Page 10 of Rocking the Receiver (Austin Troopers)

CHAPTER 10

HURRICANES

Elliot

Second quarter, we’re down by two touchdowns, but we have the ball. Davis, our rowdy, super blond, and massive quarterback, calls out the play, “Z-Post, on three. Ready, break!”

“Head in the game, E,” my awesome roommate and teammate, Chris, encourages me before jogging to the opposite side of the field. “We got this.”

“Right.” I tilt my head approvingly. Sweat trickles down my forehead. One more game to go before the end of the regular season.

Coach Stevens calls for a deep pass. Focused, I line up; this is my chance to make a difference. If we fuck this up, we won’t make it to the conference championship, and where would that leave us? A televised humiliation, that’s where. Against California at that… I wonder if Mom got cable to watch me play; she’s passionate enough that she manages to watch reruns of my games on repeat. My shoulders stiffen as the pressure builds. What would a miss say about my performance and future on this team?

Once the ball’s snapped, I sprint down the field, faking left, then cutting right past the cornerback.

I glance back just in time to see the ball spiraling towards me. “Got it!” I yell, stretching out, fingertips grazing the leather. Just as I’m about to reel it in, a defender appears out of nowhere, slams into me, and knocks it loose.

Fucker! I know he’s doing his job, but I seethe nonetheless.

“Damn it!” I curse under my breath as I get up. Chris runs over, panting.

“Seriously, Lefevre?” Davis shouts, irritation evident in his voice.

I don’t bother answering the asshole. Instead, I pick myself up, with Chris clapping me on the shoulder, whispering his unwavering support. “Shake it off, man.”

By the third quarter, our desperation is palpable. We’re in the red zone, fourth and goal. The coach decides to go for it, putting his faith in me once more. I won’t fail him this time.

“We need this. You ready?” Davis asks, eyes locked on mine.

“Yeah!” I respond, heart pounding.

The snap is clean. I execute my route flawlessly. I see the ball flying in my direction and jump, arms outstretched. I catch it, feel the impact as I hit the ground, but then... the ball is jostled loose. The refs rule it incomplete. Turnover on downs, at least the other team has abysmal field position.

“Damn, that was close.” Chris extends his hand, helping me up.

In the final minutes of the game, we have one last chance to redeem ourselves, but truth be told, we need a miracle. I manage to separate from my defender, running a perfect slant route.

I catch it in stride and sprint towards the end zone. With a lone defender standing between me and a touchdown, I push myself to the limit. About to cross the goal line, I’m tackled from behind, and the ball is jarred loose once again. Fumble. Their top cornerback. How did I miss him? The other team recovers the ball, sealing our fate.

The whistle blows, echoing through the stadium. Throat constricted, I stand on the field, staring at the scoreboard. 24-21. We lost. Again. And a home game at that.

This can’t be happening. Not to our team. My team.

And here I thought they’d be thrilled to welcome a big shot like me. Talk about a rude awakening.

Damnit, I cannot be this fucking loser… Never have been… up until I started college, it seems. Fuck!

I came here to live my dream, not experience a nightmare.

My annoyance simmers under the surface as I drag myself off the field, helmet in hand, and join the line of players heading to the locker room, heads hung low.

My mind races with the could-haves and should-haves of the game. The roar of the crowd fading behind me. We gave it our all, but the team’s not clicking.

Like most of the previous games, this was a disaster. The opposing team’s defense was relentless, and our offensive line struggled to hold them back. Every time I managed to get open, the quarterback was already under pressure. From the murderous glares he’s shooting my way, I guess he’s blaming me.

I’m mostly mad at him because he’s a bad person rather than a bad player. His brainless comments tanked the whole team’s morale.

Skin ablaze, cold sweat runs down my spine from dread as I enter the locker room. I’m better than this guy is my mantra, whenever I’m in the same room as him and tempted to open my trap.

It’s heavy with disappointment, but big mouths strike again.

“Man, we suck,” someone mutters behind me. It’s Jones, a linebacker who’s always quick with a snide remark, and also Davis’s best friend.

“Yeah, no coordination at all,” adds Sheridan.

I grit my teeth but stay silent. There’s no point in arguing. Chris shakes his head beside me.

“Man, if only we had someone who could hold onto the ball,” mutters Davis to no one in particular.

“Yeah, if only you hadn’t overthrown,” grumbles another player.

“Cut it out,” Chris interjects, hoping to keep the peace. “We’re a team, aren’t we?”

Guess not…

As we peel off our gear, the locker room is filled with grunts, complaints, and whispers. Some of the guys are muttering under their breath, blaming each other, blaming themselves. Others are slumped on the benches, staring at the ground, stunned. I’m one of those, head in my hands. The loss feels like a weight on my shoulders.

“Don’t pay attention to their negativity,” Chris mutters. “We’re all pissed, but that kind of attitude doesn’t help.”

“Bunch of faggots…” Here we go again. I’m not sure if he’s talking about the opposite team or us, but I tune him out. Other than his derogatory language in the locker room, Davis doesn’t strike me as blatantly homophobic and, unfortunately, this kind of trash talk remains widespread amongst athletes—college and otherwise. Austin is known to be LGBTQ-friendly, but there’ll always be people like Davis. He shakes his head and opens his sailor mouth to curse again.

Thankfully, Coach storms in, eyes blazing. The murmurs cease. He’s usually calm, but tonight is another story. Dark hair in disarray. Round face flushed. Pudgy fingers twitching… He’s ready to explode.

