by Hamel, B. B.
And then the game starts.
That’s how football is. One second, you’re jogging around the field trying to get ready, and the next a bunch of enormous guys are trying to fucking kill you. It’s moments of boredom punctuated by intense moments of pure violence. Football isn’t a sport for kind people. It’s not a sport that’s easy on our bodies.
But god damn, do I love it.
Still, I wish I could say this game was easy. I wish I could say I threw the ball all over the field, hit every pass, looked like a star. I’d be lying if I said that.
I take a hit midway through the first quarter. It’s a bad hit. I’m trying to scramble, trying to run for a few extra yards, when a linebacker blindsides me. I didn’t see it coming and I slam down onto the hard turf, right on my throwing arm.
Pain rips through my elbow. I growl and for a second, I think I might not get up.
But then I remember where I am. I remember I can’t show pain.
And I’m back on my feet again.
But the rest of that game…
“Are you okay?” Coach barks at me during halftime. “You’re sloppy. Missing easy passes. What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” I growl at him.
“He’s hurt.” Nicole’s voice, right behind me.
I look back at her. “I’m fine.”
“Liar. Look, Dad. He’s nursing his throwing arm.”
I glare at her and shake my head. I meet Coach’s gaze. “I’m fine,” I say.
He looks at me long and hard. “You’d better be,” he says softly. “If you’re not, tell us now. We can’t afford to lose you.”
“I’m not losing this game.”
He nods slowly and walks away.
I look back at Nicole.
“You should sit out,” she says and shakes her head with disappointment.
Fuck that. I don’t sit out for anything.
We end up winning by a field goal. It’s not a good game, it’s not even a fun game. It’s a bloody scrap start to finish.
But we win. That’s all that matters. At the end of the day, there’s a W next to our name.
The guys are elated. Coach is excited.
Nicole just shakes her head at me.
* * *
Monday morning practice is a hell of aching body parts. Playing a game like that makes you feel like you got hit by a fucking truck the next day, probably since most of us were.
My right arm is throbbing. It didn’t feel this bad yesterday, but today…
I want to lie and act like I’m fine, but as soon as I start throwing, my quarterback coach spots it.
“You’re hurt, goddamn it,” he growls at me. “You can barely hit your targets.”
“I’m fine,” I argue.
“Go to the goddamn trainer and get looked at.” He shakes his head at me.
Great, another disappointed coach.
Whatever.
I go to the trainer as instructed. The guy looks at me, orders some imaging, and I spend the rest of the day having doctors go through my body with a fine-toothed comb. I find myself sitting in Coach’s office with the head trainer and Nicole after hours, my arm in a fucking sling.
“This isn’t necessary,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“He’s not fine,” the head trainer says, an older man named Nigel.
“What’s going on?” Coach asks.
“It’s his elbow. Nothing’s broken but there’s some serious ligament straining.”
“I’m fine,” I growl.
“He’s not fine,” Nigel says, shaking his head.
“Can he play?”
Everyone looks back at Nicole.
She just shrugs.
“You’re all thinking it.”
Coach sighs and looks back at the trainer. “Well?” he barks.
“Yes,” the trainer says with a frown. “The damage isn’t severe. It’ll hurt, but he could play, in theory. I just don’t recommend it. He needs to miss a game, maybe two. Let it heal and settle before he puts himself out there again.”
“I can play,” I say quickly. “He said it himself.”
“He also said you should sit out two games,” Coach growls at me. “So shut up.”
I shut my mouth, seething.
“How many hits did he take last game?” Nicole asks.
Her father glances at her. “Four.”
“That’s four chances that he could break his elbow and be done for the season.”
“Assuming he’d get hit that many times.”
“We’re going against the Bears. You know how their defense is.”
I squirm in my chair. I hate when people discuss my future without letting me weigh in like I’m some kind of animal or specimen or child. Fuck that shit.
“I can play,” I growl, almost shouting over them.
Coach sighs and rubs his eyes. “I know you think that,” he says. “But we need you for the season, not for a single game. You won us two. We could put Cody in—”
“Cody can’t hit a pass if his life literally depended on it,” I shoot back. Cody is the young second-string QB that Coach brought up from college.
“Cody is going to be good one day,” Coach says softly.
“This Sunday isn’t that day.”
Coach sighs and leans back in his chair. “Thank for your input, Nigel,” he says.
The old trainer gets up. “If I may,” he says, and I wish he fucking wouldn’t, but he does anyway. “If you want to maximize his chances of staying healthy, I’d make him sit out at least one game. At the very least, he needs some rehab this week and some rest.”
“Thank you,” Coach says. The trainer nods and leaves the room.
I’m left alone with Nicole and her father. I sit there, squirming like a fucking schoolboy in the principal’s office.
“Okay then,” Coach finally says. “You want to play, don’t you?”
“I want to play,” I say. “Give me a cortisone shot. I’ll rest and ice and do minimal practice. I’ll be ready.”
