Page 48 of Necessary Roughness

Knox

“That couldn’t have gone worse!” our coach screamed at us in the locker room after the game. “It’s like all of you were trying to lose that game!”

I felt like I was in shock. I still couldn’t believe it. Everything had happened so fast. The first interception wasn’t really my fault, a tipped ball that the other team made a great play to catch. Bad luck happened sometimes, and games weren’t won or lost on the first drive.

It all unraveled after that. Rather than relaxing and taking it one play at a time, I tried more deep passes, this time overthrowing my receivers.

My timing was off. I was sacked four times without ever sensing that the tackle was coming.

I knew my parents were at the game, watching from the suite with Sloane.

In retrospect, wondering how their meeting had gone definitely distracted me.

And on the other end, our defense played poorly, largely due to Roman’s ineffectiveness on the outside, which allowed them to run the ball down our throats.

Going into the game, the gambling sites said we were 30-point favorites. Instead, we lost by 24.

The game didn’t really matter. There was no special trophy for having a perfect season. But it was an achievement never accomplished by any Westview College football team, a feat that would have put an exclamation point on my draft sheet.

That was the heartbreaking thing about football: anyone could beat anyone else. If the stars aligned just right, a one-win team could defeat the best team in the conference.

But as the quarterback, as the captain of the team, I couldn’t help but feel responsible. The mood in the locker room was funereal.

“I guess I should be relieved,” our coach said, all the anger now gone from his voice, replaced by something closer to disappointment.

Or disgust. “Maybe this loss will help you all focus on the conference championship next week. Because you sure as shit weren’t focused today.

Tomorrow’s rest day is canceled. Practice is at five in the morning, starting with game review.

We have a lot of tape to go over, and a lot of mistakes to correct. ”

He looked around the room, then turned his glare on the bench where Logan, Roman, and I were sitting. “That means no partying tonight. If anyone so much as smells hungover tomorrow morning, you’re off the team.”

I winced, but only nodded.

“I only drink Diet Sprite, Coach,” Logan said. “But if you want me to cut back for the good of the team, I’ll do it.”

That only drew a few laughs. Nobody was in the mood.

The mood was the same as we walked home. The campus that had been alive with excitement for the final game of the season this morning now held little to no life, like a fresh corpse that had not yet begun to decompose. Those students we did pass only glanced at us with disappointment.

“Can we stop by the cafeteria?” Logan asked. “I want a Chick-Fil-A sandwich.”

“I don’t know how you can think about food right now,” Roman said.

“I eat my feelings!” he argued weakly. “Come with me. It’ll be real quick.”

TVs were mounted on the wall inside the campus cafeteria, all of which were showing the post-game coverage. There was no sound, but the subtitles told me what they were discussing.

“You have to assume this is going to affect his draft prospects. Maddox was predicted to be selected in the first round, maybe even in the first ten picks, but analysts are now estimating he’s dropped down to the second round.”

“That’s the thing about these quarterbacks at small schools,” another analyst said. “They can put up big numbers against bad teams, but they don’t have what it takes to win the big games underneath the spotlight.”

“But Maddox has had a great season up to this point. Thirty-four touchdowns and just five interceptions. Does one bad game erase all of that?”

“All I’m saying is that if I’m a team like the Chargers or Patriots, I wouldn’t pick Knox Maddox to be my franchise quarterback.”

Roman put a hand on my shoulder and forcefully twisted me around. “Stop it.”

“I was just—”

“ Don’t ,” he said, eyes drilling into me. “Nothing they say can help you right now.”

“I got you some fries,” Logan said, handing each of us a little paper container. “You can pay me back when you’re cashing that fat signing bonus check.”

“I’m not hungry,” I said as he sat down to eat. “I’ll see you guys at home.”

Roman gave me a sympathetic nod, then let me go.

On the way home, a few students we passed shouted words of encouragement. But most said nothing, and their silence was deafening.

Now that the football game was over, all my real-world problems rose back to the surface.

I had hours of classwork to complete, and final exams to prepare for.

I’d been slacking in one of my classes, and needed a B on the final exam in order to pass the class.

I was being sued by Troy. I would eventually need to tell my parents about that, but was hoping to wait until later.

I pulled my phone out and turned off Do Not Disturb.

I had 97 text messages and four voicemails.

I also had over a thousand Twitter notifications.

Feeling masochistic, I opened that first and scrolled through a few.

Some were from Westview College students who were angry I had ruined the perfect season.

Others were from people who had no association with the school, but had placed wagers on the game and were furious I had caused them to lose money.

After the fifth death threat, I closed Twitter and checked my voicemails. I opened the one from my mom first.

