Page 48

If I ever had a soundtrack to my life, its melody would be written on the field and constantly punctuated by a whistle.

Start.

Stop.

Line Up.

Or, apparently, Fuck me sideways, that was god awful, which is an awful thing for a coach to say on a media day filled with kids and some of our families.

But if I’m being honest, I’m only hearing Coach halfway today, I’ll admit it. He can bust my balls for it too. When I woke up as the sun rose, looking at a sleeping Parker next to me, her head a mess of tangled brown waves and mouth parted slightly, I realized today was different.

Today, I’m different, and I can’t quite explain it. It’s as if I’ve been changed on a molecular level, like my brain chemistry has been altered. Because everything I ever understood about the world seems to no longer make any sense after realizing what was done to Parker. I thought I knew, but her letters made me realize it’s so much deeper than the scar on her back.

I’m sick when I think I didn’t see it before—that this was so much more than a lock—not for any other reason than I can’t imagine her carrying this load—of abuse, of wrongful punishment—on her own for so long. And it kills me, literally steals my breath, that even for one second, she considered putting me and my reputation above herself, above Sarah, and god, I can’t even imagine how many other kids.

The whistle blows again. “Ball’s dead,” Coach says with the whistle still jammed between his teeth. “Run it again, Fitzy. Josh, you get that snap up . You know what direction that is or have you taken one too many hits to the head?”

I lift a hand. “That was my bad. Didn’t wipe off my hands,” I call out to Coach before clapping. But he doesn’t give the whistle to line up.

I swing my head toward Josh, wondering if I missed something.

“Fitzy!”

I turn, only to find a ball coming at my head. Aaron, one of my receivers intercepts it with a one-handed catch.

“Coach just try and nail you in the helmet, Fitzy?” he asks.

I palm the ball, staring at Foller, who stares me down and blows his whistle one more time. “Run it again.”

There’s nothing all too complex about this play, but I’ve been around long enough that sometimes it’s the simplest things you end up tripping over in practice. When something’s too easy, you don’t give it your all because it just doesn’t seem worth wasting the energy.

“Ready…” I step behind Josh, my hand on his hip, setting everyone before I back into shotgun and call the snap.

I keep my eye on my receiver, which is a rookie mistake. I fumble the ball.

Fumbles happen. Better in practice than the game.

Holding my arms up, I call out the my bad to the team, but apparently, me taking ownership of my mistake goes over Coach’s head.

“What did I tell you?” When I stand upright after bending to grab the ball, Coach is stomping onto the middle of the practice field. He throws down his clipboard before he reaches Josh. “Get the snap fucking up . What part of that don’t you understand? Your QB”—he pauses, pointing at me—“is six fucking four. You’re not playing around with kids in the backyard. This is Rebels football.”

Josh, who probably has a hundred and twenty pounds and five inches on Coach, turns his head, and I get it. I wouldn’t want anyone screaming in my face either.

I jog closer, pulling off my helmet. “That was my?—”

“You stay out of it,” he fumes at me before turning back to Josh. “And you lazy, piece of shit. You do your job. It’s this or nothing. A dumbass like you wouldn’t be able to get hired behind the counter at McDonalds.”

Josh still looks away, keeping his hands on his hips.

“Got a problem with your hearing, Josh?”

When Coach reaches up, tugging on Josh’s face mask, all hell breaks loose during a fucking open practice with kids and media and my wife watching.

The hook of Coach’s fingers on Josh’s face mask comes off easily, but he doesn’t back down, not when other coaching staff tries to pull him away or when I step between my center and him. “That was on me ,” I say. “Not him.”

Coach continues seething. “Move out of the way, Fitzy. Josh, get on the bench, you’re done taking reps today. And let me tell you something, if you don’t get your fat ass in shape tomorrow, you’ll be put on the reserves, and I’ll find a guy younger with faster hands who wants to play.”

I look to Josh, who doesn’t walk to the bench. He walks around it and to the locker room, carrying his helmet pressed into his side.

“You can’t threaten to cut your starting center, who’s snapped the ball for longer than you or I have been here, when it was my mistake.” I reach down, grabbing Coach’s clipboard he threw.

Beyond Coach, I get a glimpse of Heath who has intercepted Josh and given him a pat on the back.

“What the hell is with you?” I press Foller. “That was on me .”

