I rub my lips together, unsure of how to respond. Daddy hadn’t talked about Ginny like this in—well, never.
“I know that,” I say. Because intellectually, I do understand that Ginny’s mental pain was what drove her to take her own life, but my heart still yearns for her.
“The thing is, Bryant, nothing you could do would’ve changed Ginny’s outcome. You can only affect your path. Right now, I’m worried about you.”
I jerk my head around to stare at him in surprise. “Why’re you worried about me? I’m not like Ginny.”
He gives me sad smile. “No, you’re like her. You’ve got a big, big heart just like her. And like her, you’re a little scared of living.”
My chin juts out in irritation. “I’m not scared of living. Why would you even say anything like that?”
“Because living includes experiencing loss. Ginny hurt you bad, and you want to do everything in your power to prevent suffering that kind of pain again. But by keeping everybody at arm’s distance, using your charm as a shield, you’re never going to really experience the joys of life.”
He hauls me against his side. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t miss your sister, but I wouldn’t trade those nineteen years with her in exchange for not suffering because she died. The loss makes those times we spent together all the more valuable.” He kisses the top of my head and then steps away. “As much as I’d like to string that Thad boy up by his nuts, he’s not responsible for Ginny’s decision, either. One broken heart didn’t end her and it won’t be the end of you, either, Bryant. Not you. You’re hardier than a kudzu vine. Now, you skedaddle. I gotta practice my half-time speech.”
“Really, Daddy, you’re comparing me to a cursed weed?”
My father merely laughs. “You know it’s true, Cub. You’re hardy and strong. Start remembering that.”
“Yessir,” I sigh and slip out of his office.
His words shake me. I leave the Fieldhouse to go sit in my car. Maybe some girls would be offended that their daddies compared them to one of the most hated weeds in the country, but I got his point. The kudzu grows everywhere. It’s unstoppable. Along the roadsides, there are ditches blanketed in the green growth. You couldn’t kill it if you wanted to.
A foolish notion creeps into my head and takes over. I drive to the Chi Zeta house to hunt down Greg Betton, whom I dated in the fall of my junior year. He was project number four. Greg was known for two things: his engineering genius and being the type of guy that seduced girls, bedded them, and promptly dumped them.
The irony that Greg was Chi Zeta didn’t escape me when I started seeing him. After all, Thaddeus Larson was a Chi Zeta.
After Greg and I parted ways, I introduced him to Everly Fleming. He’d had his eye on her during most of the time that we’d been hanging out, so I coordinated a meet-n-greet. The last I’d heard, they were in love and talking about making post-college plans together. Honestly, though, I hadn’t seen Greg in at least a year, but I’m seeking him out now because Greg will know where Thad is. What I’ll do with that information—whether I’ll go and cuss Thad out or forgive him—I’m not entirely sure. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
I park in the driveway of the Chi Zeta house and walk across the patchy grass, careful to avoid knocking over the stone hawk that serves as their house mascot of sorts. I skirt a mess of red plastic cups and make my way up the stairs. A young freshman opens the door before I can knock. He gives me an insolent onceover before saying, “A little early for smash and dash, isn’t it?”
Smash and dash? This whole house is a cesspool. “Son, were you raised in a barn? What in the world gives you the idea that any girl would want to see your twig and berries?” I push him aside. “Where’s Greg Betton?”
The freshman frowns. He might’ve said something more insulting to me, but Greg appears at the top of the stairs. “Is that you, Bryant Johnson?”
I shoot a dark glare in the direction of the young man before charging up the stairs. “It is.” Good manners dictate that I engage in some meaningless small talk with Greg, but I’m too agitated to do so. “I was wondering if you could help me out.”
Greg smiles at me. “Sure thing. What is it that you need?”
“I just need a phone number—Thad Larson. You keep in touch with him, right?” When he nods, I hurry on. “Do you have it on your phone? You could just send to me.”
“Thad’s over in Nashville, working for some food supply company. Hold on while I go get it.” He turns and ambles down the hall. “We going to win on Monday?” he throws over his shoulder.
