Page 49 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Thirty-Four

CAL

T he away crowd is booing, and it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s directed at me. If I hadn’t gotten a penalty and then dropped that catch, we might still be in the game. Might have even won if we went for two.

But I did. Becker made the kick, so at least got the points for the differential, but it didn’t win us the game. And whether it’s just an incomplete or a fumble, I know that I could’ve had it, and I quite literally dropped the fucking ball.

I’ll be the first to admit that my head has been all kinds of fucked up since dinner with my father, but having twenty thousand fans yelling how terrible you are at your job isn’t exactly boosting my mood.

“Hey, Basset!” Coach yells, waving me over to him.

“Yeah?” I ask once I jog over from the bench where I’ve been wallowing.

“You good? I’ve seen you make that catch eighty times in practice.”

I grit my teeth and nod.

“Right.” He claps my shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you. Better now than next week, yeah?” He grins, and I force a smile before heading back to my bench.

The final whistle blows, and I follow the team into the locker room, not bothering to shake hands with any other players today. I stride quickly to my locker, slamming my helmet to the ground at the base of my chair.

“Fuck!” I yell, smacking my hand against the top wooden panel.

“Basset, media room,” a booming voice calls out from the entry way.

I glare at Stacy, the media coordinator. She stares blankly at me until I shove myself off my locker and follow her to the post-game media frenzy, trying—and probably failing—not to outwardly sulk.

The Cosmos’s quarterback is just finishing up, laughing with the reporters as he basks in his win. I scowl, but school my features when Stacy glowers at me. She gives me approximately thirty seconds before ushering me into the chair at the front of the room.

“Tough break, John,” a reporter for Sports Illustrated says from the front row. I shrug, staring blankly at a fixed point on the wall above the camera line. He clears this throat. “So, we’re doing the question thing again?” My eyes drop to him and the corner of my mouth tugs up in a smirk.

Stacy rolls her eyes, but I’m here, so I can’t get fined.

The reporter clears his throat loudly. “Do you think you could’ve caught that pass?”

I sigh. “Hypothetically? Yes. But as you all know there are a thousand different micro-causes that impact each play. The wind—and no I’m not saying I didn’t catch the ball because of the wind—but the wind, the glare from the sun, my run, the angle of the pass, the defense position.

So yes, theoretically, if Blaze were to throw the exact same pass from the exact same place and I was in the same place, I could catch it. ”

He grumbles something I don’t hear, and I scan the crowd of reporters for the next question.

The rest of the press session is brutal, each reporter asking a variation of the same question.

Why couldn’t I make that catch with the game on the line?

Did I crack under the pressure? Do I think I’ll be able to hold up to the pressure of the playoffs?

After my allocated thirty minutes, I’m exhausted.

The adrenaline from the game is rapidly wearing off as the sweat evaporates, leaving my body coated in a salty film I’m dying to wash off.

“That’s all Basset has time for, folks,” Stacy calls out after what feels like an eternity.

I stand abruptly and am out the door before she can even thank the reporters.

Most of the team has made it in the locker room, and I stride through the men in various stages of undress to my locker, smacking the side of it before resting my forehead against the panel at the top.

“Cal,” a low voice scolds from behind me. It’s Blaze, and I don’t bother turning around.

“What?” I bite out.

“It’s not your fault. That throw wasn’t perfect, and neither was the catch. It’s not on your head.” His hand grips my shoulder in what I assume he thinks is a comforting gesture.

“I’ve been off all week. The throw was fine, and you know it.”

He shrugs. “I don’t. There’s no way to know, and you’re the only one who was out there catching the ball. Only you know for sure.”

“Is this supposed to be motivational?”

“I’m not the best with this shit, okay? That’s why I leave the captaining to Thompson over there.” He nods toward our Center who makes one hell of a captain, having been on the team for almost a decade.

I roll my eyes.

He smacks my shoulder once more and drops his hand.

“Seriously. Coach won’t say it because it’s bad for morale, but every single player in this room and every fan outside knows this game didn’t really matter.

We weren’t going to get the first seed anyway, but we have a playoff spot.

Some teams would’ve rested their starters today. ”

I laugh but it’s icy.

“Shake off whatever’s bothering you and bring your A-game next week, yeah? No one will care you didn’t catch the ball today.”

I nod. “Easier said than done, but I know. I’ll figure it out.”

“Is it the new girl? If you want to talk . . .”

I snort. “I’m not about to talk girls with you Meadows.” I smack him on the shoulder. “No offense, but you can’t keep one happy enough to stick around longer than a few weeks.”