“Oh. It was on you . Day one and we’re already fumbling off the snap during a play you idiots should be able to run with your fucking eyes closed.”

Even yards away, I feel Heath turn.

I lower my voice and motion toward the bleachers. “There are kids here.”

Coach follows my trail, and then he blows the whistle again, right in my face before turning to one of the assistant coaches. “Get defense out here, and let’s talk zone coverage. Clear those people off the bleachers. Offense doesn’t want to work on the field. Let them run on it.”

“Are you kidding me?” I hiss. “They don’t need to run , they need to play .”

“Are you coaching me , Fitzy? Why? Wifey is in the stands today, and you want to show her you got your big boy tights on?”

I straighten, shaking my head. Slowly, I turn, finding that one of the staff security guards has begun directing people to the front of the building. I make a note to stay and sign shit for each and every one of them.

On the end is Parker with Agent Samuels not far off. Is this what I wanted her to see? No. Not at all. But I’m not talking about just this shit show of a practice.

I’m not sure I want her to see me taking this shit because maybe she’s right.

Win or lose, I shouldn’t have to.

* * *

Josh is long gone by the time I get to the locker room and have a shower. When I come out, I swear, even though there are contents in it, his locker looks a bit empty. I grab my phone.

You straight?

Josh

I’m over it.

Why don’t I cruise over?

Parker can come hang with Lo and we’ll play some Madden.

Josh

Not tonight, Fitzy.

I curse under my breath.

Will I see you at practice tomorrow?

He doesn’t answer, but another text comes through.

I’m so down that seeing her updated name doesn’t even lift me up.

Mrs. America

You okay? That was intense.

I’m in the lobby. Someone from the team brought me in.

I need five. Just got out of the shower.

Is there still a crowd out front?

Mrs. America

A lot. Mostly kids. Lots of them in your jersey.

Try to get them to stay.

I skip the ice bath today, which I know I’m going to regret, especially considering I ran more in one practice than I did all of training camp. But I’ll deal with that later. Right now? I’d walk out of here in a towel if that wouldn’t make things more inappropriate on a family day.

Minutes later, I’m on my way out of the locker room and open the fridge for a Gatorade when a trainer calls my name.

“Coach is looking for you.”

I hang my head in the cool air of the fridge, grabbing a bottle before I make my way down the hall to Coach’s office. And then I turn around, deciding that it’s probably not the time to hammer shit out when I’m this angry and embarrassed.

“Fitzy.”

I turn, finding Coach halfway in the doorway. He takes off his Rebels hat and tips his head toward his office before he steps in, disappearing from my sight.

Hanging my head, I trudge forward.

“Go on and close that door,” Coach tells me as I enter his office. “And take a seat.”

I close the door but don’t sit. Coach’s heavy stare lets me know that’s what he wants me to do.

“Or don’t,” he says, leaning back and bringing his feet to rest on his desk. “You can stand and listen as much as you can sit and listen, I suppose.”

The only thing I’m listening for is plans to apologize to Josh. But if that’s in Coach’s arsenal, he doesn’t lead with it.

“I’ve got an issue. See, as the head coach and quarterback, every single day—every game, every practice—you and me, we’ve got to show the team and everyone watching that it’s the best day of our lives working together. So what happened today can’t happen again. Ever, ” Coach reminds me.

I’ve heard this shit before.

Fumble the ball? Can’t happen again.

Throw a pick? Can’t happen again.

Win only by a field goal because I lost a drive earlier? Can’t happen again.

“You’re right. Today can’t ever happen again.” I roll my lips together. “What you did to Josh? Threatening to cut him for literally no reason”—I hold up my hand when I see Coach going to talk—“embarrassing him like that on an open day? That’s what can’t happen again. Especially because those drops were my fault, not his.”

Coach laughs. “So I have even more issues. Add the fact that my seasoned quarterback forgets to dry his hands on a towel that hangs from his goddamn waist to the list.”

“You can’t berate your players the way you did with Josh. Do it with me all you want. I can handle it. That’s because?—”

“I raised you, Fitzy. Taught you all about football, all about toughness and dedication. But apparently I didn’t teach you how to use a dictionary.” Coach pulls one foot off his desk and then the other, sliding his chair forward. “Criticizing someone is hardly berating them. You’ve been spending too much time upstairs with Heath at home with your pretty little wife and not enough time where you belong—with me.”