“Of course. How’s Everly these days?”
He shrugs, then flicks open his door and gestures for me to enter. It all looks familiar—the double bed, the desk with the brass lamp he bragged came from the Tennessee State House, the fake fur rug. “Everly and I didn’t work out.”
“Oh no,” I exclaim. “What happened?”
“We didn’t mesh,” he replies, digging through his messy desk drawer. How in the world does he keep track of anything in there? “Don’t worry about it. She’s dating some Sigma. Sounds like they’re going to get hitched.”
“Well, that’s good.” I frown, though, because Everly and Greg seemed perfect for each other.
Greg laughs. “You look baffled, Bryant. Sometimes, you’re wrong about people.”
“I know that,” I huff.
“Do you?” He holds out a piece of paper with some digits on it. “Because sometimes you believe people are chess pieces to be moved around in a way that suits you. Everly and I were never a good match, but you wanted us to be together so it happened.”
“I thought you two were really into each other.”
“We were into fucking around. That’s about it.” He waggles the paper which I take and tuck into my pocket. “Who’s the victim this semester?”
“Victim?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yeah, the poor sap you’re pretending to like so that he’ll do whatever it is you say to make you happy.”
His words are like a cold bucket of ice poured over my head. “Is that how you felt when we were dating?” I exclaim.
Greg laughs again, but it doesn’t sound like he finds my words particularly amusing. “Dating? We weren’t dating. I was your little semester project. Good thing I only wanted to get into your pants. If my heart had been involved, I’d have been toast.”
My jaw drops down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the fact that you’ve got a wall stronger than steel around that heart of yours.”
We stare at each other—me angry and him amused. Finally, he waves a negligent hand. “It doesn’t matter, Bryant. It’s all water under the bridge. Need anything else?”
I shut my mouth and give him a brief, terse shake of my head. “Thank you kindly, Greg.”
“No problem.” He sighs. “I’d stay away from Thad. He’s not a good use of your time. Not only will he expect you to sleep with him, but he doesn’t give a damn about anyone but himself.”
“I know that,” I say and stomp out of the house.
I have steel around my heart? I’m the softest person I know. I love everyone!
I’m in such an agitated state, I don’t pay attention to where I’m driving. I didn’t even realize I had a destination until the big stone pillars of the Angel’s Wings cemetery are smack in front of me.
Ginny must’ve called for me. It’s been weeks since I last visited her, I realize with a jolt. I drive through the archway until I reach the section where my precious sister is laid to rest. It’s a short climb up a hill to her gravesite. The blue-purple petals of the honeyworts I planted this fall kiss the white marble headstone.
“Hey, Ginny. I’m sorry I haven’t been by lately.” I take off my coat and throw it onto the grass so I have a place to sit down. I draw my jean-clad knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around my ankles. “I’ve been pre-occupied,” I explain. “The season is goi
ng really well. We’re undefeated and going into the playoffs. Daddy had a hiccup with the team. One of the players was feeding information about set plays to gamblers. That Bubba Wasserly was in on it. You remember him? All fat fingers and grabby hands.”
In my mind’s eye, Ginny’s pretty face screws up in disgust.
“Ace stood up for his teammate in a way that no one else did. It earned him a lot of respect. He’s turning out to be a real gem. He won’t need me much longer. We made a deal. I’ll stick it out with him until after the Championship. Then I’ll move on.” I clamp a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob, but it’s unnecessary. Out here amongst the gravestones, it’s considered normal to cry, so I let the tears fall, although I tell Ginny, “I don’t know why I’m crying. I mean, I’m sad, but I don’t know the exact reason why. Is it because I’m losing Ace? Both Daddy and Ace think I’m scared, but I’m not.”
The protest sounds hollow. Here, at Ginny’s grave, I find I can’t keep lying. It’s not right. She deserves more from me than platitudes and excuses and made up reasons for my silliness.
