I glide to both of them and then place my hands on the first brother’s shoulders. His arms close around me and when I lift my face for a kiss, he dips down to press his foreign lips against mine. Over his shoulder, I can see Knox’s eyes—the confusion, disappointment, the hurt.
I close my own because I can’t see that pain. I close them and keep kissing Ty until his tongue slicks against my mouth.
I pull away because I can’t go that far.
“Hey.” I point to Knox. “This is the infamous Kintyre?”
Ty’s grip around my frame tightens—probably in frustration and disappointment.
Behind me, Matty is silent. He’s curious about the test, but he doesn’t know I’ve failed.
I wait for Knox, but it’s Ty that responds. “Yeah, honey, this is my brother.”
Knox stares at me, willing me to pick up on the mistake. He’s never called me honey. Baby, sweetheart, but never honey.
I smile blindly back at both of them and wait for Ty—acting as Knox—to introduce me to my boyfriend. As he drags Knox forward, I wonder how long they’ll play the twin switch and how many times they have done it before. Would Knox actually let Ty sleep with me?
The thought disgusts me. I want to swipe my hand across my mouth to erase the kiss. Doing anything more intimate with Ty would be soul sucking.
I don’t know how anyone can’t tell the difference. I’d know which was Knox and which was Ty blindfolded. Ty’s hands feel different around my waist. His fingers are thinner and shorter. His body is more bulky. His smell is different. I can’t let this stranger touch me for one more second or I’ll get sick, so I pull away.
I clear my throat. “I failed, didn’t I?”
Knox steps forward, his expression wavers between confusion and unhappiness. “You kissed my brother.”
I give a half laugh and choke back my tears as I grab my purse. “At least it wasn’t with tongue. I’m going now.”
“Wait,” he calls, but I push by both of them, grab my coat, and leap out of there.
Knox grabs me halfway down the stairs.
As I turn back, I see Ty leaning against the open door. He’s judging me. “Let her go.”
“Shut up. Did you really not know?” Knox doesn’t believe me, or he doesn’t want to.
I give the best acting job I can. “I don’t know.” I wave a flustered hand between the two of them. “I don’t even know who’s standing in front of me right now. Is it the brother, or is it Knox?”
Knox looks like I’ve slapped him or something else here.
“Sorry, I know you wanted me to be the one. Sorry I ruined it for you.” I’m surprised at the calmness of my tone. I knew this would happen all along. I’d expected it. Knox is too decent of a person for someone like me. I knew I never deserved him. All this time I’d fooled myself more than anyone else. Jack isn’t the dumb one in the family. It’s me. It’s always been me. Somewhere I find the ability to give Knox a half smile. It strikes him like a physical blow and he jerks back. “Think of it this way. Your seal is broken and you can take advantage of all the girls available to you.”
Knox hisses and drops my arm.
“Let her go,” Ty says again.
And this time…
This time Knox does.
31
Knox
She doesn’t look back. Not even once. Behind me, Matty shuffles awkwardly in the kitchen. Nothing about this seems right to me. Not Ellie leaving. Not her completely defeated. Not her walking off without another look.
None of it.
Matty breaks the silence. “Take a page from the Matty Manual. Fuck the girls you don’t care about. It’s a lot less painful when you both move on.”
He gives me a half-hearted pat on the shoulder and disappears down the stairs. I go inside.
There’s an ache that develops at the core when you have a bad loss. It seeps into your bloodstream and it takes days for that regret and sorrow to work its way out. In the pros, when you’re injured, sometimes they take your blood and send it into a centrifuge to spin out all the bad shit. It’s called a PRP—a platelet rich plasma injection—and supposedly it works like a miracle drug to ease your pain, promote healing, even reduce swelling and ligamentous injury.
That’s what I need right now. A PRP to my heart—Pulp Fiction style. One needle jabbed into my left pec repeatedly until this hideous fucking pain disappears.
“Bro, I am so sorry.” Ty sits, hunched over on the sofa. His hands hang between his legs, tossing the remote back and forth. I stare at the sidewalk Ellie walked down. A few of the guys mill around on the porch.
Snow starts to fall onto the common area of the Playground. At some point, the guys downstairs will throw on their gear and start tossing the ball around, messing up the pure white blanket.
“I messed up back there,” I conclude.
“Yeah, by not waiting. Why didn’t you come up for the bye?”
“She had a softball game.” I grab the remote from Ty to force him to look at me. “No, I messed up by going through with the test. I know she worried about it. She acted weird all week, asking me questions about the draft and then breaking up with me in a fake way. It must be because of the test. You don’t do that sort of shit to people you care about. You don’t put them through a fucking obstacle course and withhold your affection at the end of it if they trip up. That’s what Ellie’s parents have done all her life.”
“I could have taken her into the bedroom right there,” Ty snaps angrily.
No, she had already drawn away. The contact between them was slight. It made me sick to see it, but she barely touched him.
“She’s not Marcie,” I tell him.
“She’s not the one,” he shoots back. “You got it wrong. But like she said, you don’t have to hold back now. You can do anyone you want.”
The idea of being with another girl makes me sick. I can actually taste the bile in the back of my throat. “No.”
