Page 54 of Lavender and Linebackers

“I’m doing my best,” I tell him, trying not to get worked up. “These events they have us doing are not hard, and many of them are already when we’re at a team event. The barbecue, first game with the mascot, and the family picnic coming up. Besides, I only have two more. We’re representing at a gala next week and then the picnic.”

“But what about Alice?”

I stand a little straighter and drop my hand. “What about her?” Adrenaline drips into my veins and not the good kind. I hate that he’s mentioned her. I hate that any of them would even think about her.

He eyes me suspiciously, but I don’t even blink.

“What does she get out of this?” he asks.

“Paid, and you know the Tarpons are sponsoring her nonprofit.” My tone has turned harsher.

He takes a step back as he thinks about what I’ve said.

“I guess I’m surprised that they would do this, given how strict they are on fraternization in the handbook.”

And I snap.

“Oh my God. You have got to stop with the fucking handbook. Nobody cares, Sully. No. One. Cares.”

He steps forward again and levels me with his captain’s face. “Well, that’s not true, and I’m going to ignore your little outburst there while giving you a lesson. The handbook is there to keep our organization running like a well-oiled machine. By establishing that there are no gray areas, there is no conflict. Smooth sailing. Yes, you knew her in your past, but fraternization is not about when the first interaction happened or even the nature of your relationship. This rule is in place because of the chain of command. You outrank her. It disrupts the integrity of the cheerleaders program, calls into question acceptable conduct from both sides—hers and ours—shows favoritism, and, well, consent.”

“Well, if they were worried about integrity and favoritism, then maybe they shouldn’t have picked us for the very reason that we have an established relationship. Sully, you say our first interaction and nature don’t matter, but it does. We’ve had some sort of relationship for over a decade. Putting it in a handbook and saying that I can’t love her because it disrupts the flow of things—that’s not my problem.”

“You love her?”

Shit, is that what I said?

My heart rate picks up.

That’s not what I meant, and I definitely didn’t mean to say it in front of him.

“Loved her,” I correct myself.

He says nothing, and it’s at this moment the ref blows the whistle for us to resume.

God, could he have picked a worse time to bring this up?

“This conversation isn’t over.”

“Yes, it is,” I tell him while jogging over to huddle with the other defense players. All of us look at Miles, who is our middle linebacker and green dot player. Every team has one. It’s always a middle linebacker or a safety. Their helmets are equipped with a radio, and they relay play calling and messages from the defensive coordinator or the coach.

I blink really hard to try to clear my frustration and breathe in deeply to try to slow down my heart.

It’s third down with four yards to go, and we need to make the stop here by stopping a quick pass to prevent a new set of downs, all the while keeping our eyes out for a possible big play.

Miles holds up a high five. Five for the nickel play, and we run out of the huddle. We adjust accordingly with five defensive backs and safeties deep just in case. I love this play because it’s mainly man-to-man coverage. The five of us are able to keep our eyes on the quarterback and the running back, while at the same time forcing them to have to throw perfectly into tight coverage. This is a great play for interceptions, and I do my best to block out what occurred between Sully and me.

But I take a breath.

Only one breath as the ball is put in play.

As mentioned earlier, those hundredths of a second, I now put myself at a disadvantage.

Instead of being on top of the ball, I’m a step behind it, and I tip it. In slow motion, I see the ball fly over my head, and I don’t know how he does it, because that ball looks out of reach, but Dylan, our left side safety, reaches up and one hand catches it. He turns and sprints for our end zone. I follow, ecstatic for the pick six, but I know during film I’m going to get my ass chewed.

My heart sinks, while at the same time knowing I need to celebrate the six.

He shouldn’t have rattled me. As a senior player, he should know this. I also know I’m going to be expected to do the new sideline dance, so I pivot to make my way toward my teammates.