by J Santiago
“Do you ever regret it?” she asked. She knew she didn’t have to explain it.
“Nah. Wouldn’t do any good. And, to be honest, the coach I wanted to play for most was Mike Franco, and he ended up here, so it worked out pretty well for me.”
She knew she was going down a dangerous road, but she couldn’t help herself. “What’s so special about Coach Franco?” It almost got caught in her throat, like a pill that wouldn’t go down.
Tank sat for a moment, thoughtful. “He comes from the game, understands it, and has played at the highest level, but his real gift is his genuine concern for the players. He didn’t bullshit me during the recruiting process. And, when he took the job here, he came to see me and tried to convince me to sign with State. Said it’d be my best bet. Who does that? I mean, that is someone who truly is looking out for his players. It’s not about him.” He paused. “He’s a damn good coach, too. He makes me better every day. His dedication is tireless. And I guess, most of all, I respect him. He hasn’t treated me any different this year, with all the hype, than he did when I was a freshman. He never lets me get away with anything. He calls me on all my shit.”
Tank laughed in such a self-deprecating way that Amber glanced away. He was too much for her.
In a move she wasn’t prepared for, he reached over, plucked her off the ground, and settled her between his now outstretched legs. Her hands dropped to his thighs as she leaned back into him.
Maybe not seeing him will make it easier, she thought.
“So, uh, today, he called me to his office. We’d gotten into it on Saturday after the game with my mom in the office, no less. I think he’d felt like I was acting like I was all that.”
She felt him shrug against her back.
“He was probably right. I was feeling pretty good. But he’d warned me about all the girls.”
She tried not to tense. She didn’t want him to think she cared because she didn’t.
“Anyway, we had gotten into it, and I’d left his office, pissed. Then, today, our sports info guy, Cy, pulled up this website that had pictures of me with a lot of different girls. One of the pictures was of you and me.”
He stopped, and Amber tried to calm her breathing. She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want him to talk about her father anymore. She wanted to be far away from Tank. But she made no effort to move and no effort to stop him.
“The picture of you and me—it was intense. It was when we were dancing. Remember?”
She nodded.
“Franco was pissed. He was cussing. And I know you don’t know him, but he doesn’t really cuss much. Cy and Miss Magee, the compliance lady, were all a bit freaked out. Anyway, I wanted to warn you—about the website, the pictures, the other girls.”
Amber took another deep breath. “You don’t owe me any explanations.”
If he was offended by her tone or her words, he didn’t show it.
“Maybe not. But I wanted to explain just the same.”
“So, do all us girls have time slots tonight?” she said sarcastically. Then, she berated herself for even asking the question.
But Tank just laughed, deep and so hard that she felt his stomach bunching up with the force of it.
“Yeah,” he said when he stopped laughing. He held his arm out and made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got about thirty more seconds before the next girl shows up.”
And, just like that, she started laughing, too. It still sounded rusty to her, but it felt so good that she found herself turning in Tank’s arms. He lifted her again, turning her lower body so that she was straddling him. Her arms wrapped around his neck before she leaned down and captured his mouth with hers.
Sixteen
Franco pulled the truck into an empty spot and waited. He and Amber hadn’t spoken since the week before. He wasn’t even sure if she would attend Sunday dinner, but he’d bet money that she wouldn’t disappoint his parents. It was fifteen minutes before he would normally pick her up, but he didn’t want to miss her. So, he waited, nervously tapping his hands against the steering wheel. He heard the unfamiliar gait on the metal stairs before he saw her. It used to be that she moved with the fluidity that only dancers and athletes possessed. But now, she stuttered and paused, an uneven tendency left by the accident. Sitting up straighter in his seat, he watched as she moved toward his truck, seemingly unsurprised to see him there.
“Hey,” she said as she slid into the seat across from him.
“Hi.” His voice sounded hoarse, like he’d just woken up, and he realized how nervous he was to see her.
He put the truck in reverse and pulled out of the apartment complex, trying to act like this was a completely normal occurrence.
“Great game yesterday. The whole team looks really good. No real weaknesses that I can see.”
He smiled. Most people wouldn’t think that a twenty-three-year-old woman’s opinion of football would mean that much to a college coach. But Amber knew her way around the gridiron, and if she couldn’t see any weaknesses, he was in pretty good shape.
“What about Persons at center? With Marsh hurt, it’s a weakness.” he added.
“I know he’s a freshman, but Tank’s not going to drop the ball. And he blocked really well yesterday. Hardesty is not easy to contain. So, I think you are okay—at least during conference play. If you actually make it to a big bowl and have to play someone with more experience, you better hope Marsh is back in the line-up.”
“Hmm. That’s a more positive assessment than my offensive line coach gave me.”
“Yeah, well, he’s a hard-ass and a perfectionist. Persons is going to make mistakes. And, with a less experienced quarterback, you’d probably see more problems.”
She relaxed back in the seat and let her head drop against it. He took that as a good sign even though they weren’t actually talking about anything that needed to be said. He knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid talking about how good his quarterback was, and again, he found himself waiting.
