Broken Play

by Tracey Ward

  Nothing. Honest answer. There’s nothing special about him. He’s hot. He’s sweet. He’s smart. But so are a lot of guys. The truth is, I don’t think I’m going to lose what I want. Not really. That’s worst case scenario. That’s like Dubai type shit. I don’t really believe for a second that we’re going to get caught and that means Tyus won’t lose his position and I won’t lose my dream. We’ll get to fuck, we’ll have fun, and everything will be fine. And who knows? Maybe we’ll do more than fuck. This could be something new and exciting for me. Maybe it could go somewhere good, if I can let it. And I’m going to try. That’s all I can do. It’s all I can promise anyone about anything.

  I will try to be better than I actually am.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  TYUS

  November 13th

  Charles Windt Stadium

  Los Angeles, CA

  My first game back and we blew them out. Kodiaks twenty-eight. Bears six.

  Fuck Chicago.

  It’s a hell of feeling being back on the team. Most people would say I was never off it, but they weren’t sitting on the bench with me so what the hell do they know? My stats are rising again. The fair weather fans who dropped me from their fantasy football teams are kicking themselves after a game like today. I took seven receptions, ran in a touchdown, and totaled eighty yards.

  Today was a good day.

  I feel it as I walk the tunnel with my boys, despite the headache that’s been growing all morning. We’re shouting our fight song, letting it echo off the walls leading us home to the locker rooms, and I never want it to end. I want to feel like this, like I’m alive, for the rest of my life.

  It’s almost exactly the way I feel when I’m kissing Mila. Like I’m electric.

  “Tyus!” Harper calls after me.

  I look back to find her pushing through the edge of the crowd that’s followed us down the tunnel. Luxe is there on the fringe. She looks at me through the sea of people passing by, but I can’t read her expression. It isn’t happy, that’s all I know. She’s irritated or angry or worried. Maybe scared. Before I can figure her out, she disappears into the thick of the crowd as the guys push down the tunnel to the locker room. Harper finds her way to me easily. I heard she did a documentary in the jungle somewhere about child soldiers and shit. That girl is not afraid to shove a linebacker twice her size out of her way.

  “Hey, can we steal you for a minute?!” she shouts over the noise.

  “Why?!”

  She gives me an impatient look. “To interview you!”

  “I have to, right?! It’s in my contract?!”

  “I don’t know your contract but I’m asking nicely! How’s that?!”

  I nod, sick of shouting.

  “Great!” she replies. “We’ll meet you in the conference in twenty after you shower?!”

  “Yeah.”

  “And, Tyus, hey. Please don’t talk to any reporters before you talk to us, okay?! We want you fresh for the documentary! It’s worthless if it looks rehearsed!”

  “Trust me. I’m not talking to anyone I don’t have to.”

  She smirks knowingly. “I definitely trust that that’s true. See you in twenty.”

  I’m at the door to the conference room in fifteen. I could go in early but it’s the first time I’ve been alone all day and I decide to take advantage of it.

  I’m dying to text Mila.

  We ended up driving and talking all night. I was going to take her into L.A. for dinner, but once we got it going, the conversation just kept flowing and we agreed we weren’t in the mood for anything fancy. We swung through the drive-thru at Wendy’s because it was safe. We couldn’t be seen. Then drove out toward the ocean eating French fries dipped in Frosties and talking about our childhoods. She glossed over a lot of it, I could tell. She’s afraid to let me know just how wild she used to be but she doesn’t need to worry. I’m not looking at her past. I’m looking at her right here and now, and I like what I see. She has an energy that makes me feel excited just to be near her.