Suddenly, I’m not so thankful and avert my gaze, ready for the upcoming blow.

“Alright, listen up!” he barks. “Cut the crap.” His eyes subtly sweep the room, lingering pointedly at Davis. As mad as I am at myself, relief floods me since Coach Stevens isn’t oblivious to the team’s dynamics, no matter how much effort our star quarterback puts into behaving whenever Coach’s around. “That wasn’t our best game, but it isn’t the end. Yes, we lost. Nobody’s to blame. We played hard. No excuses.”

He paces the room, eyes locking onto each of us. Finally, he stops, and we all sigh. He points at the whiteboard, where he’s already scribbled down some notes that he’s going over tactical suggestions. He turns to me, his gaze hard, but not unkind. “Lefevre, you did good out there. Before next season, we’ll work on your timing with the QB, the three of us.” He stares at Davis, then back at me. “Don’t lose heart. None of you should. Everyone else, take note. We win as a team, we lose as a team. Now, go get cleaned up and keep your heads up.”

I throw my gear into my locker and comply in record time, washing the negativity off of my sweaty skin and aching muscles.

“We should get outta here.”

Later that night, I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Lulled by the soft snores of my supportive roommate, I pull out my phone and text Rupert. I don’t remember where he said he was this week. But I need him… My friend with not-so-many benefits.

Elliot

Fucked up. Coach was tough. Gonna get kicked out.

Despite everything, my lips stretch into a soft smile when three little dots appear. We may not have parted as I’d wished last summer, but my favorite Brit is there for me. Too bad it’s not face to face. All in all, I’m glad he never got the chance to visit and see me play today.

Jones was right; we suck.

Rupert

I watched the game. Sorry your team lost. You’re exaggerating. He won’t let you down. You have a lot more to learn is all. Did Coach Stevens threaten you?

Wow, Rupert watched the game! My heart hammers in my chest… until I remember my poor performance.

Elliot

Sorry 4 the shitshow. Tx for watching, tho.

He said he believes in us. Team never gelled. Working my ass off. Feels like it’s never enough. I’m pissed & worried about my scholarship.

Rupert

Beating yourself up is so uncharacteristic of you. You’ll get there. You always do. See, Coach won’t kick you out for 1 bad game.

Fidgeting under the light comforter, I know he’s right. Davis is messing with my head. He and Jones are a diabolical combo.

Elliot

1++ is more like it.

I’m NO loser

Btw, I blame YOU, my friend. Benefits I ain’t getting = football career failure.

Rupert

Me? Why’s that?

Elliot

Still a virgin. No BJ whatsoever. My stamina is fucked up: too much useless energy.

& on top of that (lol), I’m stuck here. Can’t go back to France during breaks. I mean, we only celebrated Thanksgiving for Mom’s benefit, and I have to study anyway. But I’m bummed about Xmas.

Rupert

1st off, I’m deleting this convo as soon as we’re done. You promised to behave/SFW texts.

2nd, we discussed not being an item. I cannot be held accountable for your success or failure. You will succeed, Elliot.

One step forward, two steps back.

Elliot

But YOU kissed me. More than once…

What changed?

Rupert

Nothing changed. What happened in France, stays in France: Past tense, Elliot.

Live your college life. Already told you. I’m not the right person for you. Don’t wait around, hoping there’ll be more. We’re friends. Let’s get to know each other.

Anyway, sorry you can’t make it to France. In case you want in for Xmas, I’ll be in Colorado, at Hardy’s with his family & a bunch of friends.

Elliot

Good 4 U.

I’ll jack off & study

Will draw a list w/BS Xcuses U find to fight the law of attraction (2 bad I picked finance over physics).

Rupert

Why don’t you come?

As expected, he evades my answer with another question. Two can play this game, my friend!

Elliot

Coming IS the plan.

Rupert

I’m serious. Hardy won’t mind. His place is big & welcoming. The more, the merrier.

He loves the holidays, always manages to cheer me up when I’m not back home.

Why would he want me around the lead singer of The Whiskey Barrels?

Elliot

U mean it?

Rupert

Think about it. Would be fun to see you. I miss you.

Elliot

U insist we be strictly friends & now say “I miss you.” Is it Bcoz of the French kissing benefits?

Rupert

Since when can’t friends tell each other that?

The wiseass doesn’t play fair, repeating my question from months ago and adding a winky emoji.

Rupert

Get away from campus for a bit. Hardy is into working out. Has his own gym on the premises & we could go skiing… as friends, obvly.

Elliot

I’ll think about it.

My fingers play with my hair, twirling one lock, then another. It’s the best way to calm myself when I want to rub one out, but Chris is around. No way am I doing it with him in the same room, even asleep… and I’m too tired and into this convo to rush to the shower. At least, it’s reserved for Chris and me, but still.

Rupert

Come on! What are you waiting for? It’ll lift your spirits. I’ve never heard you so down.

I might even play 4 U.

Now, that’d be a real treat. Would be a first. Imagining it, I don’t reply right away, so he adds.

Rupert

Not above begging?

Elliot

*Waiting, my friend*

I can’t help but tease him about our so-called friendship. Certain that he’ll eventually surrender to our attraction, I beam when I read his answer.

Regardless of his strong denials, this guy is clearly into me. The distance between us doesn’t help either. Maybe it’ll be easier to convince him face to face without my family around. I think we have a shot at making this work. My virginity remains an obstacle to my freedom, my success, and my obsession.

Meanwhile, he complies and his one-word response is music to my ears…

Rupert

Pleeease!