It didn’t take long.
“He’s really good,” she said.
She didn’t look toward him, and he kept his eyes on the road.
She sat up. “His numbers are phenomenal. I mean, twenty-four for twenty-eight for three hundred twenty-three yards. Are you kidding me? And he didn’t panic and run as much this game. He was patient and waited for his receivers to run their routes. He’s got to be at the top of everyone’s Heisman list.”
Franco merely nodded. Really, what could he say? She was right.
She sighed as she leaned back in her seat. “He must be so much fun to coach.”
“Yes, he is.”
Franco was engulfed in this sense of euphoria. This was how it used to be—when they could talk about anything. The football conversations were just a part of the give-and-take they had enjoyed. He got caught up in it, excited about the prospect of a return to normalcy.
And that was when he made the fatal error.
Reaching out, he grabbed her hand. Before he could even think about what he’d done, she snatched her hand away, as if he’d held it over a flame. Normally, at least for the last two years, he would have let it go, but he was still pissed about their confrontation the week before.
Pulling over to the side of the road, he slammed the truck into park and turned to her. He couldn’t stop himself from yelling, “What? What did I do wrong this time?”
“I just figured you wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty by touching a whore!” she retorted, the disdain surprising him after the momentary peace treaty.
“You’re right. You can let any random guy touch you however he wants, but your father can’t hold your hand. That’s really reasonable.”
“At least random guys don’t look at me with pity in their eyes.”
“That’s where you’re full of shit. No one in this world could look at your face and look into your eyes and not feel pity about what happened to you. Even Tank Howard. So, go ahead and c
ontinue to hold it against me that I am sorry about your accident and everything leading up to it. Keep it up. And let us continue growing apart because it’s easier for you to do that than to face up to what happened. But I’m done pretending that my heart doesn’t hurt every time I see that fucking scar. And that it doesn’t tear me apart to know what you went through. If you want to hold that against me and put all these barriers between us, fine. But if you have any hope of ever having a normal, healthy relationship again, you are going to have to talk about what happened. You are going to have to admit that you made mistakes. And you are going to have to forgive yourself.” He paused and sighed deeply.
“If I thought for one minute that letting you hate me would make you better in the end, I would let you. I’d give up the most important relationship in my life if I thought it would heal you. But it won’t. So, you can keep this up. But I’m done letting you freeze me out. I’m done making this easy on you. And if it’s only every Sunday that I get in your face, then so be it. But your life just got a lot harder because I am nothing if not one stubborn son of a bitch, and I am not going to let you go on like this.
“The other night, you were all about my concern for Tank and my devotion to my players. So, imagine how deep my concern is for you. Are you that obtuse, or are you feeling so sorry for yourself that you can’t let me in? There are no judges here. We all fuck things up. You’ve just chosen to sit on the bench instead of strapping on your helmet and getting back in the game. That’s on you, not me.”
If he expected her to rail against him or to argue with him some more, he was mistaken. Sometime during his tirade, her face had lost all color and expression. She’d turned to the front of the car and looked out the windshield, seemingly ignoring him. But he knew she’d heard some of what he said, and he even took her tuning him out as a small victory. He’d held back for too long, and if it was too much for her, he was okay with that.
He didn’t say another word as he put the car in drive and pulled back onto the road. He almost smiled as he drove on, somehow feeling lighter than he had in a while.
Four.
Four cuss words. Shit. Fucking. Bitch. Fuck.
Four.
She’d counted. That was what she had done during his impassioned speech. She’d listened for and counted cuss words. Because all she could think about was Tank knowing that, if her father was using foul language, he was beyond pissed, beyond control. Tank knew that. She hadn’t. Sure, she had known her father didn’t swear very often, but she’d never really paid attention. But, that night on the football field, Tank had described this amazing coach. She could hear so many things in his voice, like love, respect, genuine concern—traits described by Tank, an outsider, that she herself had lost sight of in her father. At that moment, she hadn’t known. But now, with five days of distance, she thought Tank would be so easy to read because the emotion had rung true in his voice. She’d always know if he was bullshitting her.
As she stared out the windshield on the way to her grandmother’s, it was Tank that she thought about, the words from her father floating off into some place that she hoped wouldn’t haunt her. She hadn’t wanted to know those things. She hadn’t needed to know that her scar broke his heart. It was only a scar, just an every day, every minute reminder of her folly. Why did it bother him so much? He should let it go and get over it. She had. She barely even noticed it anymore.
Before she knew it, they were pulling into her grandmother’s driveway. She almost smiled. The thing about shutting down was that the things she didn’t enjoy, like being in a confined space with her father, would go by quickly. All of a sudden, they were there, and she could get away from him and the things he’d said.
She turned to open her door when the locks went down. Just like that, the anger was back, which meant that the shutters had to come down.
“What now?” she asked, infusing as much indifference as she could into her voice.
“You can’t go into your grandmother’s house looking like that.” He reached over but paused before he touched her, waiting for her permission.
She was confused but found herself nodding.
