The End Game

by Kate McCarthy

Patrick steps away from the mat as I move off it, slinging the towel around my shoulders and using the end to wipe my face. “You know when you act like this you remind me of your father.”

  I shrug, pretending the barb hasn’t hit its intended mark. Tipping my water bottle back, the cool liquid washes away the heat of his insult. I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Like father, like son, huh?”

  “You have no idea,” he bites out.

  His tone is bitter and grief darkens his eyes for a single moment. Something niggles at me, a murky whisper. It’s gone before I can make sense of it, but whatever it is lodges a sick feeling in my gut. “Am I missing something?” My uncle doesn’t meet my eyes. “Something about my father?”

  “Your father …” Patrick begins and presses his lips together.

  “My father …”

  “Your father doesn’t deserve you,” he says, finally looking at me. “And I think he’s an absolute fool.”

  I stare at my uncle for a long, hard moment, shock rooting me to the floor. His unexpected compassion is like water in the desert. My eyes prickle with heat. I take a deep breath and blink because boys don’t fucking cry.

  “So what if he is?” My voice is thick and scratchy. “It doesn’t change anything.”

  “Exactly. He’ll always be there telling you how you don’t measure up. He expects you to fail. He wants it just for the fact it will prove him right. So what are you going to do, give up and let him win?”

  I lift my chin. “I’ll do whatever it takes to prove him wrong.”

  “So work harder on the final, Brody.”

  Frustration has my teeth grinding together. “How can I possibly work harder? I’ve never studied so much in my damn life. I had that midterm in the bag. I knew the damn answers and I still failed.”

  “What happened with Jordan and your tutoring?”

  A lump fills my throat. The ache of missing her is sharp. The way she smells of warm vanilla. The smile reserved just for me that lights her eyes. The furrow she gets between her brows when she loses patience with me. I swallow a mouthful of water and toss the bottle on a nearby chair. “It didn’t work out.”

  Patrick exhales forcefully, his aggravation coming through loud and clear. I hate this—being the errant child he has no clue what to do with. I want to lash out and tell him I can handle it myself but clearly I can’t.

  “You’ve barely given it a chance. You can’t expect miracles overnight, Brody.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and hands over a blank white card. “Here.”

  I take it, brows drawing as I flip it over. One word is neatly printed on the back. Dyslexie. Shaking my head, I look at my uncle. His expression displays the same slick confidence as my father, only his comes with conviction rather than the cool superiority I can’t stand—like he actually believes in me.

  “It’s a font. Look it up.”

  My brows rise in silent question.

  “Normal font is designed to be aesthetically pleasing, but this one not so much. It’s slanted to dissimilate letters and words.”

  “Dissimilate?”

  “Make similar looking letters and words different. It’s supposed to be easier to read. Studies show that eighty-four percent of dyslexic readers can read text faster than standard font with fewer mistakes.” He shrugs as he says it, like it’s not a big deal when it possibly could be. “I’m using it to write your finals paper, so I suggest you start using it too.”

  Another glance at his watch. “I have to get going.” Patrick picks his briefcase up off the floor and gives me a hard stare. “You can do this, Brody. Keep up the tutoring and use the damn font. If you don’t, I’m speaking to your coach and you’re off the team.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter, my voice bitter with sarcasm.

  “Don’t thank me.” His shoulders lift in a shrug as he turns to leave, over his shoulder saying, “Thank Jordan.”

  “Wait.” My eyes follow his retreat for a single moment. “What?”

  “The font was her idea,” he calls back, not pausing as he strides from the room.

  Of course this has Jordan written all over it. Defeat is not in her nature. She might now cross the road if she sees me walking down the street, but this proves she hasn’t given up on me yet. Maybe the only way to fix us is to show her I haven’t given up on me either.

  I flick the card with my thumb and forefinger and grin, feeling lighter already.

  Just you wait, Jordan. I’m coming for you.

  Weeks later I’m at my study desk in my room, cramming hard. I check the time on my phone. My stomach sinks. Five minutes to midnight. I have two finals to sit for tomorrow, one of them for my uncle’s class.

