Downed (Gridiron #3)

by Jen Frederick

  “Any day now. Some schools have rolling admissions.” Zane tilts his ass to the side and pulls out his phone. “Can you have a look at her Pinterest account? I'm trying to figure out what ring to buy.”

  “I'd love to.” She grabs the phone and starts scrolling through what appear like a thousand photos of dresses, ribbons, and yeah, diamond rings.

  “Dude, I think you should wait until you see what your signing bonus is,” Carter advises. “You could buy a real rock then.”

  “I don't want to wait.” Zane juts his chin. “She's going to be surrounded by all those asshole doctor wannabes. She needs to have a ring on her finger before she goes. Contracts won't be signed until the fall.”

  “So? Once you get drafted, you can get a loan for megabucks.”

  Zane frowns. “You know I’m not getting drafted. Besides, I've been saving up.”

  Bryant shoves the phone back toward Zane, probably to forestall a fight. “I like this one.”

  We all squint at it. Zane's unconvinced. “I dunno, Bryant. These are small. You can see her mom’s ring from space.”

  “Her daddy's a surgeon, Zane. Mae doesn't want a rock. She wants you.” Bryant taps her finger on the screen. “This is beautiful, and she's pinned it so you know she likes it.”

  “She's pinned other ones, too.”

  “I'm saying you should wait,” Carter says. He, too, thinks the ring's too small.

  “Dude, there’s no chance of me going pro. We’ve talked about this before,” Zane says.

  Bryant whistles and forms a T with her hands. “No talk of draft at the table. What ya'll doing for Christmas? Going home?”

  We get all of five days off for Christmas because playoffs start January 1. We need to be back here, practicing.

  Carter makes face. “I've got a fucking project due that the prof gave me extra time to complete. I hate those group projects.”

  Bryant makes a tsking noise before turning her attention to Zane, who's still looking at his girlfriend's Pinterest account. I feel a tug of sympathy for him. He’s looking increasingly desperate to hang on to his girl. The tether between Bryant and me feels more tenuous every day.

  “What about you, Ace?”

  “I'm not sure,” I admit. “Dad wants me to come to Boston, but I need to see Mom.” I give Bryant a speculative look. Would she come with me? I'd like her to meet my mom.

  I warm to the idea, but before I can open my mouth and suggest it, Carter's phone beeps. As he reads the text, all the color drains from his face.

  “Dammit.” He stabs his finger onto the screen. Whoever he calls picks up right away. “No. I don't have that information yet. I told you that I'd get it for you when I was good and ready, so stop fucking texting me already,” he snarls into the phone. He hangs up and turns the phone face down.

  “Problem?” I ask lightly. But inwardly, I'm connecting a few suspicious dots. After the first game, my dad hadn't pressed me about team decisions again, but he still was flush with cash. I'd thought it was Julio feeding him information, but had I pegged it all wrong and it was Carter instead?

  I set my utensils down by the sides of my plate. What am I supposed to do with this information? I could accuse Carter, but he'd deny it. I have no proof.

  A soft touch on my hand grabs my attention.

  “Everything all right?” Bryant asks quietly.

  It's a question meant for me, but Carter answers it. “It's fine. School shit.” He cuts off a huge piece of pork and shoves it into his mouth. Zane's still staring at his girlfriend's Pinterest account as if he thinks the ring is going to magically appear in front of the screen.

  All at once, every phone in the room chimes. We exchange puzzled glances and then read the text.

  “Senior meeting. Fieldhouse. ASAP,” Zane reads.

  “Mine, too,” Carter says.

  My text message reads the very same. An emergency meeting? That can't be good.

  “Bryant, everything okay with your family?” The only thing I can imagine that would constitute an immediate emergency is if Coach is sick.

  Panic flares in her eyes. She jumps up from the table. “I'm coming with you.”

  I grab a set of keys and we all hustle out the door. We take Carter's SUV because my truck only seats three at the most.

  We aren't the first ones to arrive at the Fieldhouse. The locker room is already occupied by about twelve seniors.