I take a deep breath. “If this is going to set the tone for the season, you might as well cut us all. I can’t mobilize a team when they don’t have a coach to fight for. They won’t fight for you if you’re like this.”

I try to think back to last season, to the morale of the team, the relationships, the hardness of my guys, especially the ones who had been on the roster the season before which would’ve been Foller’s first year. I remember being surprised by their determination and preparedness. I came from a powerhouse team, but I never felt that same energy the Rebels had. They were determined and ready. They had grit . But that weaned off throughout the season. And now I get it. It was belittled out of them.

I have to wonder how they got it in the first place, and how much of it was hardness developed out of fear—fear of getting cut, fear of being embarrassed, fear of their mistakes being used against them over and over again if they stuck around.

“Is that what they’re telling you, Captain? That they’ll abandon ship?”

“They don’t have to.” I toss the plastic bottle of Gatorade back and forth between my hands. My eyes shift to the calendar on Coach’s wall, and I recognize the days he’s circled. “If you want me to sit down for that Boston Journal profile the day after our preseason game, you’re going to apologize to Josh and the entire team.”

I’ve never seen Coach at a loss for words, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.

* * *

I bury my head into the pillow. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Parker mumbles. “Don’t you have someone you can pay to do this? I don’t really know how to give a massage.” She shifts more. “God, are you always this tight?”

Turning my head, I rest my cheek against the pillow. “Not this early on in the season,” I huff out.

Parker stops her assault on my shoulders. “Has he always been that way?”

I lift her body with how heavy a sigh I let out. “I don’t really know.” Slowly I nudge her so she hovers over and I turn, motioning for her to sit and placing my hands on her thighs when she straddles my stomach. “I mean, what happened today… yeah, maybe he has.”

Parker raises an eyebrow. “What about during a game?”

“A game, sure.”

Her brown eyes widen. “What do you mean, sure ?”

I run my hands from her knees upward and back down. “I mean, it’s football . What do you expect a coach to be? All lovey dovey?”

“No, I guess not lovey dovey,” Parker says. “But not whatever that was either. I mean, it shouldn’t happen to anyone. But to Josh? Come on. He’s like a big kid.”

Nodding, I pull my lip between my teeth.

“What is it?” Parker asks.

“What if I just didn’t want to see it?” I ask. “That side of Foller, I mean.”

Parker sighs. “I didn’t want to believe my parents could do what they did.” She reminds me. “And if I’m being honest, I doubt my blinders were ever as high as yours are.”

“Maybe mine were higher than I thought,” I admit.

“Were? They’re lower after what happened with Josh?”

I look at her. “No. They’re lower because of you.” I sigh, taking her hands. “It was Foller who told me to stay away from you in high school.” Parker freezes in my hold, and I fucking hate it. “I let you think it was my mom, but it was him. He was worried about my future.”

Parker presses her lips together. “Your future?” she asks. “Or his?”

Her question suddenly makes me realize the answer. “He piggy-backed off of me to climb up the ladder.” I swallow painfully. “He trained me like a damn workhorse and so I’d carry him up.”

“You would know better than me,” she says softly. “Football is your world, not mine.”

Maybe I know football. But Parker knows abuse. And I’m not sure I can say with certainty I’ve experienced it. I just have a feeling if I haven’t, I’ve come pretty damn close.

I let go of her hand to cup her face. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I never should’ve listened to him. I let himself believe he had my best interests at heart and… I don’t know that he ever really did. You’ll never know how hard I wish I could go back and do the right thing.”

Parker takes a deep breath, and I taste the forgiveness that floats on the exhale, I feel it in the way she reaches up and holds onto my wrist. “It’s heartbreaking to realize someone you love isn’t even someone you know.”

It is. But as I tug Parker down and nestle her against me, I realize the opposite is true too. It’s so comforting to realize the person you love has been the same all along.

I run my hands through the soft strands of her hair. “What about Cam?”

Parker sighs. “I need to know what it will take for him to move that bill back into committee. If me testifying or giving a statement is enough.”

My mouth twists. “And you’re okay doing that?”

The lawsuit is one thing. But testifying in front of Congress? With her father as the sitting president? That’s something else.

“What about the convention and your parents? Will you still go through with that?”

“As of now, that’s what they think.” Parker lets out a heavy exhale. “Using the truth to do something is more important than just putting it out there and walking away. It will be hard, but I’m going to be okay. Maybe not right away, but one day, I will.”