He flushes, a glance behind him before he says, “Oh please. If I wanted them to stick around, they’d stick around .”

“Gross.”

“Anyways, I meant that McClane would talk to you.”

Theo’s head pops up from a few lockers over. “Don’t start shit you can’t finish Meadows,” he calls over, and I can’t help but grin at Blaze’s exasperated look.

“I’m gonna shower. You two figure out whatever this is.” I glance between them meaningfully and Blaze hits me with a glove.

“Fuck off.”

I head toward the showers to wash off the sweat and shame that’s lessening by the minute amongst my teammates.

Not one of them is treating me like I lost them the game.

A few have patted my back and offered a word of encouragement or condolences, but most have completely moved on from the play amidst the playoffs coming up.

I’m changed and waiting on Theo to head out to the bus when I finally decide to check my phone.

It was my least favorite thing to do whenever we lost a game, knowing that I’d have no one’s notification waiting but a slew of media tags on what I should’ve done differently.

But that was before Lila. I don’t know exactly where we stand right now, though.

I didn’t leave in the best headspace, so I have no idea what may or may not be waiting for me when I turn it back on.

The green message icon pops up, and my stomach plummets when I see her message across my screen.

Can you call me when you’re back home?

I debate asking her what she wants to talk about, but instead, I look around for Theo, who’s still in the shower, and hit call.

“Hey,” she answers on the second ring.

“Hey, love.” The moniker slips out, and I kick myself, knowing I’m likely on thin ice, if any ice at all.

“You’re home fast, the game just ended an hour ago.”

“I’m still in New York, but I didn’t want to wait.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, I just saw your text and wasn’t sure if you were okay. It’s really good to hear your voice after that game.” I’m rambling and promptly shut up before I say something incredibly stupid.

“No, it’s fine. I just wanted to talk.”

“Okay. About anything in particular?” My heart’s thudding, and the room feels warmer than it did a minute ago. If I don’t get through this conversation soon, I’m going to need another shower.

“I wanted to talk about us and about the job. You probably figured that out already, but it can wait. Are you doing okay after the game? I know how hard you are on yourself.”

“Lila, please,” I beg. I really can’t take much more of the back and forth, and talking about my missed pass is the last thing I want to do.

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to drag this out. I was hoping you’d be home, or we could at least talk in person, can you come over after you get back? It’d be, what, another couple hours at most?”

“Yeah, I can come over. But please don’t make me wait if you’re just going to break up with me officially. It’s been a hell of a day, and I’d rather just know now.”

“Cal, I’m not breaking up with you. But I do think we need to talk some stuff through.”

“Alright, I can live with that.”

“I’ll have dinner ready when you get here. Pasta, okay?”

“Pasta sounds great.” I can’t keep the grin off my face. She’s not breaking up with me.

“What’s got you so smiley?” Theo asks as I hang up, toweling his hair dry with another wrapped around his waist.

“Lila called.”

“Good news then?”

I shrug.

“Nice. Well, you’re good together, I’m glad you’re making it work even with all the shit from your dad.”

I grunt, less happy now that Theo knows for some reason.

“Hurry up, would you? Most of the team is already on the bus.”

“And the other half is still in the showers, calm your ass down.” He throws the towel at me, and I bat it away into one of the chairs.

I read a few news articles on my phone while I wait for Theo.

Ever since I was traded, we’ve boarded the buses and planes together.

I think he started it to make me feel included with the new team, but now it’s just a habit.

And it doesn’t matter how comfortable the bus is or how short the ride, it will always be cramped to a professional football player. At least anyone other than kickers.

I throw myself into a window seat, shoving my bag under the seat in front of me where a dozing lineman spreads out over the double seat, and Theo takes the seat next to me.

“You know it’s kinda creepy how happy you look after losing.”

I snort. “You know it has nothing to do with the loss.” Being reminded of it does sober me slightly, but nothing can quite dim the lightness in my chest lingering from Lila’s call.

“I bet you’d make that catch now,” he says, voice low.

I huff out a breath. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” I turn my head toward the last two guys from special teams as they cross the parking lot.

“Hey.” He hits my shoulder lightly, and I turn back to him. “Better now than next week. Shake it off.”

I practically leap off the plane the moment the doors are open, nearly sprinting to my car and letting it roar to life around me.

Making a snap decision, I stop at a Jewel and emerge minutes later with three different bouquets of roses and a more-than-halfway-decent bottle of red. I should really do something nicer with the flowers, but it’s the thought that counts right?

I’m on my way.

Lila

I’ll start dinner.

I smile, and buckle my seat belt, intent on breaking at least three rules of the road in the next twenty minutes.