  Coach Nelson, the special teams coach, places his arm across the door, blocking our way inside. “I'm sorry, Bryant. This is a team-only meeting.”

  A little furrow appears between her eyebrows. “But...”

  He shakes his head. “Your daddy's orders. Why don't you go down the hall and wait in the coaches' lounge?”

  Bryant looks forlorn as the door closes in her face.

  I walk straight to Ty. “You know what this is about?”

  He’s sitting in the metal chair in front of his locker, tossing his phone between his hands. “No clue.”

  From the confusion and anxiety on everyone's faces, it appears no one has a clue. The position coaches take their leaving after the arrival of the last two stragglers, Samson and Roberts, the backup left tackle.

  Travarius stands on his chair. “I've called all of you together to let you know what to buy me for Christmas. I want a pair of those limited edition Michael Jordan sneaks in the black with the red trim and gold bottoms. I wear a size fourteen for all you jerkwads who can't remember.”

  A hail of jockstraps gets thrown in his direction.

  “Did you really call this meeting, Daly?” Ty scowls.

  “Nah, but you all look like such sad clowns, I figured I'd try to lighten the mood.” He jumps down from his chair. “Probably Coach wanting the seniors to get together to give us a little pep speech about how awesome we are.”

  I sneak a look toward Carter who's busy typing furiously on his phone. The tight mass in my stomach tells me Coach didn't call us for a meeting here for funsies.

  The doors to the locker room open again and this time it's Coach Johnson. The lines around his eyes are deep and the tight pucker of his lips tells me nothing good is going to be coming out of Coach's mouth. Not any pep speech. Not any awards or commendations. Not even his own Christmas list.

  He strides to the middle of the room and clasps his hands behind his back.

  “Today I received a call from Miles Baroni. For those of you unfamiliar with Renegades history, Baroni was a halfback who graduated seven years ago. He has since gone on to a successful career as a regulatory official for the state of Nevada.”

  A murmur of “what the hell” and “shit, Vegas” sprinkle across the room. My gaze slides toward Carter again. His arms are crossed, a defiant expression on his face.

  Coach continues, “He has noticed a pattern of small dollar bets on a number of side statistics, such as how many pass plays an offense will call versus a run. As you all know, we script the first fifteen plays and so do at least eight other teams in our division. While the bets themselves are small—a few hundred each—the volume is making the numbers guys in Vegas sit up and take notice.”

  My mind skips back to Julio. I thought it was him, but, hell, maybe it’s both Julio and Carter. But if it’s them, isn’t it just as much my fault for bringing my dad here? Guilt coats my mouth with acid.

  “I denied that there was any leak or wrongdoing on our end. Baroni isn't going to tell anyone, but if this continues he’s not sure that it won't be noticed by people who have bigger mouths than him.” Coach takes a deep breath and spears each of us with a look of disappointment. “I'm going back to my office. The door will be open for the next twenty-four hours. If you’ve got something to share, then do it now. We get in ahead of this, we’ve still a chance to make the playoffs. If not, we’ve played the last game of the season on Saturday. You’re all seniors here. I ask you, is this the way you want to go out?”

  He gives us a short nod and walks out of the locker room, leaving a silent, grim tomb
inside. I resist the urge to fidget. Or worse—vomit out all the details of my dad's endless greed. While I didn't give him the information, I'm connected to him. And there's no doubt that the stain of his actions will turn me from accepted teammate to outcast.

  I've been there once, and it fucking sucks.

  Ty gets up and locks the doors. Samson takes up space next to him.

  “Anyone have anything to say?”

  “I think it’s that Julio kid,” Travarius pipes up. “He’s always talking about how he needs to make the pros to take care of his family, but somehow his old man is at every game.”

  I stare at the carpet between my feet. I’ve played for four years. I’ve won two championships. These guys haven’t won even one. Julio’s at the start of his career; I’m at the end. I can’t play in the pros as a quarterback. No matter how bad I want that, my physical skills aren’t there. My whole life, I’ve been a selfish little prick.