“I just learned that Greg Betton dated me last year because he wanted to sleep with me, and that he didn’t change like I’d thought.” I drop my head to my knees. “Seeing Greg made me realize something. These projects haven’t been about trying to save anyone. I’ve been lying to myself. I was using Greg. I was using all these boys. That’s why I’m so upset.
I’m no better than Thad or Greg. I picked these guys because I knew they were ones I’d never fall for. But I picked wrong with Ace, because I love him. And, Ginny,” I sob, “I’m so damned scared. I’m scared of losing him, and I’m scared of loving him. Tell me what to do.”
I sit there for hours, but she never says a word.
28
Ace
“Is Bryant unraveling or is it just me?” Ty asks during our pre-game stretching routine. I glance over to the sidelines and watch as Bryant runs from one end to the other, dropping her phone, tripping on the plastic sheeting, and running into a cameraman. All things highly uncharacteristic of the normally very put together Bryant Johnson.
And I don’t think it’s the pressure of the National Championship game that’s getting to her.
“No, she’s losing it,” I affirm.
“Did you guys fight again? I thought everything was cool after we kidnapped her.”
I exchange a look with my teammate, and we crack up.
“Because kidnapping girls is normal, right?” he adds.
“It was a form of extreme persuasion,” I quip.
Samson leans over. “You couldn’t close the deal? You got her off, right? I mean, we didn’t kidnap her for you so you could bake cookies together.” His voice lowers. “Should’ve worked your glutes like Zane—” He stops abruptly.
The grins that had stretched across Ty’s face and mine disappear. The price of making the gambling mess go away was excising Zane, who had been such a big part of the team that it feels like we’re missing a body part. Even if we win tonight—no, when we win, I mentally correct—it’ll be bittersweet. It’s important for all of us that we don’t concentrate on that, and if talking about my sorry love life keeps their minds off a distracting and troubling issue, then so be it.
“Bryant’s convinced herself that if we win the Championship I’ll have been ‘fixed’—whatever the hell that means—and won’t need her anymore. She’ll be free to go on to another quest.”
Ty’s eyes widen. “And you told her hell no, right?”
“Nope,” I say cheerfully. Both teammates’ jaws drop open. I lay back to stretch my quads. “Guys, she’s got to work this out in her head. I can’t keep kidnapping her.” I believe she’s going to find that inner steel at some point.
“Why not?” Samson asks. I think he’s only half-joking.
“Did you tell her you were going to announce for the draft as a defensive back? She loves this game," Travarius suggests.
I look around and see half the starters edging into the conversation. Teammates, I think inwardly with a grin, they're both the worst and the very, very best. That said, I did recruit these guys to help me spirit Bryant away. They're invested in the outcome, so I owe them an answer.
“No. That would only confirm what she’s thinking—that her job is done. She needs to see me as a work in progress.”
“Well, you’re certainly no prize," Ty agrees.
“Admit it, Ty, you want me for yourself.”
“Nah, you’re too high maintenance. Plus, you can’t tell Knox from me.”
“What was it that Travarius said?” I snap my fingers. “Oh yeah, you both look the same in the dark.”
Ty flips me off.
We both laugh. "Who's your brother cheering for?"
"My ass. Who'd you think?" Ty stands up.
"His old team's on the other side. His wife's brother is playing his last college game," I point out.
Ty shrugs carelessly. "Who cares who cheers for us? It's what we want that matters."
"Truth." Our team is finally a unit, and Ty's absolutely correct. What scouts, analysts, or even the fans may think isn't important. The key component to a winning team is acting as one, and as I look around at my teammates, I know we've achieved that.
The whistle blows, signaling the end of the pre-game warm-ups. I jump to my feet and follow the herd of players back down the tunnel for one last equipment check, assignment review, and pep talk. I feel good. Loose and ready. I walk around, patting Travarius on the ass, high-fiving Julio.
Ahead of me is Carter, who has been unusually quiet tonight. We need our brash, boastful wide receiver in the right frame of mind.
