Between my tortured thoughts about Player and this conversation, I think I'm about to fall into a depression! I pull myself together and smile hopefully. "But he's planning to come to campus for Halloween! I'll introduce you to him."
Pia gives me a delighted smile. "I can't wait!"
20
PLAYER
The intensityof practice isn't enough to erase the shock I felt Saturday night. Despite running two-minute drills under Coach Hacket’s watchful, critical gaze, my thoughts are focused on Dixie.
The image of the used condom I removed after fucking her dances before my eyes. There were traces of blood on it, which means Alabama told me the truth, she really was a virgin.
Dropping back, I pivot and throw the ball in my hands with all my strength, a laser beam that is too hard, smacking off of J’Evon, the receiver's hands before bouncing to the turf as J’Evon shakes his hands at the sting. “Goddamn, Player!” he calls. “Don’t need to break my fingers every time!”
"Dax, you’re in! Player!" Coach Adams roars. "Get over here!"
As I jog toward him, I wonder what the Coach wants from me. I stop near him and take the opportunity to grab a water bottle from the nearby cart.
"Good game Friday," he begins.
I gulp down half the water without answering, and he continues, "I want you to do even better for the next one. We're playing against Morgan Tech, as you know."
"Chauncey is supposed to be back," I point out.
The coach's gaze hardens. "It's not your job to think about who will or won't be on the field."
I stay silent, waiting for him to continue.
"So you'll take the first series, and I want you to run as fast as you do in practice. That series is going to be dual threat, throwing them off balance. Morgan Tech won’t even see you coming. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and you score."
"You mean the Jaguars are going to score?"
The coach pushes his cap—which he wears regardless of the weather—back slightly on his head. His irritation intensifies and his eyes shine with an almost metallic gleam. "I don’t care if it’s a pass, a run, you do what the scenario calls for. Get ready, because after the water break, we’re going to start scripting and putting it in with the first team offense."
The message couldn't be clearer. I empty the rest of the water bottle as Adams jerks his head back to the rest of the group, dismissing me.
I can’t deny the thrill that trickles down my spine as I rejoin the Jaguars. This is what I play football for, because out here, there are no distractions. You have to run, throw, run some more. And that's what I love, acting without having to think about anything outside the white lines, forgetting everything that's eating at me. Except today, it's not working. No matter how much energy I expend on the field, memories of Saturday night won't leave me alone. Worse than that, I feel a strange twinge in my stomach when I think about Dixie.
"What's going on with you?"
Emery's voice pulls me from my thoughts. I shoot him a sidelong glance as Hacket blows his whistle, bringing the second team offense on for some reps while the first time prepares for Coach Adams’s plan.
"I'm focused," I mutter, not wanting to go into it more.Emery pulls off his helmet, letting his hair shake out as he does. He’s let it grow since coming to campus, giving him sort of a gladiatorial look on the field, that doesn’t encourage much conversation. While he's naturally understanding and cool, he's still my childhood friend, and as such, he knows me inside and out.
He shakes his head, doubtful, before asking, "Is it because ofhimagain?"
I give a bitter smirk. "It always is. But a little less today."
I hate to admit that this time, my father isn't responsible for my problems. No, this time, I managed to screw up all by myself. My fingers grip my facemask a little more tightly, the plastic-coated metal digging into my joints I’m squeezing so tightly. I probably shouldn't have responded to Emery, because I can see the flash of curiosity crossing his face. Now that he's caught the scent of a scoop, he won't let it go.
"Spill it!"
I clench my teeth and shake my head to indicate I have no intention of doing so. Turning, I walk away from him with long steps, heading for the drink table because I need something to end this fucking conversation.
"Sure! We'll talk about it later!" he calls after me.
Without answering him, I snatch a cup of salty-sweet ‘hydrating fluid’ and down it in one gulp. I’m overhydrating, I might end up having to piss myself if I keep this up, or try and run inside to use a urinal, but at least the blooming ache in my bladder helps distract me somewhat, and that’s about all I can hope for right now.
"OK,are you going to spill it now?"
