“See you tonight,” she says and leaves me to get ready to head to the stadium.
No question because there is no need. I used to go out and spend significantly more time with the guys, but I like her in my space, in my life, more. I’ve always liked routine, structure.
On the field, I take a few minutes to anchor myself.I have this. This is where I belong, but the same fucking thing repeats. My hand shakes, and I do something I am not proud of. I yell at the backup wide receiver.
“How the fuck did you make it on the team if you can’t catch a pass to save your life? You’re useless.”
Silence falls. It’s not that I haven’t yelled at my teammates before, but I never insulted one.
The rest of the practice passes in stilted tension and wary looks cast my way. When did my teammates have to worry about me? Never.
The more I shout, getting frustrated with them, the more the coach seethes. Lips pressed in a hard line, he paces by the edge of the field. He holds back, even though he shouldn’t.
“Ian, my office,” Coach says the moment practice ends.
I follow him, and once inside his office, he slaps his palms on the desk. The items rattle just like the angry beast inside of me wanting to unleash on fucking everything and everyone.
“I gave you time.”
Right, time, my fucking ass. A whole two days. Sorry, I can’t bounce back like a damn ball. I am just human. So, fucking sorry for that.
“But while the team suffers, they’re trying. You have made mistakes that would have never landed you in the NFL to begin with.”
I gnash my teeth, fisting my hands at my sides. Pour more salt on the festering wound. Sure, it’s helping.
“Deacon was not at fault. Your passes were mediocre and lacked direction. Son, the Super Bowl is in ten days. Don’t make me bench you.”
I jerk my chin at him, challenging him. “Ah, you think Sorenson will do better?”
“Currently, anyone would.”
His words sucker punch me, and I drag in a lungful of air that does nothing to calm me down.
“I get it,” he says in an understanding voice.
“You get shit,” I snap.
His eyes bulge out, but before he can open his mouth, surely to give me a piece of his mind, I sigh. “Sorry, Coach… It was my fucking pass.”
There, I said it. Breathing harshly, I curse under my breath. I rake a hand through my hair, hard enough to pull some strands out. Not even the pain grounds me.
His features soften, erasing the anger. “The NFL is intense. It’s not for the weak of heart, mind, or body. Letting guilt own you won’t do you any favors. You want to make it up? Win this Super Bowl for him. The guys look up to you. It’s your responsibility to hold the team together. I know you and Levi were a dream duo. I get it, son.” He drags in a lungful of air, saying, “But if you want your career to end as well, continue down this path. I’ve seen talented players disappear because either you’re at the top or you’re replaced.”
His discourselands so hard; it propels me straight to the ground, leaving me desolate. Athletes are nothing more than what they can bring. A transaction. An object—never human enough to be allowed too many mistakes before replacing it.
Something he said sticks with me. One game.I am going to win this game for you, Levi. I don’t know how yet, but I will be damned if I won’t.
I nod, keeping my head down and he continues, “I visited him. Everything might seem lost, but Levi is the one who must push through. That is his path now. You have yours. It might sound harsh, but life has proven unfair time and time again.”
He excuses me, and I trudge out of his office, but not before saying, “I’m sorry, Coach.”
Not waiting for his reply, I close the door behind me, expecting everyone else to be gone, but they’re all there, waiting for me. One after the other, my teammates hug me, slapping me on the back in a gesture of sympathy.
Deacon does the same, saying, “I know I’m not him, Cap. But this is my chance. I want to shine. I will do whatever it takes.”
“You played well. It was my mistake.”
He nods, and Roman walks with me toward my car.
