Page 76 of Hell Bent (Portland Devils #5)

CHAMPIONSHIP SEASON

Sebastian

I’d played on a championship team once before.

Nearly nineteen and green as grass, I’d gulped champagne out of an enormous trophy and been drunk even before I’d left the locker room.

I’d shouted myself hoarse even though I’d only played eleven minutes, had tried to sing along to songs I didn’t know the words to.

It hadn’t really felt like my victory, but I’d been part of it, right? It was my team, right?

We’d gone to a strip club afterward. I believe I tried to climb on stage, but it’s hazy.

I’d woken on somebody’s couch the next morning with my head pounding and my mouth like the bottom of a garbage can, and had spent most of the day throwing up.

There’d been a fair amount of vomiting, in fact, during my time in Newcastle.

There was a reason I hadn’t been all that fussed by Ben’s Laphroaig adventure.

Today, I stood in the locker room, my jersey off but my shoulder pads still on, laughing as Kelsan Simmons sprayed me with champagne and Harlan did the most ridiculous chicken dance you’ve ever seen with our brutally effective free safety, Lionel Fairchild, who’d tipped that pass late in the fourth quarter and given us our chance.

Fairchild had a grin the size of Alberta on his broad face, and Harlan looked, as usual, like a movie star.

They were both very good dancers. They were also being sprayed with about a case’s worth of champagne, at least the part that wasn’t disappearing down fifty-three thirsty throats.

I slapped backs, yelled congratulations, got the life half squeezed out of me by Owen Johnson, and felt good.

Everybody was singing, and then only one voice was, and then that one broke off. I turned to look.

Bob Lomax, the Niners’ GM, was standing in the doorway in his white polo shirt with the 49ers logo.

I walked over there. I’m not sure I felt my feet at all.

Bob put out his hand, and I shook it, then dropped it. He looked me in the eye, unsmiling, and said, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Tough game.” Why was he here? Was this normal?

He inclined his head toward the door. Oh. Yeah, that would make more sense. Hallway.

Once we were out there, he said, “You told me Colt Hammersmith couldn’t kick from fifty-three.”

“Not today, anyway,” I said.

“Yeah.” He didn’t look rueful, or whatever. He was too hardheaded for that. “You’re a free agent now.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’m man enough to own up when I make a mistake,” he said.

“Kinda hard to avoid it this time, I expect,” I said. “Things change. That’s sports.”

“Yeah,” he said again. “You still with Brian Longfellow?”

“No. Vince Haliburton.”

He said, “Oh.” Which clearly meant, Shark.

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s why I went with him. ”

“We’ll be in touch, then,” he said.

“Fine,” I said, and he nodded, turned, and walked away.

Life was strange. And terrible. And, possibly, wonderful.

Living in three dimensions was a whole new experience. So I went back into the locker room and kept on doing it.

At ten-fifteen the next morning, I wasn’t in Disneyland, and I also wasn’t doing whatever other glamorous thing people imagine NFL players do after they win the Super Bowl.

I was standing at baggage claim in the Portland Airport, my hands in my pockets and a Devils cap on my head, watching travelers straggle through.

Some of them looked pretty rough. Those would be the ones from the Vegas flight. They’d done some celebrating.

“Excuse me.” Something was tugging at my sleeve. It was a kid. A girl of about seven, wearing a red backpack and pulling a suitcase on wheels. When I turned, she sort of lunged at me, and the suitcase banged into my leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” That was a woman, presumably the mom, who grabbed the suitcase and said, “What are you doing, Chelsea? You ran right into the man! Tell him you’re sorry.”

“Mom,” the girl said, “it’s Sebastian Robillard!” She said it more like “Thebathtian,” because she was missing some teeth.

“No, it isn’t,” her mother said. “Come on. Grandpa’s already at the curb.”

“Yeth, it ith,” Chelsea insisted, and stared at me. It was a penetrating stare. Brown eyes, brown hair, straight-across bangs. “I watched an interview with you. I watched three interviews with you, actually. One before, and two after.”

“Sebastian Robillard isn’t standing around baggage claim the morning after the Super Bowl,” her mother said. “He’s flying to the South of France, or maybe sleeping it off.” Insulting, I call that.

The girl didn’t answer, just looked at me. I said, “Well, yeah, I’m him. Hi. Did you go to the game?”

Now, she squinted. Of course she did. “Maybe you’re not,” she said. “I think he’s taller.”

Again with the height. What did you say? “No, I really am”?

I was saved from deciding, because the voice I wanted to hear was saying, “Sebastian. What the heck?” And Alix was rushing forward, dropping her suitcase, throwing her arms around my neck, and kissing me. Laughing, then holding my face in her palms.

I didn’t answer. I just kissed her, then got my arms around her better and twirled her while she laughed and looked beautiful and happy and like a—well, like a princess. A princess in blue jeans.

I put her down at last, because I had to do it sometime, then thought, What the hell, and hugged Ben, too.

He didn’t seem to mind. He said, in fact, “You did awesome yesterday. Way to win. Alix about had a heart attack, though. She practically took my hand off holding it, see?” He lifted his hand and showed me some marks like little red crescents. Fingernails.

I said, “It’s good to see you, too. Why do you look terrible?”

“Maybe because we had to get up at five to get this stupid flight?” Ben said. “I didn’t get to bed until after one.”

“You guys went out, huh?” I asked, grabbing Alix’s suitcase before she could protest, then grabbing her again, too. My hand around her waist, feeling that springiness. Feeling good.

