Our defense takes the field. We hold them to a three and out, and the crowd goes wilder.
When the offense takes the field, the roar of the stadium is louder than I’ve ever heard it. I glance behind me in the stands, finding Parker. They aren’t looking at me, but they’re on their feet beside someone who’s wearing Weston’s jersey.
I watch them for a second, then turn my eyes back to the field.
Weston calls out the play, no nonsense as usual, and before I can even process what’s happening, he’s on his back on the turf. Sacked. It seems to knock the air out of him because it takes him a couple of long seconds to get up.
The energy is still high when the game resumes, but it doesn’t last long.
Marcus seems like he’s intentionally letting the defense through, and Weston gets knocked to the ground over and over. He’s pissed. I’ve never seen him quite like this before, and it’s making me uneasy.
As far as leaders go, he’s about the best there is. He’s calm under pressure, confident, and he knows what he’s doing. Ben is getting frustrated too. He barks something at Marcus, anger written all over his face.
We don’t convert on third down at all in the third quarter, and each time the offense runs off the field, Ben gets more and more agitated.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head. “Bigoted fucking freak.”
“Marcus?”
He nods, spraying water into his mouth.
Thankfully, our defense is on the ball, keeping our opponents from scoring.
When the game is nearing the end and we’re closing in on the two-minute timeout, Weston looks more determined than ever. They set up, hike the ball, and he steps back, scanning the field.
Ben sprints, wide open, just waiting for Weston to drop the ball in his hands, but the ball never comes because Weston gets sacked yet again.
This time, he loses his cool. He jumps to his feet, throwing the ball to the side as he stalks after Marcus. Grabbing him by the jersey, he shoves him backward. The crowd gasps, and I look up to find Parker.
They look concerned, and honestly, so am I. If this is any indication of how our season is gonna go, it’s not looking great.
Dragging my eyes away from Parker, I scan the field, zeroing in on Ben. He’s pissed, face flushed and eyes hard at the corners.
When the game ends, we’ve scraped by with a win, but just barely. We truthfully owe it all to our defense because God knows we wouldn’t have gotten there by scoring.
I follow the rest of the team off the field and into the locker room.
There’s a commotion, and when Weston walks out the door, I catch the tail end of Marcus asking him if he’s going to find his little boyfriend.
My blood boils, but I also shrink in on myself just a little. This is why I have the fear I have. Not because of assholes like Marcus, but because I could hear the same condemnation in my pastor’s voice.
I don’t believe that I’m wrong. I don’t. I couldn’t. To believe that would be to believe that about Ben and possibly even about Weston.
I know better than that, but it doesn’t make me any less afraid. I don’t even bother changing; I just grab my bag from my locker and sit on the bench.
When I finally get the nerve to step out of the locker room and into the hallway, Weston and the guy from the stands wearing his jersey are kissing while an amused Parker and Ben look on.
Ben catches my eye, then mouths, “Park’s place,” to me.
I nod, turning on my heels and walking away.
I’m not even sure if I want to go to Parker’s. Not tonight. Not after all of that.
Like proof of my own thoughts, my phone rings from my bag. With a sigh, I keep walking toward my dorm. I’ve had the same ringtone set for my mom since I was sixteen years old, and while it still dredges up a certain level of dread, at least I never get blindsided when I answer the phone.
I’ll call her back when I get to the dorm.
