Trick Play

by Alison Hendricks

  The two men look through a folder, like they're trying to find something to contest what I'm saying.

  "Intention is a difficult thing to prove, Mr. Trent," the woman says, "and Mr. Tucker still perpetrated this lie to the financial benefit of Eastshore College."

  She makes it sound like we had some big thing going; like we knew all along it would lead to more ticket sales and we were somehow working with the administration to get the money machine back online.

  "Look, I know somebody has to pay for this. But I'm the guy who came up with it. I'm the one who wanted the attention from the press. I'm the one who's in the wrong here. What I'm asking isn't for you to go easy on us. It's for you to go harder on me."

  "What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Trent?"

  I take a deep breath. With just a few words, I'm planning to torpedo any chance I have at a professional career. But I'm not nervous about that. It's actually kind of... freeing.

  The only thing tangling my stomach into knots is whether or not the board will accept it.

  "Ban me from the league," I say. "Make it so I can't play ball for the NCAA again. Make it so that even if I spend a couple years in Juco, I won't be eligible to play at any D1 school afterward."

  All three of them just stare at me. I know I've caught them off-guard. Coach said I would. So many guys who get into trouble are just able to transfer or find some way around it. They spend a few years in Juco, slumming it at a junior college until they get an offer to come play ball with the Division I teams again. If they take me up on this offer, I won’t be able to do that. It’s one of the strictest ways the NCAA has to make sure I don't fuck up their good image again.

  "You understand that it would be virtually impossible for you to continue your football career beyond this point."

  There's always a chance. Pro scouts and even semi-pros sometimes look at guys from the junior colleges. That's if I can even get into one. Considering the mark this is going to leave, there's a pretty good chance I'll be done with football for good.

  It should bother me. Like I told them, football is my life. But somehow it just doesn't seem important compared to Brandon. Being able to play ball isn't worth it if he isn't there by my side.

  "I understand."

  They talk amongst themselves, and I try not to let my nerves show, stilling my knee when it starts to bounce.

  When they turn their attention back to me, it's the woman who speaks. "Understand that IF we do this--and that is a very big if, Mr. Trent--we cannot simply deny Mr. Tucker's involvement. At the very least, he will be suspended for the rest of the season. Are you willing to stake your career on the chance that his punishment will be less severe?"

  I blow out a breath. "If a chance is all I've got... Well, it's better than what I came in here with. So yes, I am."

  Nobody says anything for a while, and I swear I can hear my own heart pounding. Finally, the three of them look at each other and start to gather their things. I look up, bewildered.

  "Thank you for coming in today, Mr. Trent. I think we've heard everything we need to hear."

  My heart races and I stand up, trying to catch one of them before they leave. All of this couldn't have been for nothing. Did I not say enough? Did I not do enough? Is Brandon going to pay for my mistakes no matter what?

  "Wait, what does that mean? Are you going to consider my proposal, or not?"

  "We will discuss it. If it is the best option for all parties involved, then we may consider it."

  May consider it. So they're blowing me off. I feel like I could collapse right there in the middle of the conference room. All the strength goes out of my legs, and I have to sit back down before I make an even bigger ass of myself.

  Brandon's the most important thing in the world to me, always has been, and I can't even do right by him here.

  I hear the door close, and it takes me a second to realize the click of high heels is coming from inside the room. I look up and find the woman from the meeting still in the room with me.

  "I can't say this on the record, but I think your decision shows a level of maturity I don't often see in our players. I came into this fully expecting you to name Brandon Tucker as the instigator in effort to salvage your own career."

  I shrug lightly. "I know what's right, and Brandon taking the blame for this isn't right. Doesn't matter what it costs me. I'll take losing my career over losing him any day."

  She smiles at me. An actual smile this time, not the fake one she gave when I entered.

  "I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do."

  She's just one person. If it comes down to numbers, she's probably not going to win the vote. But hearing her say that gives me just a little more hope that I can set things right.

  Now all I have to do is face Brandon long enough to sign some papers, then come clean to my dad. I’m not sure which one is going to be harder.

  18

  Luke

  Driving back to my hometown is a little surreal.

  It’s not like I haven’t done it tons of times since moving to Eastshore. Brandon and I used to head that way whenever we could swing it, though he always was a little uncomfortable. Now I know why. I know a lot of things I didn’t know back then. Things that make me feel like maybe I’ve outgrown this small town a bit.

  It’s a little depressing to think that as I drive down old main street and turn off onto the county road that changes local names three times before it gets to my dad’s place. I know it would be easy to just say that this is a town full of small-minded people who like to get up in everybody’s business and who can’t stand the idea of one of their own being anything other than a red, white, and blue, girl-loving country boy, but if you live here, you know better. These are good people. They work hard and they try to live in a way they think is right.

  These are the kinds of people who stop when you’re broken down on the side of the road. Who come over to check on you after the hurricane blows through. They help you fix your roof when it’s leaking, and give you everything they have even when they don’t have enough themselves.