Gently, he placed his hands on her face and wiped away the tears. She felt her eyes grow wide and saw him trying to disguise his surprise at her tear stained face. He cleaned her up, handed her a napkin, and got out of the truck. She pulled down the visor, briefly looked herself over, and followed him. Neither one of them mentioned the fact that she’d been crying. Neither one of them acknowledged that she hadn’t even realized it.
The house was already full with the family, which allowed Amber to melt into the crowd. She could spend the day with twenty-five people and not talk to a single one of them. And no one would ever know. They didn’t compare notes or ask if Amber seemed okay. The only person she couldn’t escape was her grandmother. But, after the car ride over, the soothing presence of her Nona was like aloe on a burn. If Nona thought she looked a little rough, she wouldn’t mention it. That was the one great thing about the accident; no one ever commented about how she looked. Her physical appearance had become taboo.
Today though, the house seemed claustrophobic, and her grandmother’s presence made her itch to get out of there. She headed toward the bathroom with her phone to text Keira. As she turned down the hall, she was bombarded with family pictures. She always tried to avoid them, not wanting to really see who she used to be. She hurried toward the bathroom with her head down, intent on having Keira pick her up and creating an excuse to leave.
She closed the bathroom door a bit too hard. Avoiding the mirror, she found herself looking up at the pictures on the wall. It used to be her favorite picture. It was when Franco had just started working for Whitey. He was in the booth at one of his first games. She was sitting with him. Each of them had on a headset, and they were intently watching what was happening on the field. Their expressions were identical, the look in their eyes the same. Their sports information guy had snapped the picture and tagged it, Like father, like daughter. They’d wanted it to run on the cover of State’s booster magazine, but it had hung in her room instead. Because, even back then, they’d always downplayed the fact that she was Franco’s daughter.
Tearing her eyes away, she picked up her phone.
Come get me at my grandmother’s.
Please.
Seventeen
Tank was anxious to see Amber. When he’d walked her to her car on Monday night, he’d thought he’d see her sometime during the week. There hadn’t been enough time. He’d had his first set of tests, and then they’d had an away game. But, now, it was Sunday, and they’d merely exchanged text messages. Amber wasn’t about making an effort because that might indicate to him that she liked him. As long as he kept it casual, he felt like he could keep her in it.
Tilly and Iman had headed out to the bar long ago, but Tank had hung back, waiting for the elusive text from Amber to join her and Keira out. It had become hard to go out at night because, inevitably, someone would offer him something. A couple of weeks ago, he had taken. And, now, he really wasn’t. Tilly and Iman could run interference for only so long. Now that Tilly was into Keira, his wingman status had dropped down from gold to silver, and Iman had his hands full with fielding his own offers.
When Tank’s phone finally buzzed with an incoming text message, his relief and excitement were palpable. He unlocked his phone and found a snap from Tilly. He clicked on the picture and laughed.
Tilly had sent him a picture of Amber dancing with some guy. Her arms were draped over his shoulders, their hips aligned. She was staring at something beyond the guy’s head, looking completely bored.
I’m dancing with this dweeb and wishing it was Tank.
It didn’t possess the intimacy of the picture from a week ago, but Tank quickly discovered that he didn’t necessarily want anyone else’s hands on her. Obviously, Tilly knew how to get him to come out to play. He quickly texted him.
Where are you?
Bea
u’s.
Coming.
Beau’s was a typical college bar they frequented. When he arrived, he had a hard time wending his way through the crowd. Everyone wanted to talk to him, congratulate him, shake his hand. Without the benefit of a posse, he had no escape from his exposure to the crowd. At any other time, he would have had a lot of patience for the adoration. But, tonight, he felt rushed, like he needed to quickly get to where he was going. So, he came off a little bit short and a little bit irritated with people. But he kept moving forward, working his way to Tilly, Iman, and Marsh.
“Remind me to come out with you next time. I need my escorts,” Tank remarked when he reached them.
Tilly laughed around his response, “Told you that you shouldn’t have stayed at home, like some little girl waiting for the phone to ring.”
Tank acknowledged the dig with a shrug and a smile. “Speaking of…”
“Bathroom,” Iman said.
“You told Steele about what’s been going on with this chick?” Tilly asked.
“Nah.” Tank knew that Lamarcus was Tilly’s gauge of seriousness.
If Tank had told Lamarcus about something, Tilly knew that it was important to Tank. Tilly loved to tease him about his bromance with Lamarcus Steele.
“Hmm. Fucking liar.”
Tank refused to comment and was saved by the reappearance of Keira and Amber. He briefly looked around for Marsh’s girl. He’d still pay to see a confrontation between her and Amber. Smiling at the visual, he acknowledged Keira with a nod and walked directly up to Amber.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor. He maneuvered them into the middle of the crowd. Satisfied with the darkness and seeming anonymity, he moved in, intertwining their fingers before his lips met hers with a too brief brush. “Hey.”
“Hi,” Amber said before kissing him back, harder and more thoroughly than the kiss he’d initiated.
