Page 47 of Necessary Roughness

Sloane

“I can’t believe you’re ditching us for the rich people seats,” Jayden complained while we walked through the metal detectors at the stadium.

“I don’t know why you’re upset. You would ditch us if you had better seats,” Bryson pointed out.

“I’m upset because I’m jealous,” Jayden shot back. “You should know by now that I’m a jealous bitch.”

“They’re not rich people seats. They’re family suites. For the family members of players.”

“That’s what rich people seats are, sweetie,” Jayden said.

Bryson sighed wistfully. “My old lab partner, Vanessa, used to work in hospitality at the stadium. She said each suite has its own private bar. All you can drink.”

“That’s dangerous,” Jayden warned.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it myself.

I hadn’t met one of my boyfriends’ parents since meeting Troy’s at homecoming weekend two years ago.

And the stakes felt a lot higher this time, because I liked Knox a lot more.

At least the twins had helped me choose an outfit, swapping out my jeans and T-shirt for a summer dress that would have been out of season in any other part of the country, but which was perfect for today’s pleasantly-warm day.

Rather than walking in the direction of the student section, the three of us stopped at the escalator leading up to the suite level. “Have fun, sweetie,” Jayden said while giving me a hug. “Don’t forget about us poors while you’re literally looking down on us.”

“Just be yourself,” Bryson said firmly. “You don’t need to be anyone else but Sloane Collins.”

His words bolstered my courage as I showed the usher my ticket and took the escalator to the next level. The journey upwards served as a blunt metaphor for what I was doing: leaving my friends behind and potentially joining the upper class.

Everything on the suite level was nicer than down below, from the carpet covering the floor to the football-themed wallpaper covering the walls. I found the door to my suite, took a deep breath, and then pushed inside.

Except the handle didn’t turn, so I ran right into the door. It was locked.

Grateful that nobody had seen me, I tried the handle again. Still locked. Finally, I noticed a keypad with a wireless reader. Once I scanned my ticket, the door clicked open, and I hurried inside.

A woman with a glass of wine in her hand was reaching for the door at that exact moment, and we almost bumped into each other. “Did you figure out the door, dear?” the woman asked.

Chuckling, I said, “Eventually. I’ve never been up here.” Was this Knox’s mother? I stuck out my hand. “Hi! I’m Sloane. Sloane Collins.”

She blinked in surprise, then shook my hand. “I’m Eloise Porter. Mark Porter, the running back, is my son. You must be Brett’s sister!”

“Brett?” I asked dumbly.

“Brett Collins. The kicker. He’s such a nice boy, so polite!” She smiled warmly in a way that made me wonder how many glasses of wine she’d already had, then wandered off into the suite.

I had assumed that Knox’s parents would be the only ones in the suite, but I immediately realized that was wrong. The suite was full of at least a dozen people, men and women of varying ages. I scanned their faces, hoping to catch a glimpse of familiarity, but none of them looked like Knox.

Bryson was right: not only was there a full bar, but a dedicated bartender standing at the ready.

I ordered a glass of chardonnay, because that felt classier than a beer, and wandered around the suite.

Clusters of conversation were happening here and there, everyone already engrossed in their own discussions.

The windows at the far end of the suite overlooked the stadium, with an open door leading to two rows of private seats just for our suite.

A few people were sitting out there, watching the final pre-game preparations down on the field.

One woman had hair that was kind of similar to Knox’s, but nothing else about her indicated that she was his mom.

And the man next to her definitely bore no resemblance.

Thinking that I might have gotten to the game before them, I sipped my wine and watched the kick-off below. The stadium was abuzz with noise, although it sounded more hushed from up here rather than down in the student section.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself as Knox and his teammates broke the huddle and lined up for the first play of the game. “Finish the season strong.”

The ball was hiked, and Knox dropped back. He looked to his right, then his left, then twisted his body and threw a pass to the right. But a defender reached up and tipped the ball, transforming its perfect spiral into a chaotic wobble.

Another defender caught it, and was immediately tackled.

“Shit!” I cursed, along with most of the other people around me.

I walked back into the suite, where the television on the wall was showing the game with a three-second delay. “Bad break for Maddox there,” the announcer said, “but that’s the exact kind of start Gulf County College needed.”

“Not his fault,” one man in the suite told another. “It was tipped.”

“Still hurts,” the other muttered while drinking a glass of liquor. Was that Knox’s dad?

I finished my wine and got a refill while trying to eavesdrop on five different conversations at once. Where were they? I’d worked up the courage to introduce myself the moment I walked through the door, but I felt that courage fading the longer I was here.

“Westview College needs a defensive stop,” the announcer said.