  Thinking that those same people will turn their back on me now bothers me a lot more than I thought it would. I have to hope, though. And if I can have faith in them, maybe I can have faith in my dad, too.

  I turn onto the dirt road that leads to my childhood home, and I have that feeling again. It’s like I know nothing’s changed here, but I’m seeing it differently. The collection of old, rundown cars on the lawn, and the patch of dead grass where my truck used to sit. The dirt pit out back where Brandon and I used to throw the football around. The woods we played in as kids, pretending we were pirates or cowboys or whatever the hell we were into that week.

  There’s so much here, but all I can think about are the things I might never get to experience. I won’t be able to bring Brandon here and call him my boyfriend. I won’t be able to watch the game with him and my dad on Sunday, fire up the grill before we head back to our own place. And hell, I know it’s crazy to even think about, but I won’t get to see him in some crazy-tight tux, smiling at me as I put a ring on his finger and make him mine in front of God and everybody.

  I throw my truck into park and as soon as I open up the door, my old dog, Otto, comes running out from behind the house. He makes a beeline for me, and damn near body checks me, eighty pounds of pit bull flying up against my side. I have to hold onto my truck to keep from being knocked over.

  “Come on, I thought I told you to chill with that. I don’t need football conditioning anymore,” I say, crouching down to pet him, rubbing both sides of his neck up to his ears. “Hey, buddy. You miss me?”

  The wet, slobbery kisses pretty much confirm he has. At least I know Otto won’t care who I like. If only my dad were that easy-going.

  He comes out of the house while I’m still giving Otto all the attention he demands. His broad frame fills up the space the screen door left behind, and I’m already dreading what I have to do. There’s a g
ood chance he and I just aren’t going to have much of a relationship after this, and as much as I’ve prepared myself for that, I’m still not really in a place where I can accept it.

  “Bunch of fucking hypocrites,” he says gruffly.

  I’m not really surprised that’s what he leads with. I called him before I came out, told him about the talk I had with the NCAA reps. I thought for sure he was going to march straight down there and tear up the place, but when I told him I was driving home, he seemed to calm down a little.

  “They did what they had to do,” I say, walking across the yard. “And I’d rather it end up like this than for Brandon or the team to get punished because of the shit I pulled.”

  “Yeah.” He looks me over, and I’m not really sure if he approves of my decision or not. “Guess you’re gonna be here for a bit, then.”

  “I’m finishing out the semester at Eastshore, but yeah, I could use a place to crash until the transfer goes through. Don’t wanna be a bother, though. I can always find someplace else.”

  I’m not really sure where right now, considering I’ve probably pissed off most of my friends. But I’ll figure it out.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he says. “This is your home. You can come back here any time you want, for however long you want.”

  I smile at him, but as he motions for me to follow him inside, I can’t help but wonder if he’ll feel that way after I come clean with him.

  “You want a sandwich or something? Beer?” He opens up the fridge, and I see what looks like the same assortment of stuff that was in there when I last visited.

  “I’m good.” I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself some water from the tap. My dad might not have a filter on the faucet, but the well water out here tastes a hell of a lot better than city water.

  My dad pops the top on a beer and I lean against the counter, trying to think of how I want to do this. I thought about it the whole way over here, but now, standing in the kitchen with him, it’s like none of those words are really good enough. I’m still afraid, I realize. I’m afraid that as soon as I tell him, that’ll be the end of it. And I know my dad may not win any awards for being the best person ever, but he’s pretty much the only family I have here. I don’t want to lose that.

  I owe it to him, though. And I owe it to Brandon.

  “Dad, there’s something I need to say. And I need you to listen for a while. Is that cool?”

  He looks at me, his thick brows bunched down over his eyes. “Doesn’t sound like you’re really giving me a choice. But sure, I can keep my mouth shut for a while.”

  I slide my hand along the counter, my fingers flexing and pushing down against it. For a little while I stare at the spackled tile ceiling, but eventually I man up and look at my old man. “Okay. Well. I want to start off by saying I know I fucked up. I’ve fucked up a lot of things, but making the decision to pretend like I was dating Brandon… I don’t really think that was one of them.”

  He starts to open his mouth to say something, but decides to take a sip of his beer instead.

  “The way I went about it was pretty shitty, and I wish it hadn’t played out the way it did. But I don’t really regret doing it, because it helped me realize things about myself that I might not have understood before.”

  I take in a deep breath. My dad and I haven’t ever really been good with heart to hearts. The last time we really talked about our feelings was when Mom died, and that was over ten years ago now.

  “Shit, I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to come out and say it. What Brandon and I had… it wasn’t fake. Maybe it started out that way, but it changed real quick. By the time you found out about it, it’d been real for a while. I was just… afraid to tell you the truth.”

  I look up at the ceiling again, and the silence between us is almost painful. When I glance back at him, he’s just staring at me.

  “You’re gay,” he finally says, in a tone I can’t really interpret.

  It doesn’t sound like anger or disappointment, at least. It mostly just sounds like he’s a little shocked.