  I could blame it on the fact that my dad was one or that my mom reminded me on a daily basis that my apple didn’t fall far from my dad’s tree, but, really, I made the choice to be solitary, aloof, and guarded. I wasn’t a good team player in a sport that demands it. I should’ve been a fucking golfer.

  I clear my throat.

  “Got something to say, Anderson?” Carter barks. “I saw you with your old man and Bubba Wasserly at the beginning of the season. You were looking cozy.”

  Every set of eyes swings in my direction. “Fuck you.” Carter makes me so goddamned mad. He’s been on my ass since I arrived. He makes snide comments about stealing Bryant from me, and now has the gall to accuse me of betraying this team? All ideas of confession are overcome with rage. “What about the phone call you fielded? And borrowing cash from Zane? Sounds like you might have a problem. Is it the horses or going up your nose?”

  Carter rushes at me. There’s a fist in my face before I can blink. I swing back and feel bone hit bone. He staggers but recovers quickly, driving a shoulder into my gut. We crash to the floor. The wide receiver’s fist moves fast, but I’ve got good reflexes, and I outweigh him by about twenty pounds. We roll over, grappling for leverage.

  “It was me!” Zane screams. “I sold out. I needed the money for Mae's ring!”

  I pause, a fist in the air.

  Carter and I stare at each other in shock. Someone—I think it’s Samson—pulls me off and sets me upright.

  Zane’s face is in his hands. His shoulders are shaking. The locker room is almost never quiet. There’s always music playing, guys talking, televisions on. In this moment, there’s nothing but dead air.

  Carter looks at his roommate with a face full of anger and betrayal, none of which Zane sees. His eyes are pinned to the floor. His personal shame is keeping his eyes cast downward. I glance toward Ty, waiting for him to reassure Carter that everything’s going to be okay, but our team captain’s fists are bunched at his side. He wants to kill Zane. Ty believes his championship is swirling down the drain. A quick survey of the room reveals that just about everyone feels the same way.

  “I swear, I never affected the outcome of the game,” Zane says brokenly.

  “I can’t even look at you, man,” Samson says in disgust. He turns away from Zane, and one by one, the rest of his teammates do the same until Zane’s standing in the middle of the room staring at a room full of backs. Except for me. I’m still facing him so I see how the sudden ostracization cuts him like a thousand sharp knives.

  I take a deep, painful breath. I know how he feels.

  “Carter?” he asks, voice small like a little boy’s.

  “I got nothing to say to you, man,” Carter snaps.

  Zane’s shoulders hang so low, he looks like he’s lost about four inches in height. I don’t remember seeing a man look so broken. Sympathy replaces all my anger. Pushing a few guys aside, I make my way to Zane and place a hand under his elbow. “Coach said his door is open. Let’s go talk to him.”

  “I played hard. I never dropped a ball on purpose,” Zane babbles. “This was penny ante shit, you know? Stuff wasn’t going to change if some gambler knew about it.”

  I don’t have a good response so I remain silent as we walk toward Coach’s office. Outside the coach’s door, Bryant’s sitting on one of the sofas, flipping through a Sports Illustrated. Her eyes widen at the sight of Zane. She begins to rise, as if to come over and say something, but I give a terse shake of my head.

  She lowers herself while I knock. The door opens immediately. Coach’s face is tired but kind as he draws Zane inside and closes the door.

  “Zane?” Bryant says in a hushed voice.

  I join her at the sofa. “Yeah. He wanted to buy Mae a nice diamond for their engagement.”

  Bryant’s expression crumples. I shove her face into my shoulder and hold her while she cries. My throat feels raw. I’d like to bawl, too. It’s tragic, all right. Our season could be over. Zane’s definitely is. I have no idea if that means his relationship with Mae is over as well.

  “I thought it was Carter or Julio,” I admit. “Carter thought it was me. My dad asked me for insider information, but I told him to fuck off. Carter saw us—Dad and me and that Wasserly character—and assumed I was the one who’d sold us out.”

  “Oh, Ace.” She strokes my chest. “Did you set them straight?”