Coach nods slowly. “Okay. We’ll do that.”
“Dad,” Nicole says.
But her father shoots her a look. She shuts her mouth but I can tell she’s seething.
“I won’t let you down,” I say, standing. I take the sling off, flexing my arm. It does ache a bit, but not as bad as it did this morning.
“You’d better not,” Coach says softly. “I know I’m your only shot at a future, River. There’s a reason I took you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “You think so?”
“Don’t be foolish, son. I know all about you. So listen, I need you to be a team player. If you really can’t suit up, you say so. Otherwise, I’ll take your word for it.”
“Good.” I nod once.
“Dismissed.”
I turn and leave the room.
Fuck, I hate when people talk to me like that. I know he’s my coach and my superior, but I hate when people just dismiss me from a room. It’s frustrating but I know I have to take it.
And I hate when they talk about me like I’m not there. Again, it’s part of the job, but it’s demeaning. It’s like my body isn’t my own.
“River, wait.”
I turn and watch Nicole come walking toward me. She matches my stride as I head toward the training room.
“What do you want?” I ask her. “I thought you’d be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” she says softly, grabbing my arm. I stop walking and face her.
“Are you? If you were, you’d let me play.”
“I have no control over that,” she says, annoyed.
“You sure were arguing against it.”
“Fine, I don’t think you should play. I don’t get why you’re being so stubborn. You can miss one game, get your elbow back to full strength, and then be back out on that field.”
I lean toward her, staring into her gorgeous eyes. Fucking hell, if I didn’t want to fuck her so badly right now, I might actually be mad at her.
“And what if Cody has a good game?” I ask softly.
“You said he’s garbage.”
“Of course I did, he’s my fucking competition. What if I sit out one game and that little shit takes my position?”
She shakes her head. “It won’t happen.”
“Happened to Tony Romo. He got the start one time and never gave it up. Happened to Tom Brady, same deal. Why couldn’t it happen for that little shit Cody?”
She looks exasperated. “Because he’s not as good as you.”
“Doesn’t matter. Your dad doesn’t give a shit about that and you know it. He just wants the team to win.”
She clenches her jaw but she knows I’m right. Her father doesn’t care about who is the best, he just cares about winning.
“I still think it’s a bad idea,” she says softly. “Seriously, River. Just get healthy. One game.”
“I can’t risk it. I need this too badly.” I step closer to her, looking down into her eyes. “We need this.”
She steps away, anger flashing into her face. “No, don’t you use me for your own ego,” she snaps.
“I’m not—”
“You are. You’re doing this for yourself, not for me or for this… you know.”
I cross my arms. “I said I’d take care of you.”
“Then sit out a game.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Fine. Be a stubborn asshole. See if I give a shit.”
I grin at her. “Okay.”
“And you’d better not work out after practice anymore.”
I hesitate. “I mean—”
“River,” she says. “I’m serious. No more late-night working out. Rehab and rest this week.”
I sigh and decide it’s not worth fighting over. She can have a little win. “Fine,” I say. “Rest and rehab. Whatever you say, Nurse Nicole.”
She rolls her eyes. “Go to the trainer. And don’t be an asshole.”
She turns and walks away. I watch her ass for a moment and feel that thrill.
But there’s a nagging worry in my mind as I head to the trainer’s office. Maybe she’s right, maybe I should sit this one out. If I get hurt for the season, I’m done…
I can’t second-guess. This is my choice and I’m sticking with it. She can be pissed all she wants.
I’m winning for her and for me.
12
Nicole
That selfish, arrogant, stupid, annoying, stubborn asshole.
Of course he doesn’t listen to me. I mean, I don’t know why I ever thought he would.
Maybe I’m just as dumb as he is if I think he’d ever actually put aside his own ego for one second and do something I asked him to.
But whatever, god, whatever. He doesn’t owe me anything. Just because we had a good night together and he was starting to look like a normal human being to me…
He doesn’t owe me anything. I’m not his wife or his girlfriend. He can do whatever he pleases whenever he wants.
Still, I’m angry. I can’t help myself.
Every time I see him practicing, every time I see a little wince when he throws, I know he’s making a huge mistake.
I try and push my dad on it.
“River shouldn’t play,” I say to him the next afternoon during break.
“Maybe,” he grunts at me, watching game tape of the Bears from last week’s game.
“Seriously, Dad. He can barely throw without pain.”
“Says he’s fine.”
“If he goes down, we could lose him for the season.”
“Cody’s ready.”
“Come on, Dad. Are you seriously going to let him play?”
My dad looks over at me and sighs. He rubs his eyes and he looks exhausted. I almost feel bad for him, almost.
“Listen, we need River on the field. We’re paying him a lot of money to get out there and win games. I know it’s a risk but if he says he can do it, I’m going to listen to him.”
“You’re risking him just because you’re afraid of losing. You’re afraid of all the bad media attention we’ll get when we lose a game.”
He glares at me. “We’re gonna lose a game, damn it,” he says. “You never win them all.”