  “I’m bi, actually,” I say, feeling a little dumb. “I like girls and guys. Or, well. One guy. Guess it doesn’t matter now though.”

  Not like Brandon’s going to take me back, and I have no idea what I’m going to do after him. I haven’t let myself think about what it means to lose him yet. There’s been too much on my mind to give in to grief.

  My dad just keeps on staring at me, like he’s slowly sizing me up. I couldn’t take it when I was a kid, and I can’t take it now. If he’s going to throw me out, cast me out of his life, then I need to know.

  “I know you never wanted a son who was into guys. I know people are going to talk shit about us now, and I wish it didn’t have to be that way. If you don’t want to see me again, I get it. But I needed you to know the truth.”

  “You don’t know me at all, do you,” he says, so quietly I almost don’t hear him.

  “…What?”

  “I don’t care if you’re gay or bi or whatever the hell you are, Luke.” My mouth opens, and he puts up a hand to stop me. “I know I’ve said a lot of shit. And maybe I believed some of it. But you’re my son. My flesh and blood. You really think this is going to change that?”

  “I… I didn’t know. I mean… You were pissed when you found out, Dad. What was I supposed to think? Then you started saying all this shit on Facebook…”

  “I was pissed I had to find out about it from somebody other than you. And yeah, I don’t appreciate people talkin’ shit about my boy. Doesn’t matter if it’s true or not.”

  My mind’s reeling. I’d hoped maybe he’d tell me it didn’t matter, but I never really expected this. Even now, though, his face is completely at odds with what he’s saying. He’s all hard edges, and I’m just waiting for whatever’s going to erupt from him.

  “What matters to me is that you lied,” he says, and I can finally identify his tone. He’s hurt. My dad is actually hurt. “All I ever asked you for was the truth, and you lied to me. And if you feel like you have to lie to me about something this important, that means I messed up somewhere along the way.”

  “No, Dad,” I say, so shocked I can barely form words. “I mean yeah, I was afraid to tell you. I thought you’d… I don’t know, be ashamed of me or something. But that’s on me.”

  He looks down at his beer, and I can see in every line that creases his forehead just how hard this is for him. I hate that I’ve hurt him. I hate that I made him think he did wrong by me. But I know he maybe made some mistakes, too. Things he might be regretting now.

  “Think it’s on both of us,” he finally says. He looks up at me, and I can see the emotion in his eyes. For once my dad doesn’t look like some superhuman who can crush the world just by scowling at it. He looks vulnerable. “Look, I never had that good of a relationship with my dad. I shut him out, and by the time I tried to get to know him as a man, it was too late. I don’t want that to happen to us.”

  “It won’t.”

  “It still bothers me that you lied. And I figure we’ve got a long way to go until I can really understand what’s going on here. But…” He’s quiet for a moment, then he says the words I didn’t know I’d been wanting so badly to hear from him. “I’m proud of you, son. No matter what happens.”

  Maybe some fathers and sons might have hugged after this talk, or at least shared a pat on the shoulder or something. But that’s not really us. My dad and I just stand in the kitchen, him with his beer and me with my glass of water. Eventually we start talking about football, and though I know things aren’t ever going to be like they were, it feels a lot less strained. I feel like maybe we’ll finally get a chance to really get to know each other after this—who we really are, not who we’ve pretended to be.

  It’s more than I ever really hoped for from him, but I can’t help wishing Brandon was here to share this with me.

  I don’t think I’m ever going to stop wishing for
that.

  19

  Brandon

  The day I'm supposed to sign my career away passes in a blur.

  I've been numb since my fight with Luke, but today I feel like I'm just barely functioning. I put on my suit, show up when and where I'm supposed to, and I'm so out of it that I can't even prepare myself for seeing him again. I knew he'd be there, of course. We're both supposed to sign. I just hadn't guessed what it would do to me to be in the same room as him.

  He looks amazing in his suit, even though I know it's an off-the-rack rental. He's shaved and cleaned up and he stands tall and strong. The second our eyes meet, all I want to do is wrap myself up in that strength. With Luke, I feel like I can get through anything. He's always had that effect on me, and it's only more pronounced now.

  But Luke isn't mine. Not anymore. Whatever we have is over, and I'm not even sure if our friendship can recover. So when I take that seat next to his, it's like driving a knife deeper into my heart.

  I have to make myself numb again. It's the only way I can protect myself. I build up those walls, and when the papers come my way and the terms are explained, I barely hear them. My signature is already on the third sheet before I realize something is off.

  "Suspended for the rest of the season?" I ask. "I thought I was being dropped from the team?"

  “The board has reconsidered its decision,” the lawyer sitting across from me says, looking like he just wants me to shut up and sign. “The terms laid out in these documents are better suited to the actions taken by all involved parties.”

  Wow. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a sentence that sounds more lawyery in my life. It winds back around on itself like those snakes that eat their own tails.

  It doesn’t help that Luke’s silent and signing away, barely glancing at each page as he flips past them.