Page 44 of Necessary Roughness

Roman

I dated a girl last fall for about a month. We had a spark at first, as strong as the electrical current through a bolt of lightning. But the thing about lightning bolts was that they were gone in a blink, and so was this girl.

Aside from her, I hadn’t been in any serious relationships since my freshman year.

I never truly connected with the women who typically threw themselves at football players, and I was too focused on football and my studies to ever proactively pursue anyone.

I pretended that I liked it that way. I told myself I would have plenty of time for romance when I graduated.

By then I would know my future, if I was good enough to get drafted into the NFL or if I would need to figure out a backup plan.

All of that made logical sense.

But matters of the heart were rarely logical, and so were my new, complex feelings for Sloane. I’d resisted my attraction to her for so long that it was ingrained in me like muscle memory.

Not anymore.

Sloane was like a wave on the ocean, building unseen strength. Cresting before the break. And just like an ocean wave, there was no point in fighting it.

Now that I had relented, now that I had given in to the wonderful attraction that pinged between us whenever we locked eyes, I felt a strange sense of sturdiness. Like I had been flimsy before, and now was solid.

That feeling was what made me so deadly in the football game today.

That’s why my confidence was back. That’s why my swagger had returned.

Sloane.

As we walked the four blocks to the party, I had the overpowering urge to reach out and hold her hand. She was right there, walking alongside next to me. It would have felt nice.

But I held back because I had never seen Logan or Knox show that level of public affection. I was new to their insane agreement, and as a newcomer I didn’t want to overstep my bounds.

That didn’t stop my hand from itching, though.

When we walked into the house party, we were welcomed like heroes coming back from war.

Men high-fived us and chanted our names.

Women batted their eyelashes at us, and played with their hair.

Knox and Logan were the flashy players on the team who usually received this kind of attention, but linebackers like me rarely received such treatment. It was nice.

Not as nice as the way Sloane was grinning up at me.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re enjoying this,” she teased.

“I played well today,” I said calmly. “It’s nice to get recognition. Just for one night. Tomorrow, we look ahead to next week’s game.”

“The last game of the season,” Sloane said.

Logan shook his head. “Last game of the regular season. Then we play in the conference championship.”

“It’ll probably be against OCSU,” Knox mused, referring to Orange Coast State University.

“They’ve won the conference three years in a row, right?” Sloane asked.

“Every goddamn year I’ve been here,” Knox growled. “All those losses will be worth it if we can win this year. The cherry on top of my final year.”

“That’d look good on your draft resume,” I said.

Knox leaned over and poked me in the chest. “You still have another year after this one. You’ll have a chance to start our own win streak after we’re gone.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” Sloane sounded like a debate moderator. “Let’s focus on one game at a time, remember? Finish the regular season first. Then worry about the conference championship. And then, after that , worry about repeating it next season.”

Knox put his arm around Sloane’s neck and gave her a sideways hug. “She’s not just a pretty face. She’s smart as hell.”

The party was already in full swing at this point, and our arrival only cranked things up a few notches. We guzzled beer and played drinking games. Knox and Logan danced to techno music on the back deck while three of our other teammates chanted, “KNOX MADDOX M-V-P! KNOX MADDOX M-V-P!”

We were drunk on victory as much as alcohol. For once, I let myself indulge until I had a pleasant buzz. I hadn’t had a lot of reasons to celebrate this season, but between the football game and Sloane, I now had several.

Lots of students talked about the perfect season. We tried to shush them, tried to tell them not to jinx it, but everyone was riding high. And since I had my own swagger back, I allowed myself to entertain the idea.

A perfect season. Zero losses.

It didn’t feel real.

Logan shared a look with me in between beer pong games. “What?” I asked.

“She’s our good luck charm,” Logan said, nodding towards Sloane over by the wall. She was playing rock-paper-scissors with Knox over something, laughing and accusing him of cheating.

“I don’t believe in luck,” I said. “I believe in harder work.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You’ve struggled all season.

Hey, bro, don’t glare at me like that. You know it.

I know it. The janitor who cleans the locker room knows it.

Then you sleep with Sloane, and suddenly have the best game of your career?

Setting a school record in sacks for a single game? Tell me that’s a coincidence.”

“It’s a coincidence,” I said.

He rolled his eyes again, then patted me on the chest. “You can deny it out loud all you want, but I can see you thinking it. That girl’s special.”

I smiled at Sloane from across the room. “Now that I’ll agree with.”

Logan and I played another game of beer pong against two sophomore girls who made a lot of innuendo about what we could do to them if we won. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your perspective—we lost the game.

“I’m going to get another vodka and Red Bull,” I told Logan.

“Get me one!” he replied. “No. Wait. Just get me a beer. Brother, I’m drunk .”

I chuckled as I walked away. It was probably time for me to do the same and switch to only beer.

On the way to the kitchen, I heard the sounds of an argument. I would’ve ignored it, except one of the voices was feminine. I didn’t consider myself a white knight, and I generally liked to stay out of other peoples’ business, but tonight I was feeling like a winner.

I followed the sounds down a hall. There was a small half-bathroom next to the door to the garage, and the argument was drifting through the cracked door.

“ Troy ,” the woman snapped, “I’m not doing this right now.”

My blood went cold, then red-hot. That was Sloane.

The door opened another inch, but then the man inside—Troy—slammed it shut. “Let me go!” she demanded. “Get out of my way!”

