts turn back to Dani. How I wish she were here to see this.
How I have to do this for her.
For us.
Because we’re a team, too.
And really, the most important one to me.
I grunt out and use all my resolve to fight through it, remembering to focus on my form. A good arch in my back, my glutes tight against the bench, and my feet glued to the floor. I do five more reps, but instead of stopping, I do two more. Just for good measure.
She’s worth it.
We’re worth it.
And as soon as I can get out of here, I’m going to make sure she knows it. I don’t know if this will make Bart stop calling me Hype. And I don’t care. What matters is what she thinks of me—as a human, a person, a man, the boy she loves. And honestly, in this situation, what I think of myself.
Because as long as I’m fine, I know we will be, too.
He’s right.
Devaney
I quickly throw on my clothes and check the time. I want to follow Chase, run after him, see where he’s going and try to talk to him. But I can’t, because I have a meeting with the head football coach to go over the interview questions that I’ll ask him during the spring game telecast.
I’m upset that Chase is upset. He’s right. I totally should have said something. I should have asked him what was wrong. At one point, he mentioned things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped with the team, but that’s about all I’ve gotten.
I go from the main reception desk, up the elevator, and to Coach Parson’s office and find him standing at the window, looking down over some sort of commotion in the weight room below.
“What’s going on?” I ask. In a normal interview setting, I might not, but I’ve known Coach for years because of his friendship with my dad.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into Mackenzie, but it appears he’s going to break the current quarterback record for the bench press. And if he does, he will probably break a long-standing performance index record.”
“Like one of my dad’s?”
“No,” Coach says, beating on the window again with both fists, causing me to hope it’s made of safety glass. “Mine.”
And this surprises me. Chase likes to do well. He wants to win. But breaking it and getting the guys all pumped up when, just a few minutes ago, he was upset? I don’t get it.
A sense of dread.
Chase
There is a lot of cheering and slaps on the back from the guys on the team. And it’s the first time that I’ve felt like an actual part of this team.
But the team I care most about is me and Dani, and I’ve got to go find her.
I accept the congrats, then run out of the stadium and toward the condo. By the time I’ve sprinted the half-mile, the sweat from lifting and running has combined with the cool air, making me shiver.
Or maybe it’s the anticipation that I screwed up things with Dani beyond repair.
When I barrel through the front door, I find the whole condo complex empty. The covers on my bed are a snarled mess—a reflection of my life at this moment.
I should feel a sense of accomplishment. Instead, I feel a sense of dread.
I hate that I had to do something showy, like break a record, for my team to seem to care about me. I’ve been trying to show them through my talent and work ethic. When, apparently, all I needed was a little razzle-dazzle.
I’ll never forget my mom watching a sports network talk show about a famous ball player who got caught cheating on his wife. How the wife left. And then how, a few weeks later, they showed up together at an event, her with a massive new diamond ring.
My mom told me that I should give my wife flowers because I loved her, not because I was in trouble. And that the same went for jewelry.
My question for my mom right now is, What do you do when you’ve been an ass? When you’ve gotten too wrapped up in yourself? Your struggles? When you haven’t shared your life with the person you love in the way she deserves?
You apologize, I can hear her say in my head.
But my immediate thought after that is, What if she doesn’t forgive me?
I sit on the edge of my bed and break down in tears. I’m exhausted—physically, mentally, and emotionally. I don’t know if I’ve been trying too hard or not hard enough. And I’m not sure any of it matters. Not if I’ve lost the one thing that does.
Seriously wrong.
Devaney
My meeting with Coach Parson doesn’t take very long. He basically asks for my list of proposed questions and says someone from his team will get back to me with revisions.
While I’m walking back to the condo, my mind is on Chase. I’m sure he’s still at the stadium, celebrating his achievement with the team.
Getting pats on the back, congrats, and well dones.
He’s probably eating it up and not thought once about our fight.
But I don’t understand the fight to begin with. Why, when I asked him what was wrong, he reacted so badly.
Why he said, I can’t deal with this from you right now, Dani.
The second I open the door to the condos, I hear noises.
Crying.
I run toward the sound, finding Chase sitting on his bed, head in hands, sobbing.
