Beside the table a young couple paused, both dressed in expensive evening attire, holding hands. Together they stood looking out over the venue, speaking in low voices. The young man extended a hand in front of him, seeming to offer various seating choices as the young woman nodded along.
Just moments before they made a selection, she glanced over to the table, seeing Kris and Emily. A look of pure horror washed over her face, causing her to turn back quickly to her paramour, both of them moving away at a quick pace.
It was the first time Kris had ever seen Daria in public, the toned down attire and makeup doing wonders for her appearance. A wry smile crossed his face as he watched her go, shaking his head from side to side.
“Well, that was subtle,” Emily said, confusion clouding her features as she watched them walk away. “Friend of yours?”
“Not really,” Kris said, continuing to shake his head. “Can I ask you something?”
On stage, a series of sound technicians made the final arrangements, attaching amplifier cables to the guitars and tapping into each of the microphones. On cue, dull thuds sounded through the venue, one after another.
“Shoot,” Emily replied.
“Is that why you stuck around all these years?” Kris asked. “Lord knows it would have been easier to go back home.”
Emily scrunched one side of her face, nodding in a non-committal way. “Yes, but not for me. After you became Kris Hopkins, quarterback of the Warriors, and reached God-like status, I knew there was no hope for us.”
“Oof,” Kris said, raising his eyebrows a bit.
“But I guess I kept hoping that for Kyle,” Emily said, ignoring his comment, “you’d come around. Maybe return to being the guy I knew at OU.”
Kris nodded, contemplating her words.
“What if I told you I still was?”
A look that bordered on wistful crossed Emily’s face as she leaned forward, tapping the table with her index and middle fingers. “When we met, there were two guys inside you fighting for the upper hand. There was Kris Hopkins, and there was The Quarterback.
“Through college and most of your rookie year, you were pretty good at always being the one in control, but after your dad died, and you won the championship...”
Not once had Kris ever parsed himself out that way, though he could see where Emily might have that impression. He nodded with her, considering what she said.
“The Quarterback took over.”
“And he’s been in control ever since,” Emily said.
There was a simple logic to the statement that Kris found difficult to argue with. There was never any one factor that led to everything in his life playing out the way it did, but rather a confluence of things that came together at once.
Kris was still deep in thought as the overhead lights dimmed. A doughy Hispanic man with gold sunglasses and thick chains hanging from his neck came out on stage, taking up a microphone from the closest stand and holding it to his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed, his voice echoing through the room, cutting through any remaining buzz of crowd noise. “Live for you here tonight, one night only at The Badland, please put your hands together for, Pearl Jam!”
The emcee drew the words Pearl Jam out for a full thirty seconds, pulling the crowd into a cheer as he relinquished the microphone. Behind him, a quintet of middle-aged men made their way on stage, raising their hands to wave as the crowd stood and applauded.
“Tell me something though,” Kris said, still planted in his seat beside Emily. “Would The Quarterback have ever put something like this together?”
“No,” Emily said, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t have brought pizza over either. Damn sure wouldn’t have eaten any.”
The crack brought a smile to Kris’s face.
“It was good, though.”
Emily head rocked back in an inch, a knowing smile on her face. “Kicked your ass, didn’t it?”
“Up half the night puking,” Kris said. “You?”
“Opposite end, same effect,” Emily said.
The two shared a laugh as onstage the first chords of Yellow Ledbetter rang out, drawing them both in.
Chapter Forty-Five
The pictures lining the front windows had changed in time with the seasons. Gone were the images of summer days and sunshine, replaced by winter scenes.
People in oversized snowsuits. Pine trees blanketed in white powder. Snowmen stretched high, their bodies formed from trios of misshapen circles.
“Alright, so when we get in here,” Kris said, walking fast along the front walk, “just hang back for a minute. They’ll all be squirming when they see us, but they have to wait until their teacher gives them the go-ahead before coming up.”
He kept his hands balled into fists in the front pockets of his coat as he walked, his gaze aimed at the ground.
“Sounds good,” Walsh said beside him, his hands swinging free by his side. Despite the cold he was dressed in gym shorts and a zip-up Warriors sweatshirt, his long hair tucked behind a ball cap.
The joint venture had not been Kris’s idea, but rather a suggestion from someone in the organization. Who that particular individual was Kris didn’t know, though he had a strong idea.
All he knew for sure was a voicemail was left on his phone when he got out of the shower that he was to pick Walsh up at the practice facility before heading to the school.
“And what’s the teacher’s name again?” Walsh asked as they reached the front steps, taking the short flight two at a time.
“Mrs. Elmont,” Kris said, keeping pace beside him.
“No, I mean what’s her real name?” Walsh said, pulling the front door open and sliding through.
Kris followed him inside and motioned with his chin towards the placard on the wall beside the classroom door, the words Mrs. Bonnie Elmont, First Grade written in white block letters against a black background.
“Bonnie. Nice,” Walsh said, lifting his hand and knocking against the glass on the top half of the door. The force of it was louder than necessary, the sound echoing like a shotgun blast through the deserted hallway.