“Not until you—”

I never had a chance to hear what he wanted, because I threw my shoulder into the door, exploding the frame in a shower of splinters. Troy only had enough time to half turn toward me before I lashed out with my foot, kicking him in the gut and doubling him over.

“Roman!” Sloane exclaimed.

Sloane had these big, beautiful eyes, and right now they were filled with relief at my entrance.

“Let’s get out of here.”

I took her by the hand and led her out into the party. A few bystanders who had seen me knock down the door called out to me, but I didn’t care. There was a pulsing warning in my head, blinking like a check-engine light, screaming at me to leave before something really bad happened.

“Roman, what’s going on?” Logan asked by the beer pong table. “Someone said…”

“Troy cornered me in the bathroom,” Sloane said. “He wouldn’t let me leave.”

Knox’s expression darkened. “That piece of—”

“It’s fine,” Sloane reassured him. “ I’m fine. I just want to leave.”

Logan turned to Isaac, the host of the party. “You need to kick someone out.”

“Fuck yeah, I love kicking people out,” Isaac said with the loyalty of a soldier following orders. “Tell me who and they’re gone.”

“Him,” Knox said, pointing. “Troy.”

“He’s my ex,” Sloane added.

Troy was standing in the doorway to the beer pong room, one hand lightly cradling his stomach. I felt myself smile. He was lucky I hadn’t done more to him.

Isaac’s jaw fell open. “You want me to kick Troy out?”

“Why?” Knox asked. “What’s wrong?”

Troy began laughing. “You stupid idiots. This is my house . And you—” his finger came up to point at me, “—broke my door down. All of you need to leave.”

“You said this was your house,” Logan hissed at Isaac.

“I mean, it kinda is? I’m paying half the rent. But Troy’s father bought it for him.”

“Let’s get out of here,” I said, putting an arm on Logan to guide him toward the door.

I wasn’t going to let me or my roommates get in a fight with Sloane’s ex.

I was confident in the knowledge that he was a loser, and she was better off without him.

As our coach always said: victory was the best kind of revenge.

“That’s twice you’ve been defended by the football team,” Troy said, voice thick with contempt.

“Let’s go,” I warned Logan.

Knox pushed around on the other side, leaning toward Troy. “Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.”

Troy’s laughter was full of mockery. “Ohh, I’ll regret it? What will you do? Are you threatening to attack me in front of all these people? That’s all you big brutes know: violence.”

“Knox,” I growled, “let’s go .”

“He’s right,” Sloane told Knox. Then she took Logan’s hand. “Let’s leave.”

It was a mistake, and I knew it immediately.

“Oh oh oh!” Troy pointed at their interlocked fingers. “That’s why you’re defending her. You’re fucking her.” His eyes flicked over to Knox, then to me. “Wait. Hold on. Are you fucking all three of them?”

Logan tried to step forward, and I had to block him with an arm. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Logan,” I hissed, and this time he allowed me to push him toward the door. On the other side, Sloane was guiding Knox away.

“This is insane!” Troy shouted over the party music. “You’re fucking three football players? Or are you letting the entire team run a train on you? I dodged a bullet by dumping you. Stupid fucking whore .”

I didn’t remember turning around. Nor did I remember calmly walking toward him, pulling back my meaty fist, and burying it in the middle of his face.

I remembered the bright flash of pain in my knuckles, though.

Troy staggered backward, somehow surprised that he had been punched. I winced, cradling my hand. Even though I spent most of my time trying to tackle people on the football field, I realized I had never been in a real fight before. At least, I’d never thrown a punch.

A fist hit me in the side of the neck, annoying me more than anything. I glanced up and saw it was Troy, rage twisting his weaselly little face as he prepared to strike me again.

He never had the chance.

Knox stepped between us, holding both of us apart, but I had spent the game today dodging men bigger than him.

I moved under his arm and then, using my uninjured hand, I grabbed Troy by the neck and shoved him against the wall.

His knee lashed up, trying to hit me in the balls, but I twisted my torso sideways.

Compared to dodging opposing linemen, fighting Troy was like fighting a child.

I should have stopped. I could have tossed him down and walked out of the party. But as he stared at me, red streaks of hate in his eyes, his voice echoed in my mind.

Stupid fucking whore.

Sloane was special to me now, and I wasn’t going to let this piece of shit hurt her.

I let go of his neck, and punched him in the gut. He dropped to his knees.

Stupid fucking whore .

I drove my knee up into his jaw. His teeth made a sick crunching sound.

Stupid fucking whore.

I backhanded him. Knox shouted in my ear.

Stupid.

Another punch to the side of his head.

Fucking .

I grabbed the back of his head and shoved him onto his back.

Whore .

I reached back, forgetting that my hand hurt, and punched him once more in the face.

Only then, only when the white-hot pain erupted in my knuckles again, did I stop. My knuckles were bloodied, but nothing compared to the red smear that had become Troy’s face. I blinked, surprised by what I had done. How easy it had been.

But I didn’t feel guilt in that moment as I stood over him.

I felt the most profound sense of satisfaction of my life. It was the joy of a hundred quarterback sacks, the thrill of a thousand recovered fumbles.

“ROMAN!” Sloane screamed from across the room.

Despite his ruined face, despite the immense pain he must have been in, Troy managed to laugh. A sick, gargling sound.

And through the bloody hole in his face, he managed to say, “You’ll. Regret. That.”