“They’re going to lean on linebacker Roman Langford,” the other announcer said. “He’s coming off a record-setting game last week, but he has his hand wrapped up in a club today.”

“Must have injured it against Gulf Atlantic Christian College last week,” the first guy said.

To my right, one balding man said, “I heard Langford injured it in a fight.”

“A fight about a girl ,” the woman next to him added. “He stole his teammate’s girlfriend.”

“Stop it, Rachel,” another woman said. “You’re always spreading rumors!”

“I happen to know how he injured it,” a tall, broad-shouldered man announced in a voice that was impossible not to recognize. He sounded just like Knox. “My son told me Roman was defending a girl at a frat party. He saved her from… well, let’s just say it was something bad.”

“Roman’s a hero!” the woman next to him said, with a confident smirk that could have been copied-and-pasted from my boyfriend’s face.

That was them. Mr. and Mrs. Maddox. Now that I had a good look, I could see all of Knox’s features in the father. The cut of his jawline, and the intense green eyes.

There was a roar in the stadium, followed by groans. We all looked up at the TV and watched the other team’s running back dodge a tackle from Roman, then stiff-arm another defender before being brought to the ground for a first down.

“He’s slower with the club,” Knox’s mom said. “Hope the girl was worth it.”

I took a bigger sip of my wine and waited for an opportunity to cut in and introduce myself. Three plays later, the other team scored a touchdown.

“It’s only one drive,” Knox’s father said. “We’ll get it back right here.”

They went out to the open-air seats, and I followed. They were sitting in front of me, whispering to each other. My chance was coming up. I rehearsed what I was going to say in my head, repeating the words until they lost all meaning.

Why was I so nervous?

The Wildcats ran the ball on the first two plays of this possession. Then, on third down, Knox faked a hand-off and dropped back to throw a long pass. He hurled it down field, the ball following the same arc as a rainbow. Everyone held their breath as the ball hung in the air almost like magic.

But it was under-thrown. Logan was the intended receiver, and he slowed down to try to make up for the poor throw, but a defender was already there and plucked the ball out of the air.

The stadium erupted into curses and screams as the opposing player sprinted across the field, adjusting his route to dodge the wide arms of tacklers.

Knox was the last player between him and the end zone, and for a brief moment it looked like he might be able to stop him, but then he hurdled over Knox’s tackle like it was choreographed ahead of time.

“I don’t understand why he threw it to Logan,” Knox’s mom complained. “Three defenders were covering him!”

“Bad decision, bad execution,” Knox’s dad growled. He knocked back the rest of his beer, then looked at the glass like it was responsible. “He’s been distracted.”

“All his senior classes,” his mom said. “And the pressure of the draft…”

“It’s not that,” his dad insisted while rising to his feet. “It’s something else. I bet it’s a girl.”

I froze.

“He said he was focusing on football this year,” his mom replied. “He said his love life was on hold.”

“Easier said than done when you’re the star quarterback at a small college. He hinted at it during his GameDay interview.” The older Knox look-alike sighed. “He has such potential. Why couldn’t he wait until he graduated? Or at least until the spring, when the season was over?”

“Maybe he’s in love!”

“Love?” The father barked a laugh. “Even more of a distraction. No woman is worth screwing around with his future in the NFL. Besides, he just so happens to find a girl now , right before he receives a massive signing bonus? Whichever college skank has him twisted around his finger is only interested in money.”

“Robert! Don’t say that!”

“I’m being serious, Darlene,” he insisted. “I’m going to sit him down and have a talk with him after the game. I thought he was old enough to avoid making such mistakes, but clearly I was wrong. I’m getting another beer.”

He turned, and gave a start when he saw me. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

I realized that I had been staring at them. “No, sorry, I’m just shocked our quarterback has thrown two interceptions already.”

“We were just discussing that,” he muttered.

“Knox is our son.” He got a good look at me, and almost seemed like he was going to ask me a question.

Then he shook his head and muttered, “Good thing this game doesn’t really matter.

Perfect season be damned. Time to focus on the conference championship. ”

“It’s the first quarter, Bob,” another man said. “Don’t be so fatalistic.”

“Just being realistic,” Knox’s dad replied.

Knox’s mother turned around and gave me a smile that was so warm and welcoming that it broke my heart. “Why are you here, sweetie? Sorry, that came out so bluntly! I mean to ask, who are you related to? Did I hear you say you’re Brett’s sister?”

Everything I’d rehearsed tasted sour on my tongue. Not sure what else to do, I mumbled an apology and fled from the suite, down the escalator, and all the way out of the stadium.

That couldn’t have gone any worse.