I hurry and catch him just as we're entering the locker room. “You ready?”
“You bet your flat ass. How many TDs you throwing me?” Carter challenges.
“How many you going to catch?”
“Everything you throw me.”
I slap the back of his hand with mine. He doesn't respond. I grab his wrist and repeat my initial motion. Zane and Carter always performed a complicated handshake that started out with two quick hits of the backs of their hands against each other, a tickle of their fingers and then a side bump, followed by a bellow of Renegades pride.
After I do it a second time, Carter catches on. When we finish the ritual, his eyes are suspiciously damp. I drag him close. "Zane would've wanted you to kill it tonight."
His breath catches and then he sighs. “I know. I miss that asshole.”
“Me, too.”
Carter tightens his grip for a second before releasing me. The cocky expression is back. “Look downfield. I’ll be there—open and often."
I leave him and start circling the locker room, sharing with my current teammates every little secret I knew about my old team, unapologetically applying my insider knowledge.
"Don't forget that Jack Campbell is very fast for a tight end. Jam him hard on the line of scrimmage," I inform Travarius.
To the running back, Remy, I say, "Iverson likes to rush on the right side. If he's lined up there, it's likely some stunt to either get him or the safety into the backfield. Cut to his weak side."
"You've told us this a million times," Samson complains when I get to him.
"Great. I'm glad you can count. Here's a million and one. There's only one Masters on the field tonight and that's Ty. That doesn't mean Western doesn't lack for good pass rushers."
Ty holds up the palm of his hand. "I know. Their quarterback has weak footwork and is inexperienced. If we get to him early, he'll likely fold."
I grunt in response and walk back to my locker. The team's chattering lightly to themselves, everyone's in a good mood. The coaching staff has done a great job of preparing us. We believe we will win. You can feel the confidence in the room. My chest fills with pride. I'd come here with one goal and here I am on the cusp of achieving it.
What I didn't realize was how much more I'd gain from transferring here. It wasn't just another championship.
It wasn't the revenge component of defeating the team that had rejected me. It's that I found a new family—a team that really embraced me, in large part, because I embraced them.
I owe that to Bryant. If she thinks for a second she's getting away from me, she's more deluded than I ever was. Good thing that I have an endless amount of patience for conquering the impossible.
"Hey Ace, I heard the kidnapping thing didn't work."
My eyes snap to my left to see Carter again. He's all geared up, complete with helmet in hand.
"It's working," I tell him. "The results might be slow in coming in, but the end result will be the same."
"You have a lot of confidence for a guy whose girlfriend wants to dump him," he observes.
I shrug. "Maybe so. I don't think it's misplaced."
"Bryant is really into fixing you up. If you showed her you were still messed up, she’d probably stick around. Like," he pauses, "like if we didn't win this game."
"We're going to win. We're the better team. We have better coaching, better players at nearly every position, more experience. Besides, we're hungrier." There isn't a doubt in my mind. We're winning the game.
"But even good teams make mistakes," he says softly.
My head whips around to meet his. "Carter Kittredge, are you suggesting we throw this game?"
He holds my stare for only a second before dropping his eyes to the ground. "No."
"That pause was damn long."
After another extended moment of silence, Carter lifts a rueful gaze to meet mine. "Look, it's a game, an important one, but it's just a game. It isn't as important as the stuff that takes place off the field. I wouldn't want to lose a girl to win one game."
If I hadn't spent the last several weeks listening to Carter grieve the loss of his friend, this response would have flummoxed me. But in a strange way, I get where he's coming from. He's struggling with his belief that Zane betrayed him and trying to reconcile his love for his friend with his love for the game.
I squeeze his shoulder. "Yup, it's just a game, but it has meaning. To go out there and not play with everything we have disrespects every member of our team, our fans, and ourselves. Plus, you underestimate Bryant. She wouldn't want us to lose. In fact, if she found out that we didn't put everything we had into winning, she would murder all of us."
Downed (Gridiron #3) Page 25