Kris felt blood rushing to his cheeks as he stood back from the door, forcing one loud breath after another in through his nose. Deep within a tiny spark of animosity ignited, bringing with it the desire to reach out and grab Walsh, jerk him back away from the door.
One breath at a time he forced the feeling down, keeping his face impassive as he stared at the door. On the other side of the glass he could see the children all squirming in their seats, raising themselves up to see who stood outside.
“Smooth, Rook,” Kris mumbled.
“What?” Walsh asked, twisting at the waist to look at Kris.
Before Kris had a chance to answer the door swung open, the space filled by Elmont. She paused at seeing the two of them and pressed her fists in her hips, giving an exaggerated sigh in playful exasperation.
“Oh, I should have known it was you out here, Kris,” she said, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile. “Nobody else manages to get the kids so excited.”
“Nice to see you again, ma’am,” Kris said, dipping the top of his head in a nod.
“And who’s your friend?” Elmont asked, shifting her attention over to Walsh.
“I know! I know!” a male voice cried from behind her, its owner blocked from view.
At the sound of it a smile stretched wide across Walsh’s face. He raised himself up onto his toes and peered over Elmont to the throng of children already edging towards the door.
“You know, huh?”
An excited murmur swelled within the classroom. From where he stood Kris could see the children stepping out from around their seats, creeping forward an inch at a time.
“And who am I?” Walsh asked.
“You’re Jon Walsh!” the same little boy exclaimed, his voice going up an octave, the words coming out just south of a squeal. “I recognize your hair.”
Behind
him a chorus of voices joined in agreement, all of them murmuring the same words, each one in a different length and tone.
“Hey, that’s right,” Walsh said, sliding past Elmont and into the room. The moment his foot touched the rug inside the room the children burst forward in a mob, all gathering tight. With excited jostling they jockeyed for position, trying to get close to Walsh, who stood in the center of the ring.
“So you guys like my hair, huh?” he asked, sweeping the cap back off his head and shaking his long locks out for them to see.
Another collective sound of consent went up as he raised both his hands by his side, the children all slapping at them reckless abandon.
Elmont watched the display for a moment, her features tinged with surprise, before turning to face Kris.
“Who is Jon Walsh?”
Kris kept his gaze aimed inside the room, resisting the urge to shake his head in disapproval.
“He’s the rookie quarterback filling in for me right now.”
“Oh,” Elmont said, the top of her head rising in a nod of understanding. “And how is that all going?”
Kris slid his attention from the cluster of children to Elmont. His gaze traced over her features, a bit of sympathy, almost apology, gracing her face.
“Better all the time, thanks.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Gone was any residual evidence of the WWKD incident from just a week before. There was no vomiting into trash cans, no plume of foul-smelling aroma, no strings of yellowish spittle.
In their place was Jimmy, beaming from ear to ear like a proud new parent. Per usual he was dressed in his Warriors workout shorts and home jersey, chewing on a stick of gum as fast as he could, the muscles bulging and clenching in his neck.
Overhead the red light blinked out, turning the session live.
“I tell you sports fans,” Jimmy began, his voice bordering on giddy, “it is a good thing this is radio and not television because I am sitting here with full-on wood right now, I shit you not.”
From the opposite side of the glass Mickey tapped on the window, running a meaty hand under his chin in a throat slash gesture.
“I know, I know,” Jimmy said, holding up a hand and nodding, “I’m not allowed to say that on the air, but you all out there in Portland have to understand how excited I am. Stopping by today for our last regular season show of the year, both of the Warrior quarterbacks, Kris Hopkins and Jon Walsh.”
He turned in his seat, beaming at Kris and Walsh sitting across from him.
“Welcome to the show guys, great to have you here.”
Kris leaned in to his microphone to speak, beat to it by Walsh in front of him.
“Great to be here, Jimmy.”
Kris paused a moment, waiting for Walsh to lean back, before adding, “Thanks for having us.”
Jimmy nodded at both of them, a toothy smile pasted across his features.
“So, I guess we’ll start right at the top. Jon, what’s it like to be filling in for a legend?”
Walsh lifted the backwards Warriors cap from his head and ran a hand back through his hair, flattening it against his skull. He smashed the lid back down in place and said, “You know, Coach D and I were talking about this the other day and...”
He paused a moment, making a sideways gesture with his hand.
“We don’t look at it like I’m filling in. We just have a different identity now is all.”
“Kris? Care to respond?” Jimmy asked, holding a hand out for him.
“I mean, I think he’s right,” Kris said, leaning in and keeping his gaze aimed at Jimmy. “Sometimes, you have to bend your system to fit your personnel. Jon and I have different skills sets, so it’s to be expected that things would change.”
Jimmy nodded in agreement as Walsh glanced to Kris and back again.
“It looked like things were a little stagnant those first couple of games,” Jimmy said. “Heck, you even almost managed to kill Mick and I from alcohol poisoning two weeks ago.”
“Sorry about that, Jimmy,” Walsh said, slapping the table with a laugh.
