Someone to my left, Carson, I think, says, “Yes, sir,” and the rest of us follow.
Coach tosses the towel on his shoulder into the laundry cart and tells us, “Clean up. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, and be ready to work on Monday.”
We gather closer, not quite in our normal circle because the layout of the locker room won’t allow it, but we put our hands out as if we’re circled up. Coach counts to three and we break with our usual chant of “No Easy Days.”
And goddamn if those words aren’t true.
As I hit the showers, I know I’m one of the ones who fell short during the first half. Not because I overindulged last night . . . well, not on alcohol at least. And I sure didn’t take things easy last week. The one downside (or maybe upside) of being friends with the quarterback and captain is you don’t get to take things easy. Because when the coaches aren’t looking, McClain most definitely is. And if not him, Moore or Brookes. And not a single one of those guys would let me get away with dragging my ass if I were ever so inclined. Not that I want to. The goal has always been football. It’s not just the end of the road for me; it is the road.
No, I was off my game because of Nell. Because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her skin. Her mouth. Her curves. The barely shielded panic in her eyes when she asked me to stop. The fact that she’d practically run away from me. And that last devastating look she gave me before she left with Dylan and Silas.
All of that would have been enough to do my head in, but it only got worse. I dreamed about Lina. About Nell. About both of them. They kept morphing into each other in my dream, and I couldn’t keep up with who was who. I dreamed of that last fight that Lina and I had, when she ended things for good. Only I had the fight with Nell, and then Lina showed up, and everyone was fighting with everyone, and I woke up pissed and confused and hard.
Even in the second half of the game, I played better, but my head still wasn’t quite my own. It doesn’t help when I exit the locker room with Brookes, just behind McClain and Moore, and we watch them reunite with their waiting girlfriends. They stand there holding each other as we approach, and there’s a sting of something that might be envy in my gut.
Lina never much liked football. She came to my games, but she didn’t think it was smart of me to pin my entire future on a sport where I could be injured or replaced or just plain not good enough. She was fond of calling it a hobby, not a career. And as much as I loved her, I loved football, too. And in the end, I chose the sport over her one too many times.
Needing a distraction, I look over at Brookes and say, “You need a hug, Isaiah? I could hold you if that would help.”
McClain gives me the finger. Moore actually pauses from kissing Dylan long enough to say, “Fuck off, Torres.”
I smile, feeling a little more normal, not to mention pleased when the couples end their affectionate hellos.
Dylan says to Silas, “Dallas is going to drop me off at home to get some things and my car, but then I’ll head over to your place?”
“I’ll be there,” he answers.
“Me, too,” I say, and Dylan gives me a patient smile.
“I’ll see you, too.”
Moore lifts his chin to McClain and says, “You and Dallas are welcome to join. It’ll just be us. Low-key. Just some TV or something, and Dylan said she’d cook.”
Dallas says, “Sure. I think we’d like that.”
“Don’t expect too much,” Dylan says. “I get by, but Antonella’s the real cook in our house.”
My chest tightens at her name, and the words are out of my mouth before I can help them. “You should bring her with you.”
Dylan gives me a searching look, but she doesn’t make any more speeches, nor does she tell the group about my little infatuation.
“I’ll ask.”
Then thoughts of Nell consume me on my drive home, and the whole time Silas, Isaiah, and I spend tidying up the apartment before everyone’s arrival. Will she avoid me? Ignore me? What will I have to say to get her to open up to me again? It won’t be easy. There will be too many people around, and she’s shy, but I’ve got to figure out some way to talk to her. I’m not okay with leaving things the way they were last night, and if I’m honest, I definitely don’t want a few minutes in a pool to be it between us. I need more time. Right now, she hasn’t blocked out Lina like I planned. Instead, she’s just stirred up even more memories, and I can’t live like this. It will keep messing with my head until I crash and burn. Or worse . . . until I call Lina. Something I haven’t allowed myself to do in nearly a year now. Because as good as it always felt to hear her voice, the stilted conversation, the space between us, was a knife to the chest. And I spent too damn long being a masochist over her.
Nell is supposed to end that. She has to end it.
Just as we finish cleaning up the living room, Silas gets a call from Dylan, and I listen in to his side of the conversation.
“Hey . . . Oh. Okay . . . Yeah, I’ll call McClain and tell him . . . It’s fine, Dylan. Really. Is she okay?”
She? Who is she? Nell?
“No,” Silas continues. “I’ll be fine alone.” Even I can hear the disappointment in his voice, which is why I’m guessing there’s a longer gap as Silas listens to whatever Dylan is saying. “You’re sure? If you need to just be with her—” He gets cut off. “You’re sure? We won’t just get in the way?” He pauses and then nods. “Okay, I’ll be there in ten.”