“Forget about her. She’s nothing. Besides, you can’t let this affect you.” Ty states the obvious. I don’t bite his head off for it though. He only wants to help, but he doesn’t know Ellie like I know her.
I stand up.
“Where are you going?” he demands.
“Out.” If I tell him, he’ll want to stop me.
I’ve got nearly a foot on Ellie and I work out daily, so it’s easy to catch up with her. I grab her shoulder, and when she turns, she has tears on her face and her nose is Rudolph red. My heart squeezes.
“I’m sorry.” I try to pull her against me but she resists.
“For what? Me not able to tell you two apart?”
“No, for making you go through with it. It doesn’t matter.” I reach for her again but she backs away. “I don’t care.”
Her lips twist in a bitter line. “I kissed your brother. There’s absolutely no difference between the two of you in real life. It even felt the same.”
I ignore the stabbing pain, the image she’s conjuring. “Why are you lying to me?”
She presses her lips together. They’re trembling. She’s trembling. I can’t take it anymore and I pull her rigid frame against mine.
“I can’t be with you, Knox. I told you I wanted to sleep with a virgin and now…now you deserve someone better than me.”
“Don’t say that shit, Ellie. You don’t believe it.”
“You don’t want to believe it. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that I’m not the one. I’m not. Go home, Masters. Please.”
It’s the use of my last name that breaks through my thick skull. My hand drops to my side. This time when she whirls around and runs, I don’t chase her.
Ty is still sitting on the sofa where I left him. ESPN is on. They’re talking about the matchups tomorrow but none of it registers.
“You want to talk?” he asks quietly as I toe off my boots.
“No.” What’s there to say? I fucked up. “Let’s eat.”
The food is cold but
Ty and I eat it anyway. We talk about the Cougar’s offense and the inability of their offensive line get their pads low enough to stop a hard charging pass rush like ours. It should be an easy win for us. The Cougar’s are the second-worst team in our conference.
After dinner, Matty comes up to tell us some of the guys are going to watch Any Given Sunday. I beg off citing tiredness as an excuse and they let me go without calling me on my bullshit. Knowing I need some privacy, Ty accepts the invitation and leaves.
In the quiet of my bedroom, I take myself in hand and close my eyes. There I see Ellie as she looked that night at Hammer’s party. Her eyes went wide as saucers and she licked her lips as if parched as a sinner in the desert.
In every line of her body, I read she wanted her hand around my dick. She wanted me in that moment more than I’ve wanted most things in my life, until I met her.
She started panting. I don’t know if she even realized it. Her breath came short and her chest heaved, pushing those pretty tits against her sparkly top, making my vision blur.
I tighten my grip around my dick, using all the precome to lube my shaft. I cup my balls with my free hand and let my head fall back onto the pillows. The images in my head shift from that night to the one where I took her for the first time…or maybe it’s more appropriate to think of her taking me. Whatever. That night I knew a God existed. That heaven existed.
The hot suck of her body on my dick gave more pleasure than I thought I had in me. I move my hand more rapidly and my hips jack into the air.
I love you.
I don’t know who’s saying it in my head—me or her or us together, but the memory of it makes me come in one long shuddering motion. The orgasm rips through me, tears open the scar tissue over my heart, and renders me a gasping, pained mess.
The lonely night stretches endlessly in front of me.
•••
Game Day: Warriors 7-0
At the start of the game the next day, I don’t feel different. When I stand on the sideline, I’m as eager to get on the field as ever. At least I understand what goes on during a football game. My goal is to stop the ball from advancing down the field. There’s no uncertainty here.
But today I’m sluggish off the snap. My feet feel heavy and everyone speeds by me like I’m standing still.
“What’s going on in your head, Masters?” Coach shouts at me when I come off the field, after Wisconsin scored the second touchdown.
“Nothing, Coach.”
“Well, start thinking about some plays.”
Our defensive coordinator is less generous. He grabs me by the facemask and screams. “Get your head in the game.”
The other guys huddle around me on the bench as Coach Johnson draws up the plays that Wisconsin is running. They aren’t surprise plays. But they’re getting off the ball faster. Their cuts are sharper. The left outside linebacker whose ass I’ve owned for two years is pushing me backward.
“She’s in your head, man,” Matty hisses when Johnson moves down to talk to the backfield.
I shake my head. “No. We’re just off today.”
That much is true. Everyone on the field is slow today. Ace seems to throw everything a yard too short. Campbell isn’t playing. I don’t know if he’s injured, but he’s standing on the sidelines, dressed in a suit and tie.
Our corners get wasted in the backfield. Matty, Hammer, me, and the rest of the D-line move like our cleats stick to the turf.
At halftime, we have managed to move the ball a total of thirty yards on offense, and above our heads on the giant scoreboard hangs a big fat zero. The home crowd jeers us as we run down the tunnel.
Coach tears us a new asshole in the locker room, telling us we’re playing like quitters. We get time to piss and hydrate before we’re given the heads up that we need to be on the field. I straighten my pads and head for the door when Coach grabs me.