  “Zane did that.” I rest my chin on the top of her head. “What will your dad do to him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  A few moments later, Ty appears. Soon after, the rest of the seniors, minus Carter, come and camp out in front of Coach’s office.

  “You did a stand up thing back there, supporting Zane,” Ty says, reaching out for my hand. “Better than the rest of us. Showed us what a true teammate is like.”

  Samson, Travarius, and the others join Ty in thanking me. Bryant watches all of this with wonderment. A half hour later, Zane appears in the doorway. We all get to our feet.

  His eyes are red. He wrings his hands as he addresses us. “I’m leaving the team.” He gulps. “I’m sorry for letting you all down.”

  No one knows what to say, and in the face of the silence, Zane’s composure breaks. The dude’s on the verge of losing it, and I don’t think he would be able to live with himself if he does. I get up. “Let’s go, Zane.” I wave a hand toward the sofa. “Bryant, let’s take our boy home.”

  When we arrive at the apartment, Zane goes straight to his room.

  “Do you need anything?” I ask, placing a hand on his door so he can’t close it.

  “Why are you being so nice?” he asks in bewilderment.

  “I know what it’s like to feel alone on a team that you thought was your family.”

  “I may have ruined the season for you. Don’t you care?”

  “Shunning you doesn’t make the problem go away. Besides, I think leaving the team is the biggest punishment there is.”

  Zane can’t deny that. I leave him to make peace with himself, and, hopefully, Mae. Bryant has closeted herself in my bedroom. She sits on the desk chair, looking like the saddest angel alive. I crouch down in front of her.

  “Zane’s going to be all right. This isn’t the end of the world.”

  She sucks in her lips and tears shimmer in her eyes.

  “It’s not Zane I’m thinking about,” she admits.

  “What then?” I brush some of her hair to the side, tucking it behind her ear.

  She gives me a watery smile. “I think we’re done.”

  “Done with what?” I ask slowly, not comprehending her.

  “Done with us.” She waves a finger between her chest and mine. “You don’t need me anymore.”

  I drop my hand to brace myself on the ground so I don’t fall on my ass. I stare at her for one long moment, then say, “The hell I don’t.”

  25

  Bryant

  “Did you see your team back there? You impressed the sugar out of them!” I exclaim, hand over my pounding heart. The drumbeat’s so fierce that it surprise
s me Ace can’t hear it.

  He looks pissed. “What does one have to do with the other?”

  I swallow back my tears and summon up a cheery smile. “You’re not alone anymore. Your team is completely behind you. It took a lot of courage to stick up for Zane, and each one of those seniors saw that. You could lose every playoff game, and you’d still be hailed as their brother for the rest of your life.”

  “One plus one doesn’t equal twenty-five here. Even if any of this sh-sugar you’re saying is true, that doesn’t have anything to do with us.” He tosses his keys and wallet onto the desk and takes a step toward me, which is far too close for my comfort. There’s only about three feet distance between us, and I know from past experience that the minute he lays hands on me, I’ll be a goner.

  I sidle along the edge of the desk, looking for a way to escape. All the while, Ace is frowning and watching me like I’m a curious bug he can’t quite figure out.

  “There’s no us,” I try to explain. Panic’s fluttering like crazy in my breastbone.

  He laughs at me. He just busts out a chuckle, the furrows in his forehead replaced by laugh lines around his gorgeous eyes.

  “What are you laughing about?” I ask angrily.

  His chuckles trail off, but he doesn’t stop smiling. “How scared are you right now?”

  I wipe my hands on my legs. “I’m not scared. I’m just being honest. Honey, you knew that this was temporary. You were my,” I force the words out, “my project.”

  His smile disappears, replaced by a darker, more ominous expression. He advances, and I retreat, but I’ve nowhere to go. My bottom hits the back of his desk, and he still doesn’t stop, not until he’s chest to breast with me. The silk of my red blouse does little to hide my physical response as my nipples poke aggressively against him.

  Two large hands slam down on either side of my hips. “If you’re not scared, then prove it.”

  “I don’t have to prove anything,” I squawk.

  “Yeah, you do. If not to me, then yourself.”