“So why are you acting like you won’t?”
He shakes his head. “If he says he’s playing, he’s playing. That’s the end of it.”
“Dad—”
“Stop pushing, okay? I need to finish watching this.” He turns back to the screen.
I want to shout at him. I want to scream. But instead, I just leave his office. I know better than to keep going when he says it’s over. Even if he’s wrong, he won’t listen, not now. He’s way too stubborn for that.
So I go all week knowing I’m right. River is in pain, although he keeps practicing and rehabbing. I avoid him as much as I can because I know I can’t be rational right now with him.
The one conversation we have does not go well. It’s Thursday and he corners me when I’m walking through the hallway past the locker room.
“Hey,” he says. “Nicole.”
I turn and frown at him but I don’t stop. He hurries and matches my pace.
“What’s up?” I ask him. “Here to gloat about how good your arm feels?”
He frowns at me. “What? No, it’s not all about that.”
“So what?”
“I was just, I wanted to see how you were doing. You know, how you were feeling. Since you’ve been fucking ducking me all week.”
I stop and whirl on him. “I’m not ducking you, okay? I just don’t want to talk to you, that’s all.”
He smirks at me, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, okay. Sounds like you’re ducking me.”
“Don’t be a dick, River.”
“So I take it you’re feeling fine?”
I clench my jaw. “You shouldn’t be playing this weekend. I’m not going to just pretend like I’m okay with this.”
“We don’t have to talk about that,” he says softly.
“Fine, whatever. We just don’t have to talk at all.”
I turn and storm away from him.
I know, I know. I feel like an asshole. I should be a lot more mature about this, but I can’t help it.
I actually care about what happens to him.
Stupid, right?
Here’s the thing. With other players in the past, I wouldn’t have given a crap. I mean, I would’ve cared, but not like this. I wouldn’t have fought with my dad over it or yelled at the player.
This is River, though. I’m pregnant with his baby and he says he wants to do right by me. But he’s unwilling to listen to anything I have to say about his career.
I know a thing or two about football and I know I’m right about this.
Still, he won’t listen, and I should be more civil. I shouldn’t be acting like a moron. He just makes me so angry and I can’t turn it off when he’s around, smirking at me like that with those gorgeous eyes and that handsome body and—
I need to calm down.
So I go on avoiding him the rest of the week. Dad doesn’t bring up the little fight we got into and I don’t mention it either. Things go back to normal, mostly. Friday and Saturday come and go and River doesn’t have an injury designation going into the weekend although he really, really should.
Sunday comes, our next home game. Everyone’s nervous and on edge. I refuse to look at River at all as the guys go through warmups. I can’t deal with it.
But I do stand next to Dad.
“You sure about him?” I ask over the cheering of the crowd.
I expect him to snap at me. Instead, he just frowns a little and shakes his head.
“Not at all,” he admits. “But it’s too late.”
I only look away.
Too late. Yeah, maybe.
Shame though.
If only River wasn’t such an ass.
* * *
We lose that game.
It’s close. I won’t pretend like it isn
’t.
River doesn’t take any nasty hits, which is incredibly fortunate. The Bears’ defense is a little depleted, missing a couple of their starting linemen, so they’re not rushing as well. River manages to stick in the pocket and doesn’t get sacked once.
He’s just not accurate is the problem. River is normally incredibly good on the pass, smart and sharp, but today he just looked…
He looked bad. There’s no other way of putting it. At halftime, Dad chewed him out.
“You fucking hurt? You in pain?” Dad got right in his face.
River shook his head. “I’m fine. Just missing.”
“Don’t fucking miss.”
It was ugly. I almost felt bad.
But the second half didn’t go much better. River missed more passes, nearly fumbled a handoff. In the end, we lost by two touchdowns.
It should’ve been worse. We should’ve been totally blown out and embarrassed, except the defense played incredibly well and Chet didn’t miss a single field goal.
The locker room is ugly after the game. I hang off to the side, watching the guys get changed. A few of them have to go out and do media interviews, but River doesn’t look like he’s in any shape to go in front of a camera.
Dad is livid. He’s quiet, just watching the guys, and I know what that means. He’s stewing on something and it’s not going to be good when he finally bursts.
“River!” he finally barks. “My office, now!”
Every guy in the room stares at the quarterback. Slowly River stands up, turns toward Coach, and follows him.
I drift along behind them. Dad slams the door before I can slip inside but I don’t need to be in the room to hear Dad yelling.
“You lost this fucking game!” Dad shouts. “You never should’ve gone out there injured. You told me it wouldn’t affect you, and it did!”
“That’s not why we lost,” River counters.
“You missed easy passes. You almost fumbled at least once. Damn it, River. If your arm was affecting your throwing game, you should’ve sat out.”
“That’s not the problem,” River says.
“You were the problem,” Dad growls in response. “You were selfish and stupid for ever getting on that field.”
“You knew I was hurt,” River counters and I can hear the anger and anguish in his voice.