  My eyes are gritty, my body tired and battered from training, and nothing short of a miracle will help me pull this off. Two back-to-back away games, endless drills, and late nights watching plays has taken all my time, leaving none to look over the new material. We have one more game before the playoffs. My focus is on the National Championships and on my team, who are depending on Carter and me to carry them to the top. Hell, so is half of Texas. And here I am stuck in my room, forcing myself to study for an ethics test that has the power to wreck everything.

  I throw my pen down. The new font has made a huge difference in typing study notes but what I’m reading comes from the textbook, which is no help. My shoulders and chest are tight with frustration. I rub at the ache, trying to ease it somehow. All the lightness from two weeks ago is gone. I’ve never felt lower than I do right now. The pressure is crushing.

  My throat feels thick and my eyes burn. I can’t do it.

  I look to my phone, my heart an aching lump in my chest. Notifications are piling up on the screen. None are from Jordan. Her silence has never been more deafening then it is right now. I haven’t opened Facebook in days. Social media is low on my radar. The speculation on Jordan’s and my relationship has become public fodder. For a brief time we were the new golden couple, now we’re strangers, causing the scrutiny to intensify.

  A sharp knock on the door jerks me from my spiral. I swivel in my chair, annoyed at the disruption.

  Damien’s propping up the doorframe, body swaying and eyes bleary. After a night of drinking he’s in a complete stupor.

  “Dude,” he slurs and blinks excessively at the books spread over my desk. “Studying? Come have a drink with us.”

  Male and female voices drift from the living room, loud and rowdy. Damien has brought his party home with him. Not long ago I would’ve joined in, but their laughter projects down the hall like fingernails on a blackboard. I grit my teeth. “I can’t. I have to get this done.”

  He blinks again as if seeing two of me. “Well hurry up, then.”

  I shake my head. The thought of being surrounded by a group of drunk and carefree people turns my stomach. “I’m pulling an all-nighter on this.”

  Damien shrugs and disappears. I go back to my books but my eyelids are weighted down with bricks, so heavy I can’t fight against it. Before I know it, my forehead hits the desk and I’m out instantly.

  A hand shaking my shoulder wakes me. Disoriented, I lift my head as Damien dumps something on my desk in front of me. He gives my back a slap and disappears again. Taking a deep breath, I swipe both hands down my face before I reach for my phone. Four a.m. stares back at me like death knell. I’ve been out for over four hours.

  “Fuck,” I snarl, glaring at the books spread over my desk. God, just once I wanted to get this right, but it feels hopeless. I’ve started my whole life off on the back foot and haven’t managed to catch up since.

  Furious with myself, I sweep out an arm, shoving everything off my desk. Books fall in a thumping heap on the floor. It’s not enough to soothe the raging beast. I grab one at random and start ripping at pages. My chest heaves as the paper shreds into ribbon beneath my fingers. I scrunch them and reach for more, growling with frustration. “Fuuuuck!”

  Picking up another book, I throw it at the wall. It dents the pl
aster before dropping to the carpet, right next to the little white bottle Damien delivered. I scoop it off the floor. The contents rattle against the opaque plastic as I bring it close and read the label.

  Adderall, I mouth silently.

  Clearly I’ve read it wrong. I blink and process the words a second time. It still says Adderall. Unscrewing the lid, I peer inside. It’s full. A full bottle of pills. What the fuck, Damien?

  I bellow his name.

  Sinking to the bed behind me, I stare at the bottle, unable to release the tight grip my hand has on it. I know what it is and what it does. As professional athletes we’re always lectured on the use of banned substances. Adderall is a form of amphetamine and forbidden, yet the drug is popular on campus because it gives you the same euphoric high that intense exercise does. It helps you focus and concentrate. It improves performance on the field. It does everything I need it to do.

  Let me help you, the bottle whispers in a dark, seductive voice. An ugly desperation fills me. Like black, smoky tendrils, it coils its way up my spine and over me, imprisoning me in its inky darkness. I can’t succumb to it. Damn Damien for putting this temptation in my path. My hands shake as I find strength to screw the lid back on.