Tears immediately fill my eyes. Chase never cries unless it’s something big—like when his dog Angel passed away.
Something is seriously wrong.
I sit quietly next to him on the bed, wrap my arm gently around his shoulders, and don’t say a word.
He turns toward me, wraps his arms around me, and puts his head on my shoulder. I hug him tightly, which makes him seem to cry harder.
“Shh. Chase, it’s okay. Whatever it is, I promise, we’ll get through it together.”
He sucks in a breath, lifts his head, and looks into my eyes.
He looks terrible. Eyes red. Hair wet and plastered to his head. He looks like a guy who was caught in the rain after the worst day of his life.
“Do you mean that?” he chokes out.
“Of course I do. I love you, Chase. No matter what. Even if we aren’t together. Even if you’re about to tell me we’re over. I will still love you. You’re my best friend. Always.”
“I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry. You were right. I’ve been a mess and trying to hide it from you.”
I try to keep my breathing steady. Be strong, Devaney. It will be okay. Fortunately, I don’t have to ask him what he was hiding because he keeps going.
“When I said it’s not you, it’s me, what I really meant was, it’s football. Things have not been going well.”
“But the guys invited you out after you helped Treyvon.”
“And they haven’t asked since.”
“I don’t understand.”
He shakes his head. “I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my personal life—with you. And as unhappy as I have ever been in my football life. I’ve had a hard time balancing the two. Every day, I leave the stadium and wonder if I’m cut out for it. If I should just quit.”
“But every day, you keep going back, Chase. That alone says something about you.”
“That I’m an idiot?” he says, wiping his eyes and letting out a little chuckle.
“I know the last few years, football has been easy. It’s been fun. But you and I both know it wasn’t always that way. You’re starting over. What? Did you think they would just bow down to you and hand you the football because you were good in high school?”
He lets out a heavy sigh. And starts nodding. “Yeah, I think so. I thought I’d hit the ground running. Move seamlessly from one team to the next. Sure, I knew I’d have to earn the team’s respect. I just didn’t think they’d be so … biased.”
“Biased?”
“Yeah, they think I’m all hype. Or so they say.”
“You mentioned that earlier this winter. Are they still saying that?”
“Yes. And it’s gotten worse. Because I let them get into my head.”
“And we all know what happens when you do that. You play worse.”
“Exactly.”
“And today, your blowup. Was it a culmination of that frustration?”
“Yeah.”
“I was up in Coach’s office, Chase. Not to be a jerk, but what I witnessed looked the opposite. They were all cheering for you. Coach said you probably just broke his long-standing record.”
“I only broke the record because it was either lift weights or go punch this guy, Bart—who has been an ass to me—in the face. I was upset with myself for not telling you. I was pissed I’d let them get into my head. I was about to blow. I took it out on the bench press instead of him.”
“Do you think what you did will help things?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. And part of me doesn’t care. Dani, would you still love me if I ruined our dreams?”
“How would you do that?”
“By quitting football. Not going pro. Ruining the cupcake.”
I shake my head, tears filling my eyes again. I move my hands to his face, cupping his cheeks, looking straight into his eyes. “The good thing about the decorations on my cupcakes is that I can always make new ones. You decide you want to be an accountant? I’ll add a calculator. You want to drive a truck? I can make one of those. I love you, Chase Mackenzie. Not your career.”
He brings his big hands up to cover mine.
“But at the same time, the Chase Mackenzie I know has never been a quitter. In fact, I have something for you. I was saving it to give it to you after the spring game, but—” I jump up, run out of his condo and into mine. I grab a wrapped gift from inside my nightstand and rush back into his room. “Here,” I say, plopping back on the bed and giving it to him.
He slides his hand under a piece of tape and removes the wrap, then turns it over, finding a book. One of his favorites. One I haven’t seen him read in a while.
“Thoughts of a Champion,” Chase says somberly.
“Flip it open.”
He does. “It’s signed by the author. To me.”
“Because he knows you’re destined for greatness, just like your mom and I do.”
He leans in and gives me a kiss.
I run my hand through his sweaty hair and smile at him. “Looks like you could use another shower.”