“Hi, Knox. Sorry about the game. Your father is being a real pill about it. I know we talked about getting dinner tonight, but we both feel it’s best to give you some space. We’re driving back to Atlanta now. Don’t let the loss get to you. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

I was relieved they’d gone home after the game; the last thing I wanted to do was spend dinner having my father point out all the mistakes I’d made during the game and lecture me about my need to focus. I already got enough of that from my coach.

But then I realized there was something my mom hadn’t mentioned: Sloane. She definitely would have said something about her, regardless of the game’s outcome. That was a bad sign, and only darkened my mood further.

There was a truck parked on the curb when I got home. I didn’t think much of it until I walked inside and saw Sloane carrying a cardboard box.

She froze, a guilty expression spreading across her face like a stain.

“Where are you going?” I asked. Why did she have a cardboard box?

“I…” She put the box down.

“Sloane,” I said, “What are you doing?”

She swallowed heavily, then crossed her arms. “I need to leave. I’m a distraction.”

The news felt like a knife being jabbed between my ribs.

“You’re not…”

“Yes,” she said more firmly than before. “I’m distracting you from what really matters. So I’m moving back into my apartment with Morgan, at least until the season is over.”

Sloane was the only good thing remaining in my life, the only person who I thought would be there for me regardless of what happened on the field. But now she was abandoning me, too. All my anger, all my frustration, boiled over until the only thing I could do was let it out.

“So that’s it?” I said, voice dripping with acid. “One bad game and you’re bailing on me?”

“What? No, I’m just—”

“Why do you get to decide what distracts me?” I demanded. “Why is it okay for you to unilaterally decide that the best thing for me is to leave?”

She tilted her chin up stubbornly. “I’ve hurt all of you. Roman broke his knuckles and might get kicked out of school. You’re being sued by my ex-boyfriend, which is going to affect your career! They’re saying you might not get drafted in the first round anymore!”

“Gee, thanks for throwing that in my face,” I said. “You think I don’t know how my performance on the field affects my draft ranking? Sloane, it’s all I can think about!”

She raised her voice to match mine. “Then you know I have to leave!”

“Don’t do that,” I said. “You’re scared because things are getting serious between us.”

“What? I—”

“This morning, I invited you to meet my parents. And after meeting them, you’re moving out. Admit it. You’re scared.”

Sloane’s laugh was bitter. “This has nothing to do with your parents.”

“Really? Because you made one hell of an impression with them. They were supposed to stay for dinner, but now they’re driving all the way back to Atlanta.”

Rage passed across her eyes in a flash. “Actually, I never introduced myself to them.”

Another knife stab to my gut.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“You threw two interceptions at the beginning of the game, and—”

“Do you know how difficult it was to ask you to meet them? I’ve never felt so vulnerable before, but I wasn’t worried because I knew they would love you. But I guess you only meet the parents of quarterbacks who throw touchdowns.”

“What? That’s not at all what I meant, Knox. The mood in the suite—”

“It’s all my fault,” I said bitterly. “I threw the interceptions. I ruined the mood and made you not want to meet my parents. Everything is on me. I’m used to it.”

The frustration left her face, replaced by calm. “Your father thinks you’re distracted. I overheard him say it. And he’s right. That’s why I have to move out.”

“Maybe you are a distraction,” I growled, feeling lost and alone. “Especially if you’re going to play around with our emotions, take advantage of us, and then cast us aside.”

“You were the one who came up with this whole agreement.” Her voice was cold. “You’re the one who insisted it was only physical. And you were the one who invited me to move in.”

“And you were all too eager to accept that invitation to get away from your roommate,” I shot back. “You knew what you were doing, always complaining about your roommate. You were begging me to invite you to move in. You probably saw our empty bedroom and came up with the plan from the very start.”

“HAH!” she laughed in my face. “You have no idea how wrong you are.”

“Then take your boxes and leave,” I said, pointing at the door. “Once you’re gone, I’ll be able to focus on what actually matters in life, instead of letting myself get distracted by a piece of ass.”

I hated the words as soon as they left my mouth. It wasn’t the truth, it wasn’t how I really felt. But the sight of the cardboard box in my peripheral vision hurt more than I ever expected it to.

“Just a piece of ass?” Sloane asked slowly. “So I guess I’m not your good luck charm anymore? That’s right, I’ve heard you guys call me that. You’ve won every single game before today, and you thought it was because of me.”

“That’s the thing, Sloane,” I said with finality. “You’re a shitty good luck charm if you help us win all the unimportant games, but then cause us to lose the ones that really matter.”

She stiffened, eyes fixated on me like she could see directly into my soul. For a moment, I thought she was going to say something back. Something just as mean.

Then she picked up her box and stormed out of the house, leaving me wondering how I had fucked it all up so badly.