  The drive up the coast is one of my favorite things to do when I have down time. Just cruise. No rush, no hurry. Colt and Matthews, they have their hot rods that they tear up the streets in, but when I’m off the field, I’m done going fast. I’ve been running my whole life. Hurrying to school. Rushing to practice. Chasing that end zone. That finish line. When I’m in my Maybach, that’s when I go slow. I sink into her plush, handstitched Napa leather molding to me and caressing my body like a lover, and I’m home. I’m ready to take it easy for the first time all day because a beauty like this, she should be enjoyed. She should be driven up the coast at sunset with the late light gleaming off her body cruising the road like a jet about to take off for the stars, slick as sex.

  That’s my girl. That’s my slowdown.

  It felt good to share it with Mila.

  I text her, because I know she hates it, u up?

  Eat your own dick, she hits back immediately

  I laugh in the empty hallway. You watch the game?

  Is the Pope Catholic?

  I’m not sure this new one is. He’s too chill.

  I don’t even know who the pope is now. Hugh Grant? Is he Italian? Wait! Is the Pope Italian?

  Something like that. Where you at?

  Skybox. Daddy just railed Anders for forgetting his Nicorette. Shit’s real tense here. Where are you? You wanna meet in a bathroom and fuck?

  I laugh out loud, surprising myself in the quiet hallway. My own voice rings loud in my ears. It makes my head hurt worse than before.

  Sorry, she texts immediately after. I forgot. We’re Mormon dating. No sex.

  This how you’re gonna be today? A pain in the ass.

  I’d let you be a literal pain in my ass. You get it?

  I get it.

  I’d let you fuck me in the ass. You know, if you weren’t Mormon.

  I’m not fuckin’ Mormon.

  You’re not fuckin’ anyone as far as I can tell.

  I chuckle, shaking my head. Let me know when you’re done.

  What are you doing? Where are you?

  Admin. Confessional time.

  With Hugh Grant?

  I hope not.

  The Road to the Ring doc?

  Yeah.

  Tell Harper hey for me. I like her. She’s hot.

  I smile at the thought of Harper and Mila in the same room. She is hot, they both are, but when I imagine them I can’t separate Matthews from Harper and just as quick as it got started, the fantasy flares out and dies. Too many dicks in the kitchen.

  Can I see you later? I ask Mila.

  She replies with a winking face, If you’re lucky.

  Just as I’m about to step into the conference room for my confessional, Sloane steps out of the elevator. She’s dressed for work in black slacks, a Kodiak yellow blouse, and a black blazer. She smiles when she sees me.

  “Tyus, what’s up?”

  “I was gonna ask you the same thing,” I say with a slow smile, stowing my phone. “What are you doin’ still here? Waitin’ on your man?”

  “No. My man is already out the door. His parents are flying in to spend a couple of weeks with us over Thanksgiving. He had to go pick them up.”

  “Why didn’t they fly in before the game?”

  “Because Trey is paying and a later flight was cheaper.”

  I snort. “They know what his contract looks like, right?”

  “He’s tried to tell them, but old habits die hard. You grow up without money, it’s hard to wrap your head around suddenly having it.”

  “I hear that.”

  “So what about you?” She settles herself against the wall next to me. “What are you doing up here with all the suits? You should be at the bar with Colt getting a drink. You kicked ass today.”

  “I gotta do an interview first.”

  Sloane eyes the door across from us. “The documentary?”

  “Yeah. They cornered me.”

  “Harper is fast bu
t I thought you were faster.”

  “I had my guard down after the win. I wasn’t ready to run.”

  “You should always be ready to run. It’s your job.”

  “What’s yours today? You look like a lawyer.”

  She groans. “That’s cold, even for you.”

  I eye her closely. “How many times do I have to ask before you’re gonna answer me?”

  Sloane pauses, meeting my eyes without regret. “One more, I think.”

  “What are you doing up here Sloane?”

  “I’m negotiating a contract for Demarcus Sawyer.”

  I exhale sharply, my gut twisting. My temples throbbing. “Really?”

  “If it all goes well, he’s starting next year. He’ll be their new wide receiver.”

  “He’ll ‘start’ as in…?”

  She shakes her head. “I don’t know, Tyus. Probably as in ‘first string’. Ramsey obviously can’t handle it.”