“You’re playing like this is some unranked, non-scholarship team we’ve put on our schedule to pad the wins instead of the fucking Big Ten champions,” Coach hisses. “This is the real deal, Masters. You want to win the championship?”
“Yes, sir.” I ignore the fact that my fingers are numb from the cold and pain, and that there’s a throbbing in my ankle that developed sometime in the middle of the second quarter after I tried to sidearm the right side offensive lineman.
“That doesn’t sound real convincing to me. If you’re thinking about Sunday, stop. If you’re thinking about the title, stop. The only thing that should be in your head is eating those Badgers for lunch.” Coach’s voice raises at the end.
When the guys in front of me pause, the D-line coach yells: “What the fuck are you ladies gawking at? Get your asses onto the field.”
“Yes, sir. I want to win.”
Coach swings me around. He’s five inches shorter and probably a hundred pounds less, but I let him toss me around like a fish on a sailing boat.
“This might be the closest thing you have to being God, Masters. Ninety-five percent of the pro players don’t get a whiff of a championship. They chase it all their lives. You have it in your fucking hand. What will you do? Will you piss it away? Or will you grab that opportunity by the fucking balls and claim it as yours? If you want it, nothing stands in your way. Nothing.” He slaps his clipboard against his thigh and stalks out.
“Come on, Masters. The team relies on you,” the D-coach chides.
The image of Ellie rises to my mind.
If you want it…nothing stands in your way.
“Yes, sir.” I pull down my helmet.
It’s not Ellie that cost me this game. It’s me. My inability to see the damn forest for the trees.
“Next possession is ours.” I stand and walk down the line of seated defensive ends and linebackers. “No more first downs. Hammer, you stuff that motherfucker at the line. He’s creeping to the left every time they run. Jesse, go inside. Forty-five is way weaker on the left. He’ll try to hold you every time.” Down I go, talking to each one until the whistle blows and it’s time for the defense to take the field.
For three downs, we stuff their offense and the defense leaves the field excited. We don’t even mind when we have to strap on our helmets three minutes later because Ace and company can’t get a first down. We slap each other’s shoulder pads and helmets, go out there, and drive the opponents deep into their own territory.
This time, with better field position, Ace and Ahmed, our running back, hook up for a short pass play which Ahmed turns into a sweet run down to the twenty. We settle for a field goal, but it’s a score. We don’t have the donut hanging over our heads.
We score again and close the gap. At ten to fourteen, we’re down by one score. In a miraculous turn of events, with only a minute left, I knock the ball out of the quarterback’s hands in the end zone, and when the running back recovers it, Jesse is on him.
Safety! Twelve to fourteen!
We’re still in this goddamn game. We run around, bumping each other’s chests, slapping asses, and knocking our helmets together like it’s the motherfucking Super Bowl.
I run down the sidelines, yelling encouragement in everyone’s ear. Heads are up and eyes are hungry but the clock is against us.
In the end, we run out of time. We started our comeback too late, and when the clock flips to all zeros, we are short by a field goal.
We’ve lost.
32
Ellie
Post Game: Warriors 7-1
“Oh no. Oh no.” I press my palms to my face. I stare at the television as if I can will more time on the clock. The game can’t be over. It can’t. There has to be a few more seconds left.
I pick up the remote and try to fast forward it, but it’s at the end of the game. I rewind it only to have to watch the end again, and the outcome remains the same. It’s a loss. Their perfect season is done. If Knox hadn’t hated me before, he does now. Same with Jack. It’s one thing to forgive when the one thing in your life you really cared about goe
s well.
When Jack got his D1 scholarship, Dad was elated. He treated everyone with his certain brand of kindness, which ranged from effusive praise for Jack to offhanded compliments to Mom and me all spring and then into the summer. The demon came out when Jack struggled. The year before junior college was a nightmare.
“Is it bad?” Riley’s on the edge of the sofa, a foot curled under her. She’s folded over a pillow that she’s alternatingly bitten and squeezed.
“Yeah, it’s bad.” I reach up and feel sweat across my forehead. It’s part from shame and part from agony.
The team started off terrible. Fumbles, turnovers, missed opportunities. Knox had allowed a weaker, slower offensive line to manhandle his defense for two quarters. Their days at the top of the polls are over. The question is how far they’ll fall.
I blow out a shaky breath.
With this loss? Any chance I had at getting back together with him after the season ends is done. Nail in the coffin, the vampire’s exposed to sun, done.
I force myself to watch ESPN where the commentators talk about the Warriors laying a big fat egg on the field.
“Masters played himself out of the Heisman with that game,” one smug bastard says to another on the set.
“They don’t give them to defensive players in the first place, and secondly, if they gave it to him, it would have been the result of an exceptional season. This game showed him and the Warriors as average.”
“God, did you fuckers even watch the fourth quarter?” I yell at the television. “A sack, five hurries, three tackles, and a safety, and that’s average?”
Riley peeks her head out of her bedroom. “I have Xanax. Do you want me to slip one into your Coke?”
I throw a pillow at her, and it nearly knocks a picture off the wall.
“Seriously, these assholes say Knox played an ordinary game. Did that look ordinary to you?” I gesture toward the television.
Sacked (Gridiron #1) Page 23