Oh. Chelsea. I said, “Hang on.” The girl was still staring at me, and now, her mouth was open. I told her, “Yeah, I’m him. Good job recognizing the kicker. ”

She gasped a little, then said, “I play soccer. You used to play soccer.”

“I did,” I said. “I think I’m better at football, though. Do good this season, OK?” Then I smiled and walked out with Alix and Ben, saying, “Got time for breakfast before work, Alix? I feel I deserve a good breakfast. There’s a place near here that seems reasonable.”

She said, “You came to meet us.”

“Evidently.” I didn’t say that it had been weird to get home last night and find only Lexi to greet me, and that I hadn’t got to bed until one myself. Still buzzing, but nobody to share it with. “Come on. Let’s go have breakfast. Guess what, Ben? They have burgers.”

“Good,” he said. “I need a burger. And coffee.”

“You drink coffee?”

“I just started. When I went out with Annabelle and Dyma after the game.” He said it very casually.

“Ah. The light dawns.” I looked at Alix. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” she said. “I was too keyed up to be with anybody but you.” And smiled at me like crazy.

Yeah, it was good to have them back.

Then we went to breakfast, and things went sideways.

Alix

It wasn’t easy to focus on food. Sebastian and I kept grabbing each other’s hands across the table until finally, Ben sighed, slid out of the booth, and said, “Switch places with me, Alix.”

“What?” I said. “Why?”

“Because,” he said, “you guys are so goopy, it’s making me sick.”

“Maybe it’s your breakfast doing that,” Sebastian said, although, yes, when I slid in beside him, he leaned over and kissed me. It was really nice.

Oh. Ben. He said, “What? I was hungry.”

He had, in fact, finished his burger and fries in record time, and was now polishing off an enormous strawberry waffle with whipped cream. Sebastian said, “I used to be able to eat like that. Weird that football likes me better, because I sure worked harder in soccer.”

“Oh, yeah,” I said, “like it’s so easy to do what you do. I just—I have to say this, OK? What kind of grit does it take to come back in a game like that? To do what you did at the end?”

He said, “Takes belief. We had belief. And …” He broke off.

“What?” I asked. “I was so proud of you. I have to say this, too. You have so much strength and so much composure. You’re really something, you know? You are a man.” At which he kissed me again.

Ben sighed, piled the last mini-mountain of whipped cream onto the last bite of waffle, swirled the whole thing in syrup, and shoved it into his mouth. When he was almost finished chewing, he said, “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll probably throw up.”

‘I told you not to eat all that,” Sebastian said.

“That’s not what’s making me throw up,” Ben said. “It’s you guys. I need to go home and hang out with Lexi and Thomas. Thomas hardly ever looks at me goopily and tells me what a man I am.”

“Lexi does, though,” I said.

“Yeah,” Ben said, “but she’s a dog. It’s her job.”

When he was gone, I asked Sebastian, “What were you going to say? Besides that you have belief?”

“Oh.” He looked a little embarrassed. “Just—it’s something, the way this team works. Most teams I’ve played on, it’s more the stars and the little people. The offense and the defense on separate planets, and special teams off there like Pluto.”

“Pluto isn’t a planet anymore,” I said.

“My point,” he said, and ate another forkful of scrambled eggs with smoked salmon.

“The Devils are different. It’s the ownership and the coaching, the players they choose, the leadership in the locker room.

Brings out the best in people. We probably shouldn’t have won all those games, tell you the truth. We won them on that X factor.”

“And because of you,” I said.

“See,” he said, “it brings out the best in me, too. I’ve always been my own guy.

Methodical. I wouldn’t have said I kicked on emotion, but I’ve never kicked this way, so …

” He started to fork up another bite and stopped.

“I need to talk to you more tonight,” he said, “but I’ve got this inside me, so—I’m pretty sure I’m going to get an offer from the Niners.

Probably get a whole lot more than one offer, my new agent says, but I’m thinking about that one.

About San Francisco. I could take it. And I need to tell you that. ”

I couldn’t breathe. Like yesterday, and not like it at all. Then, my heart had seemed to be in my throat. Now, it had sunk into my stomach. My breakfast was a hot, hard ball down there, and I was holding the edge of the table.

Ben came back.

“I …” I said. “I …” And couldn’t go on. I looked at my plate. It was clean. “I need to get to work. Out of time.” I stood up, pulled the keys from my coat pocket, and turned to go. I needed to get out of here. I needed to go.

“Wait,” Sebastian said. He’d slid out, too, was standing beside me, looking worried. At how I’d taken it, obviously.

“You’ve …” My mouth was dry, even though I’d just drunk two glasses of water and three cups of coffee.

It’s hard to get the words out with your mouth as dry as that.

“You’re fine,” I sa id. “You’ve changed your life in all those ways.

Responsible for Ben, for Lexi, for Solange.

You don’t have to be responsible for me. ”

“What?” Sebastian said. “Alix …” He had his hand in his hair, and as bad as I felt, I couldn’t stand that he was feeling that way, when he should be triumphant. “Wait,” he said again. “Let’s talk. We’ll go somewhere and talk.”

“Oh, boy,” Ben said. He’d stood up, too. “You realize that we’re going to be arrested for dine and dash, right? And could you hold the deep conversation until I’m not standing right here?”

“I need to go to work,” I said again.

“You’re coming back home tonight, though,” Sebastian said.

“Yes,” I said. “If you want.” And thought, I can’t stand this. But I knew I could. I’d have to.

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” Sebastian said. He didn’t move to kiss me. He looked grim instead.

“See you then,” I said, and headed out.