  “And I won’t be here,” I add coolly.

  “I hope you are. I really do.”

  “But just in case I’m not, you gotta take care of yours, right?”

  “Isn’t that what we all have to do?”

  The door opens to the conference room. Sean, the documentary crew’s cameraman, pops his head out. He glances between Sloane and I quickly. It only takes a second for him to feel the vibe between us, and it’s weird. He nods to me briskly. “We’re ready when you are, man.”

  “Give me one minute?”

  “You got it.”

  When he’s gone, Sloane says, “You’re angry.”

  “I’m not,” I lie. At least I think I’m lying. I’m honestly not sure what I’m feeling. That’s my normal lately; muddled.

  “We’re friends. Don’t do this.”

  “Do what?”

  She looks me dead in the eyes. “Don’t lie to me. If you’re angry at me, be angry at me to my face. I don’t make friends with women because I can’t do the behind-your-back shit. Tell me what you’re going to tell Colt about me later. Say it to me so we can be real and still be close when the day is over.”

  I take a deep breath. I exhale slowly. “I’m not angry, Sloane,” I promise her. “I get it. It’s the game. It’s how it goes. I wish it wasn’t you doing it, but it has to be done, and I won’t come at you for looking out for your guy. I would want Darren to do the same for me.”

  “I wish it wasn’t me too,” she admits sadly. “I don’t like what’s happening to you and I don’t want any part of it.”

  “But it’s the game,” I repeat.

  She nods once. “It’s the game.”

  We stand in silence for a minute, neither of us ready to leave the other.

  I like Sloane. She’s good to Trey, she takes care of Colt’s career, and she’s loyal. She’s real. That’s why I’m trying real hard not to hate her right now. It’s not her fault. I know that. She wouldn’t be a good agent if she wasn’t willing to make every opportunity for her client. The world needs more women like her, and I respect the fuck out of her for all that she does in this industry that doesn’t welcome females the way it should. Her friendship and her opinion matter to me.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  She chuckles mutedly. “Are you going to ask me to bomb this negotiation.”

  “Would you if I did?”

  “Never.”

  “Then, no. I’m not.”

  “What do you want to know?” she asks seriously.

  I bite my lips together between my teeth tightly. “Do you think Ramsey and I are dividing the team?”

  “The fight,” she muses knowingly. “I heard. How’s the hand?”

  “You saw the game, right?”

  “It was incredible.”

  “So’s the hand.”

  “Right. Of course. And to answer your question, no. I don’t think you’re dividing the team. This stuff happens all the time. It’s no one’s fault. Coach Allen has to make tough decisions for the good of the team, and right now, you’re definitely what’s good for the team.” She looks at me with an affectionate smile. “More people love you than Ramsey. More people are rooting for you. Don’t sweat it. Enjoy it, because next year everything will be different. It always is.”

  “Right. Cause next year it won’t be Ramsey on my ass. It’ll be Demarcus.”

  Sloane laughs, lifting herself off the wall. “Probably.”

  I open my arms to her. She walks into the hug without hesitation, squeezing me tightly.

  “You were dazzling out there today,” she whispers to me. “It was good to see you shine again.”

  I nod as I let her go. She casts me a small smile before heading down the hall to her meeting.

  When I walk into the conference room, it immediately hits me how hot it is. It’s stifling. The room is big but it’s shrunken down by the mass of equipment they have set up. Extra lights beam down on the plain, metal chair parked near the wall. They’ve hung a backdrop, the same one they use for all of the interviews to keep them cohesive. It’s gray with the Kodiaks yellow and orange logo repeated in varying sizes. I imagine over on the east coast the other half of the crew has a Patriots backdrop set up exactly the same way. We’re two sides of the same coin that everyone is hoping will come together for the championship showdown in February.

  “Tyus, can I get you into the seat for a lighting check?” Sean asks brusquely. His eyes are already on the monitors, his hand loosely holding a light meter.