  Damien pokes his head in my door. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” I growl, holding up the bottle. “You’re giving me drugs, bonehead, and you ask me what’s up?”

  His voice lowers. “It’s just Adderall. Everyone takes it.”

  “I’m not everyone.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. Frustration has my head pounding so hard I fear an aneurysm. My life is balanced on a knife’s edge right now and my friend is offering me amphetamines? Not only that, the deep murky recesses of my mind are totally on board with the plan. What the fuck is wrong with me? “I’m a goddamn football player. I can’t take that shit.”

  Damien moves further into my room, shutting the door behind him. “When was your last piss test?”

  I fall back on my bed and throw an arm across my eyes. Maybe if I can’t see the bottle in my hand I’ll forget it’s there. “Why does that even matter?”

  “It doesn’t. You hardly ever get tested anyway, right? No one’s gonna know if you take a couple of pills to help you out. You’ve been biting our heads off for two weeks. You need these. You’re tired and stressed and playoffs are just around the corner. Keep going like this and something’s gonna give. Just take a couple.” Damien shrugs like it’s no big deal. “What’s it gonna hurt?”

  Drawing my arm from my eyes, I look from Damien back to the pills still clutched tight in my fist. I desperately want to believe what he says—that I need these. What other choice do I have? “How long do they stay in your body for?”

  He shrugs again. “I don’t know. A couple of days maybe? Just drink a load of water and take a handful of aspirin to clear it out.”

  Someone in the living room calls Damien’s name in a long, drunken slur. He leaves and I go back to staring at the bottle with tired, gritty eyes. Is it worth the risk? I know the drug policy back to front. A first positive test means mandatory drug evaluation and counseling, but it doesn’t mean getting kicked off the team.

  Before I can second guess myself, I unscrew the lid and shake two pills into my palm. They’re tiny and don’t seem enough. I shake out a couple more. Picking up the lukewarm Gatorade on my bedside table, I swallow them down. Recapping the lid, I shove the evidence in my top draw. My actions have my heart pounding like I’ve just played the game of my life.

  Resting my forearms on my knees, I hang my head low and take deep breaths as a sense of wrongness fills me. I shake it off and get to my feet. It’s too late for regret. The amphetamines are slowly dissolving and entering my bloodstream. There’s no going back now.

  Jordan

  Heading for the dining hall, I pick up my pace. Leah’s walking with me, filling me in on the movie she saw with Hayden last night. I don’t hear a word she says. I’m not sure I even recall the title. I’m too agitated and hungry. I’ve forgotten to bring lunch. Again. I can’t afford to keep buying it, but if I don’t eat this minute I’m going to start chewing the pages of my textbook.

  This forgetfulness isn’t me. Neither is the lack of focus. Yesterday I forgot my lucky cleats for practice, and this morning I blanked out in class. It’s Brody. I just can’t stop thinking about him. He’s always there. Even in sleep. I wake in the mornings feeling alone, my skin feverish and my body aching.

  “Goddamn flu,” I grouch and sniff, checking for a stuffed nose.

  Leah’s prattle halts mid-sentence, her expression skeptical. “The flu? Since when? You never get sick.”

  “I am now,” I snap.

  “Flu my ass.” Her eyes narrow on my face. She’s taking in my dark circles and wan expression like a crime scene investigator. “You’ve got Madden fever.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” I quicken my pace, trying to outrun her imminent lecture. Everything was fairy dust and rainbows when Brody and I were dating. Now Leah mentally castrates him every time they cross paths. I was sparing on the details of our separation, but Leah’s blame is placed solely in Brody’s corner, which is where it should be. The jerk.

  As if hearing my insult, Brody calls out my name from somewhere behind me. My heart leaps instantly, its beat evolving from fast to erratic. Students walking in front of me turn at the sound. The entire campus knows his voice. Hearing it speak my name is no doubt too good to ignore. Are they hoping for a spectacle? I don’t turn around. I have no intention of giving them one.

  I keep moving swiftly along the path, my eyes fixed on the dining hall looming ahead like it’s the Holy Grail.

