“I know. Thank you for being my friend.”
“Always.” Those bright-green eyes twinkled. “He’s really into you. Guess your dry spell is over.”
I grew warm. “Shut up.” But I couldn’t help it. “I have no complaints, even if I can’t walk the next day.”
“Good for you.” Dev busted out laughing, and still snickering, I said good-bye to Brody. By then our car was waiting, and Patrick and I climbed inside.
We arrived at Patrick’s apartment, undressed, and lay on the couch together. His long fingers twirled in my hair, and he asked, “What’s really bothering you?”
“It’s all been great, but I’m still worried. As happy as I am that you’ve worked it out with Dev, I’m wondering what the future holds, if you do come out about us.”
“Not if. When. Tonight solidified it for me. I have no desire to hide us for the next five, six…ten years. However many years I might have left to play. I can’t do it, Fal. It’s not right that just because I fell in love with you, I have to hide it. Fuck that. Ethan’s reviewing all my contracts, but he doesn’t think there can be any fallout legally.”
While I understood what Patrick was saying, I knew it couldn’t be as simple as he wished. I could only love him and hope for the best, whatever that might be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Patrick
This was not a position I wanted to be in. First our defense moved as though trudging through mud, and the Bisons slipped past our front line like a hot knife through butter. Then my pass was picked off and run back forty-six yards for their second touchdown in the first half. We only managed a lousy field goal, and it made me want to punch something.
Halftime, and to the sounds of boos, we pounded feet into the locker room and sat in stony silence as Coach ripped into our asses.
“What the fuck am I seeing out there? We’re at the end of the season, and you’re playing like a goddamn team of rookies. Interceptions, sluggish snap retrievals, broken tackles, and your ends ain’t tight. They’re loose like a fucking untied rope. You got a problem? Someone didn’t give you a good-night kiss or you didn’t have enough milk for your cookies?”
I might’ve only been with the Kings for part of the season, but damn. I’d never seen Coach go off like this. And looking at the rest of the team, it seemed neither had they. It seemed even Rio knew enough to keep his wise-ass mouth shut, and he stood the same as us, wide-eyed and shamed.
“Sloane, you’re not going to get that Super Bowl ring and impress your new girlfriend if you don’t move quicker and anticipate. Got that? You know their plays, right? You watched tapes on the bye week, or were you too busy shopping and having dinners with Dev and Brody?”
My cheeks grew hot as he called me out. “Yeah, Coach. I did. And I’ll step it up to a hundred and fifty percent.”
“Make that two hundred. Rio, Troy, move those asses, push harder. Candyman, you looked like you were moving backward. I expect some touchdowns this second half, hear me?”
“Yes, Coach,” we all shouted, loud enough to make the walls ring.
I turned to face the team. “Let’s do this. They’re weak on their left side, and I thought I saw Logan favoring his right ankle. Let’s capitalize on all that and crush this second half. Am I right?”
“Yeah, dude. We’re gonna kill it.” Rio clapped his hands. “We’re gonna crush their asses.”
With fire in our eyes, we took the field in the second half and ripped the Bisons’ defense to shreds. We scored a touchdown, and after the extra point, our special teams kicked off. The Bisons’ kickoff return player caught the ball and started his run, but then tripped over his own feet. The ball went flying, right into the hands of Monty Wilson. Small and speedy, Monty motored upfield to the end zone, and with the crowd screaming almost as loudly as us, scored a touchdown. After the extra point, we were now ahead by three, but that wasn’t enough.
“Back at it, Trick.” Coach went head-to-head with me. “Play it like it’s first and goal at the Super Bowl.”
“You got it, Coach.”
Offense jogged on the field after the kick return. Kings Stadium was rocking, and I bet they could hear us over theMarine Parkway Bridge in Queens. I could barely hear my own play calls, but it didn’t matter. Our spark had reignited. I threw a ten-yard pass for a first down, then a thirty yard. Next play, I faked a pass, then handed off to a receiver who was wide open, and he spun around, eluded a few tackles, and made it to the four-yard line before he was stopped.
We huddled, and I got the play from Coach in my earpiece. “All right. Rio, Troy, you split up to each side of the end zone. I’ll see who’s got less coverage. Let’s gooooo!”
We split and formed the line. The Bisons weren’t going to make it easy for us, and it was third and one. I knew they were expecting me to pass, so I ran it in, busting past their line of scrimmage. They piled on me, but I refused to be denied. I summoned up my strength and thought of Fallon, waiting for me at home, and charged inside the end zone. My teammates pushed me forward and I fell, stretching every inch of my six-foot-five frame to make sure I was well past the goal line.
“Touchdown, touchdown.” Troy and Rio danced and pulled me to my feet. I held the ball up to the crowd, pumping my fist. To the screams of the crowd, I jogged to the sidelines, where Coach and the rest of the staff smacked me on the back.
“Ow. Careful of the merchandise,” I joked.
Instantly wary, Coach called the team doctor. “Mike, take a look at him. McKinney, you’re going in. Get ready.” Harte shot me a quick look before beginning to stretch and loosen up.
“What? No way, Coach,” I sputtered as the crowd cheered the extra point. “I was kidding.”