“Not at all,” Jimmy said, matching the laugh. “We can chuckle over it now because it really seemed like you were able to put it together last week, Jon.”
“For sure,” Walsh said, the smile still in place. “It took us a week or two to get our legs under us and figure out that maybe we can now do some things we couldn’t before.”
The familiar sense of dread began to curdle in Kris’s stomach, a foreboding feeling that told him where this was probably heading.
“Such as?” Jimmy asked.
Another laugh rolled out of Walsh as he shook his head from side to side.
“Well, I’m not going to share any secrets, but I will say Kris was more of a standard pocket passer, whereas I’m a bit more mobile. It helps. Gives us a new dimension out there.”
The feeling in Kris’s stomach expanded, moving from a tight ball into a coil of snakes, all fighting for supremacy. He aimed his gaze at the microphone in front of him, willing himself not to snap back on the air.
“Come on now, you can’t leave me hanging with that,” Jimmy said. “Give me something we can expect to see out there this weekend against the Vandals.”
Walsh pressed his palms against the edge of the table, extending himself back away from it. He shook his head from side to side, the large smile in place, long hair swinging free behind him.
“I’ll just say it’s a new era in Warrior football, Jimmy. Should be a lot of fun.”
“Well, you certainly seem to be adjusting to it well,” Jimmy said.
“Like a friend of mine once told me,” Walsh said, pulling himself back to the table and leaning in close to the microphone, “it’s good to be the king.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
Kris’s eyes were already wide open, his hands folded behind his head, when the alarm clock went off at seven sharp. Unlacing his fingers he reached out across the pillow with his right hand and slapped the top of the clock, the machine falling silent beside him.
A myriad of thoughts crowded into his head as he lay flat on his back, watching the thin strands of light poking in from around the closed curtains dance across the ceiling. One by one he tried to parse them out, but each time they only managed to entangle themselves further in his mind.
With a heavy sigh he rolled to a seated position and dropped his feet to the floor, taking up the bottle of Vicodin from the nightstand and swallowing a trio of them dry. He dropped the bottle back into the drawer of the table and stood, his body protesting with a dozen pops and cracks. In a synchronized sequence he went through them one at a time, rolling his neck and back, followed by his shoulders and knees.
Using the remote by the bed he opened the curtains and stood looking down at the stadium below, signs of life already apparent. Smudges of red and black could be seen in the distance, piercing the dull gray morning. Tendrils of smoke rose against the backdrop of the stadium, tailgaters getting an early start on the day ahead.
The corners of Kris’s mouth tugged upwards as he stood and surveyed everything, remembering many a fall morning when he’d rose to see the same scene, so much energy surging through him he wanted to hop out the window and sprint to the stadium.
Now, what he felt was a different kind of energy. It felt more like an appreciation, a realization that this moment was not his, that for the first time he would get to experience it from a different angle.
It was an appreciation he still wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Doubted he ever would be.
Turning his back on the windows, Kris showered and dressed quickly, finishing off a bowl of oatmeal and blueberries before climbing into his SUV and heading for the stadium. The two mile drive took him almost half an hour, most of that time spent covering the last half mile into the parking lot designated for players only behind the facility.
Though cordoned off and manned by security guards checking his credentials every block, the route was still
rife with fans on foot, all clamoring to see who was inside. Tucked away behind the dark tint of the windows, Kris slouched below the wheel, following the guard’s instructions into the lot.
Pulling into one of the last remaining spots in the back, Kris parked and climbed out, the gate swinging closed behind him.
“Morning, Wally,” he said as he approached, extending his hand as he passed into the hallway leading under the stadium.
“Good morning, Mr. Hopkins,” Wally replied, reciprocating the handshake. “Sure is a glorious day for football, isn’t it?”
“Someone once told me every day is a glorious day for football,” Kris replied, releasing the handshake and slapping Wally on the back as he passed inside.
“Sounds like a wise man,” Wally called behind him, settling himself back down on to his perch overlooking the lot.
A smile crossed Kris’s face as he passed inside, a response to the same exchange he and Wally had had every Sunday for over a decade.
The early morning buzz of the stadium was in full swing as Kris made his way through, the full litany of game day personnel onsite and ready to go. Vendors scurried back and forth along the halls, the smells of popcorn and pretzels already present. Scads of security guards in yellow windbreakers were positioned every fifty feet or so, most doing nothing more than standing with their hands clasped in front of them.
Stadium crews walked back and forth as Kris passed by, most of them ignoring him as they went about their business. Dressed in dark blue work clothes and carrying oversized key rings, they walked in straight lines through the crowd, intent on making sure the day went off without any hiccups.
With each step Kris took he could hear the din of his destination rising, drawing him in. More than just a blanket murmur of conversation, it carried with it an electricity that bordered on manic. He picked it up a few steps inside the parking lot, the pulse of it growing as he drew closer.
Rounding into the final hallway towards the locker room, he saw a handful of players walking in and out, most still wearing shorts and t-shirts. Several had fresh tape wrapped around their wrists and ankles, the first stop completed on a long build-up towards game time.
Quarterback Page 15
