Laney
THIS GAME HASbeen brutal to watch.
I don’t think anyone expected it to be such a grudge match. Including Kam.
He’s playing his heart out and taking a beating while doing it. My anxiety has spiked through the roof. Last down, he was sacked after he threw the ball with no flag on the play. These refs suck. Dirty as it was, what really scared me is that he took longer than usual to get up. I bit all the gel polish off my nails in the third quarter and then started right in on my real nails in the fourth.
It’s tied, and there’s a minute left on the clock. It’s like swallowing pins and needles. I don’t know how Kam deals with the pressure.
My father rubs my shoulders as we watch from the skybox. My mother is on my left and Kam’s mom is on my right.
“He’s gonna pull it out. If anyone can do it, Kam can,” my father reassures me. His southern drawl soothing as always. I know he’s right. On a football field, Kam is Superman.
We are all aware how much he wants this win. I know how hard he’s worked and the pedestal he’s been put on by his fans.
I find myself praying as the ball is snapped. I stop breathing as I watch Kam quickly dance left then right, a barrage of players moving around him and heading toward him. He launches it into the end zone, directly at Wiley who is wide open. Everyone tenses. It looks good. Really, really, good . . . time stands still . . . it’s . . . it’s . . . intercepted!
All my muscles sag as I watch the running back from Miami burn grass down the field for a sixty-yard touchdown.
Tears burn my eyes as the clock runs out. Kam drops to his knees clutching his facemask on the sixty-yard line while Miami celebrates its victory. You can hear a pin drop in the box. I press my palms to the glass as I look down at Kam, helplessly.
I don’t think devastated even begins to describe what I’m feeling. And I know whatever disappointment I’m feeling, Kam is experiencing it a thousand times worse.
And there’s nothing I can do. There’s nothing any of us can do.
The last three weeks have been . . . challenging.
Kam hasn’t taken his championship loss very well. Neither has the media. Not even an hour after the game, headlines like “Kam the Scam” and “Alabama Golden Boy Not So Golden” were popping up everywhere. It’s amazing how easily news outlets can turn on you when not even twenty-four hours before they were singing your praises.
I confiscated all the electronics in the house and hid all the remotes so Kam wouldn’t torture himself with the scrutiny. He’s tortured enough. He’s his biggest critic, and he is coming down on himself hard.
He’s barely left the house, eaten, slept, or showered. I try to be understanding and supportive. I know he’ll come through, it will just take some time. How much? Hopefully not too-too much. It’s already been three weeks. Kam usually bounces back from adversity quickly and stronger than before. But this—this is killing him.
I miss my high-spirited, optimistic egomaniac. Not that I would tell him that. I know he has to grieve. A dream died, and that’s as real as losing a loved one.
I watch quietly for a few seconds in the doorway of our bedroom as Kam mindlessly packs a weekender bag. Something that used to take him minutes has taken nearly an hour. He’s lost in thought. Lost in self-deprecation. He sits down on the edge of our bed flipping a balled-up pair of white socks the same way he would handle a football. My heart breaks. I hate seeing him like this. He’s so much better than all of this and everyone knows it. He’ll realize it, too. I’m sure of it.
I saunter over to where he’s sitting and slip myself between his legs. He looks up at me forlornly. It’s so unlike the man I love. Touching his stubbly cheek, I deliver him a warm, tender smile. I’m rewarded with one in return. It isn’t as brilliant as it usually is, but we’re making progress.
“I don’t want to go,” Kam confesses.
“You need to go,” I urge. “You need to blow off some steam and decompress. Go be with your guys. Drink, laugh, have fun. It’s a bachelor party. Show Telly a good time.” I clutch his face. “And have one yourself.”
Kam exhales. He’s mustering his drive.
“I’m going to miss you.” He rests his hands on my hips.
I lean over and whisper seductively in his ear, “It’s only two days, and when you get home, we’ll have a good time of our own.”
Kam emits a little growl as he digs his fingertips into my waist. I smile to myself, my All-star is coming around.
We share an elongated, steamy kiss that fogs the bedroom windows and leaves me winded.
“Are you sure you want to wait until I get back?” Kam asks with his eyes closed and breathing labored. I can’t help but respond, and just as I go to climb on top of him, our intercom buzzes.
“Shit. That’s Rodney.” Kam falls back onto our shiny, sparkly comforter I insisted on having.