  “Jordan! Wait up.”

  His voice is light as if he’s happy to see me. It’s hard to believe. The last time we spoke he pretty much told me to get lost. The humiliation still smarts my skin like sunburn.

  “Please!” Brody calls in a near shout, drawing even more attention.

  My pace quickens further. I’m almost at the dining hall entrance when my arm is grabbed in a big, roughened palm. I’m spun around and slam into a wide, solid chest.

  “Oomph!”

  I’m given mere seconds to take Brody in before he grasps my face in his hands and crashes his lips down on mine. Shock stiffens me for a moment before my body takes the wheel and returns his kiss, reacting to him the way it’s never done for anyone else. It only makes me angrier.

  “Stop,” I gasp, ripping my mouth away. “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” he replies. Licking his lips, he stares down at me like I belong to him, which I don’t. Before I can shove him away, he’s kissing me again, his arms sliding around and locking me in place with iron strength.

  His hot tongue rubs with mine, and I damn near combust. God he feels good. I missed this connection—this sense of belonging that snaps into place, like where I am is right where I’m meant to be. My arms wind around his neck of their own accord. He groans at the submission, a deep sound of lust and satisfaction that turns my bones to water.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “Stop!” I jerk backwards, struggling from his embrace.

  Brody’s arms slide from my back to my hips but he holds tight. I pause my efforts and glare, my face burning with indignation. His hair is a tousled mess, his cheeks tinged pink, and dark pupils dilated. He looks wild and beautiful, like electricity is wired in his veins.

  “Let me go, Brody.” A lump forms in my throat. I don’t want him to let go. “You can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” He grins irresistibly. “Kiss you? Because I already did.”

  His widespread fingers dig in deliciously and tug me closer, pressing a growing erection into my lower belly. My body throbs in response, a sweet ache building swiftly between my thighs.

  “And I’m going to do it again.” He smacks his lips playfully against mine. “And again.” Another loud kiss lands on my mouth. “And again.” Brody’s lips come down for mor
e. His carefree mood is infectious, making my outrage hard to hold onto.

  “Stop,” I hiss before I lose it altogether.

  “You heard her,” Leah interrupts from somewhere on my left. Brody’s head snaps in her direction. “Jordan’s not some toy you can just pick up and put down at will, Madden.”

  His voice sobers, annoyance creasing his brow. “Give us a minute, would you, Leah?”

  Leah is far from done. “No.”

  Brody huffs, nostrils flaring. “Goddammit, Leah. Can you just—”

  Her chin juts out. “No.”

  I’m thankful for her strength right now. It bolsters my own. “Leah’s right, Brody.” His attention snaps back to me, tension gathering in his frame. “You can’t keep doing this. I’ve worked my whole life for the opportunity to be here, and it needs to be my priority. My life and career is all mapped out.” I breathe in Brody’s familiar scent, his body warm and protective. I want to bury my face in his neck and inhale deeply, letting the comfort of it settle in my bones. He’s right. This is what home feels like … but I have to let it go. “And you’re not part of it.”

  His intake of breath is sharp, piercing my ears. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Of course she does.”

  “Leah.” My voice shakes. I stare down at my feet, blinking rapidly. “Can you go get me a sandwich before they’re all gone?”

  My appetite has disappeared, but Brody and I need a moment alone.

  Her voice takes on a warning tone. “Elliott.”

  I force a reassuring smile that doesn’t fool anyone, least of all me. “Grain bread if they have it,” I add.

  Leah shakes her head but walks off. When she disappears I look back to Brody, finishing what I need to say. “I can’t keep up with you, Brody. One minute your high and the next low. All I ever did was help you, and you threw it back in my face.” It hurts to keep talking, and I have to force myself. “I can’t do it anymore. I need to be selfish now and focus on myself. Please understand that and just let me be.”

  “I can’t do that. I know I fucked up.” Brody shakes his head, the pink tinge on his cheeks now ashen. “Jordan.” My name is a rasp on his lips. “I’m sorry. I just needed time before I came to see you. There was something I had to do first.”