“My roommate too,” says Jenkins, a defensive end. “Stink lasted forever. Control, brother.Control.”
“It’s a fucking epidemic,” Mario Christiane, a tackle, adds. “Bombing dorm rooms around the country.”
Williams runs a brush over his hair. “They say ‘cologne’ is the new vape.”
“Truth.”
“The cheap stuff is the worst. Sticks around like my mama’s memory.”
“I know y’all ain’t calling myperfumecheap.”
“Weare,” shouts everyone.
Rhodes retaliates by spraying some more on himself—to much groaning. “Clowns. Women always ask me what I’m wearing because it smells so good.”
“They probably asking what you’re wearing so they know what to avoid,” Mario says.
Williams nods. “Too polite to up and say, ‘What is that dead flower funk?’”
Still razzing each other, the team begins to trickle out ofthe locker room. I linger behind because Jelly hasn’t moved. And, frankly, I’m not looking forward to the presser. I have no problem saying my cliché lines when we lose. But I don’t want to talk ill of Jelly, and I know they’ll try their best to get me to point the finger at him. Why this makes for good copy, I don’t know. I never find those interviews, whether it’s for a loss or a win, informative.
“You didn’t have to speak up for me,” he says, breaking the silence. He’s still staring off, head slightly down and away. “I can take it.”
“I know you can. But you’re my teammate. We have each other’s backs.”
“I didn’t have y’all’s backs today. Or the last few games.”
“Well, no.” I rub my stiff neck. “Got yourself into a bit of bad mojo is all.”
A heaving sigh breaks free, and he sits hard on the bench, resting his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”
I take a seat next to him. “Not long ago, you told me all we can do is try our hardest.”
“That’s just it.” Despair colors his voice. “I don’t know if I can.”
Glancing at the dark TV, I wonder if there’s some truth in the speculation. Because this feels personal. “What’s going on, Jells?”
He swallows thickly with a clicking sound. “My high school coach is dying. He practically raised me. Got me out, held me up.”
“Hell.”
Jelly clenches his fists. “And there’s nothing I can do. Can’t even be with him. Gotta play, you know? Game goes on.”
Every one of us knows this. It’s what we’re taught, from the moment we picked up a ball as little tykes. Every single one of us has missed key moments in our loved ones’ lives because of the game. It sucks, but it’s also so engrained in us that we stuff regret and sorrow down deep.
When Jan crashed, I remember being grateful that my seasonwas done. Because it meant I could be there with him. It’s all kinds of fucked-up.
“I’m sorry, Jells.”
Dully he acknowledges this with a chin dip. Tears gloss over his eyes and he blinks rapidly. “I need to suck it up, I know this. But it’s been... hard. He’s my family. I ain’t got no one else...” He blows out a sharp breath but slumps forward, bracing his arms on his knees.
“I don’t want to make light of that bond, but I want you to hear me when I say, you got me too.” I lean into him until our sides touch.
“Means a lot to me, Rook.”
“And you got Monica.”
Jelly closes his eyes and fists his hands tightly. “I’m thinking of taking a break with Monica.”