  “Whatever you need.”

  I take the seat. It’s warm from the lights and I immediately feel hot even though I’m only wearing a T-shirt. My eyes burn under the glare. My temple starts to throb again.

  Harper leans against the wall to my right. She smiles when our eyes meet. “How are you doing, Tyus?”

  “I’m good. You?”

  “Great. You guys are giving us a lot of good stuff to work with lately.”

  I smile. “Happy to help.”

  “You know what would really help me out?”

  “What’s that?”

  “If you talked about your walk-out.”

  I maintain my smile, but inside I’m sinking. I knew this was coming. Darren kept them away as long as he could, but this was bound to happen eventually. They’re documenting our road to the Super Bowl, and my walk out two weeks ago was a huge sightseeing opportunity. Bigger than the world’s biggest ball of twine. You pull over for this shit. No doubt.

  “Pass,” I tell her evenly.

  She smiles. “Kurtis said you’d say that.”

  “I learned it from him.”

  “He’s the shut-out king.”

  “Tell me how the hell that works with you two? Your whole life is about asking questions and he’s sealed up tighter than King Tut’s asshole, so how do you not kill each other?”

  Harper laughs. “We focus on what we have in common, not on what we can’t stand about each other. We look for the good stuff, like Catch Phrase.”

  “What the fuck is Catch Phrase?”

  “It’s a party game,” Sean mutters. “They’re both really good at it. It’s irritating.”

  “Don’t play if you don’t like it,” Harper tells him.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Sean stands up straight, giving us a thumbs up. “We’re good. Ready when you guys are.”

  Harper raises her eyebrows at me. “Are you all set?”

  “Tell me what I’m talking about?”

  “How about today’s game? How did it feel to be back?”

  I shake my head sharply. “I don’t want to talk about it like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like I was gone. I’m not talking about Ramsey and the walk-out. None of that shit.”

  “So Ramsey was the reason you walked out?”

  “No. Not all of it.”

  “Was it also about your injury? The back spasms?”

  “No.”

  “How has the team reacted to the conflict between you and Ramsey? Are they w
orried?”

  “No.”

  “Have you talked to any of them about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Are you not close with the men on the team?”

  “They’re my fuckin’ family,” I snap, my temper getting the best of me. I glance at the camera. The red light is on. They’re recording. “You can’t use any of this.”

  She looks at me patiently. “You’re on the record the second you come through the door. We’ve talked about this.”

  “You can’t use it,” I pronounce carefully.

  Harper doesn’t flinch. “It’s just a warm up, Tyus. None of it will go in the documentary. I need a confessional style recording from you. Not an interview.”

  “But the NFL owns the tapes, right? They can use it for whatever they want?”

  “Right.”

  I swear under my breath, shifting in my seat.

  Harper frowns. She can see me getting angry and the last thing she wants is for me to ditch the whole thing and run. It took two weeks to get me here today. I’ll make them wait a month if I leave without finishing, and I don’t care how much money the league fines me for it.

  “Let’s shift gears,” she suggests.

  “To what?”

  “Today. Tell us how you feel the team did and what it means for your chances of making it to the Super Bowl this year.”

  Harper grills me for an hour. She’s making up for lost time. I’m supposed to do one of these every couple weeks but it’s been a month since I’ve sat here. I was dodging them before my walk-out, but after that, I ghosted them as hard as I could. This is my punishment. This confessional is my penance.

  When I’m done, I leave without much of a goodbye. It’s rude but I’m exhausted and the lights in my eyes have given me a crushing headache. The hallway feels mercifully cool when I get outside and I take a second to stand there with my eyes closed and my hand on the wall to steady myself. I feel sick. I might vomit. I’m wondering if I should go to medical and ask Luxe for something for the pain, but she’s already looking at me funny like she knows something she shouldn’t, so I don’t bother. I’ll take care of it myself. It’s only an hour drive home from here. How hard can that be?