“Absolutely, Coach.”
Guess I didn’t have enough enthusiasm in my tone because he said, “Jones. Stay in there.”
If I’d still had a heart, it probably would have dropped right out of my chest at seeing the ease with which Coach replaced me. But I’d been walking around like a zombie for two weeks, and I didn’t have a clue how to turn it around.
Jones took my place for four more plays before Ainsworth let me back in, this time as part of the second string defense against the third string offense. Even in my semiconscious state, I figured out I had to bring it if I wanted to get on the field at all. When the center hiked the ball, I blew through the double-team the tackle and guard had set and barely managed to check myself when I ended up alone in the backfield with a terrified freshman QB. Instead of laying him out like I would an opposing quarterback in a game, I picked him up and set him down gently. It wouldn’t do to injure the guy after all my other fuckups lately.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about, McCabe! The question is, can you do that against guys your own size?” Ainsworth asked.
Yeah, I shoulda figured one good play wouldn’t let me out of Coach’s doghouse. For the rest of practice, I played with the second string, which did fuck all for my attitude. I had three or four more years’ experience and time in the weight room over these players, so while I couldn’t exactly mail it in, I didn’t have to work at full speed either in order to look good. At least I’d started remembering and running the plays, so Coach could stop riding my ass about missing assignments.
After practice I braced my hands on the wall of the shower, letting the hot water run down the middle of my back and blanking my mind. The latter had become my go-to coping mechanism since that awful afternoon when Chess walked out of my life.
“You gotta fix this, Finn,” Bax said as he stepped under the spray in the adjacent shower. “Coach isn’t going to let you ride on last year’s play.”
Turning my head to the side, I regarded my friend. “Yep. Got that all figured out, Bax.”
The shower head on my other side came on and with it I heard Callahan’s voice. “Seriously, Finn. What the fuck? You didn’t screw up like that when we were freshman, for fuck’s sake.”
Great. As if Ainsworth’s attempts at humiliation on the field weren’t enough, my buddies had decided to berate me in stereo.
“Don’t you two have someone better to do than to ride my ass?” I growled.
“There it is,” Bax said.
“As a matter of fact, Finnegan, both of our girls are worried about you too,” ’Han chimed in. “For the record, Jamaica says your lady is walking around in as thick a fog as you are.”
“For the record, I don’t have a lady.” Though I wasn’t ready to give up gallons and gallons of glorious hot water, I didn’t need my friends bullshitting me about how bad off Chessly was. Against my buddies’ advice, I’d barraged her phone with texts begging her to talk to me, to let me explain what seeing Hannah had done to my head. But I’d said the unforgivable. Even a dumb fuck like me could figure that out.
I stepped out of the shower and toweled off as I walked over to my locker. Not needing any more of my roommates’ observations, I wasted little time dragging on my boxers and jeans and pulling a hoodie over my head. By the time they’d joined me on the bench, I was lacing up my boots.
“You riding home with me?” ’Han asked as he tossed his towel in the bin at the end of the row of lockers.
“Nah. I got some studying to do. Think I’ll head over to Hillman where it’s quiet.”
“It’s Thursday night, dude. Our place is quiet,” Callahan protested.
“Uh, not as quiet as you think.” I tossed my duffel bag over my shoulder and piggybacked it with my backpack. “You have a nice evening.”
“Finn.” There was a warning in ’Han’s tone, but I ignored it and kept walking right out the door of the locker room.
And right into Coach Ainsworth.
He threw his arm across my shoulders. “McCabe. Walk with me to my office.”
As if I had a choice.
He closed the door and gestured for to me to take a seat in front of his desk. Taking his time, he shuffled some papers and set them aside then leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. “You wanna talk about it?”
“Coach, I know the plays.”
“You’re carrying a 3.9 GPA in bio-chem. No question you know the plays.” He sat forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “The question is, where the fuck is your head?”
Closing my eyes at his penetrating stare, I hauled in a breath, let it out slowly, and returned his gaze. “Just having a rough couple weeks, Coach. I’ll get it together.”
“That’s the thing, Finn. I’m worried about you getting your shit together. You hardly reacted when I pulled you out today, and that’s not like you at all.”
“I sacked your QB three plays in a row.” I defended myself and immediately wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
