Daddy has a ritual. Well, he has lots of rituals. People in sports are unusually superstitious. Whether intentionally or whether it was beaten out of him by his own momma, my daddy’s superstitions don’t have anything to do with not washing your socks or your hat or jersey. Instead, he likes to have the same meal before every game—beef roast, cheesy potatoes, and almond green beans. It has to be prepared by Momma, although since Ginny’s death, I've been doing most of the preparing while Momma sits at the kitchen table directing traffic. She’s never fully recovered from losing her oldest daughter.
No one really expected her to. The curse of low expectations resulted in her wafting around the house looking like a frail twig. Daddy’s response to Ginny’s death was to feed me. I think he bought into Gamma’s theory that Ginny’s thinness was the reason she couldn’t handle her heartbreak, even though anyone with sense knew it had to do with Thaddeus Larson. That boy grabbed Ginny’s nineteen-year-old heart in his cruel hand and squeezed it until she couldn’t bear the pain one moment longer.
I believe that Southern U’s three-year losing streak is due to my daddy’s grief. The football season is a long one. It starts officially in September and runs through January, if you're lucky, but the real season is year-round because a college coach’s success is only as good as his last recruiting class.
Daddy has to be on the road quite a bit, visiting homes and promising other mommas that he's gonna take good care of their sons. There was a time there, after Ginny died, he felt like he couldn't make that promise. After all, he couldn't protect his own daughter so how could he be trusted to take care of anyone else’s child?
Curly James Myers’ momma is the one who snapped Daddy out of his funk. She came up to him after last year’s heartbreaking loss to Auburn and told him that he couldn’t give up on Southern because of what happened to Ginny. That he owed it to all of the other kids in his life to keep on fighting. That was when he made the offer for Ace.
It was a risky, unusual move for Daddy, but one that’s going to pay off. I just know it.
“Dinner was delicious, as always. Thank you, ladies.” He wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin and lays it carefully next to his knife.
“It’s our pleasure,” Momma says. “How is the team looking this year?”
“Fantastic. I’m real pleased with this group of men. They’re coming together as a team, and I think they’re going to do great things. I hope you come and see a few games.”
“Perhaps I will,” she says.
But we all know she won't.
“I’ll be there, Daddy,” I chirp, trying to put a smile back on his face.
“I sure hope so,” he says and gives me that smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Did the charity sale go well?” Momma asks, clearly done with football.
“Yup. We were a little short, though. The goal was five thousand dollars, but Dawn Markowitz dropped ten pies. She had these brand-new Stuart Weitzman wedges on and rolled her ankle about two steps away from the tent.”
“Ten of them?” Daddy asks with hilarity lurking in his words. Even my mother hides a smile behind her napkin.
I grin back. If my family is happy, I’m happy. “Yeah. It was sort of hilarious, but Dawn felt terrible. I told them you would cover the difference.”
He nods. “You write out the check, Cub, and I’ll sign it.”
Daddy’s called me Cub since I was a baby. Baby Bear. Get it?
“Will we be having any of the new pledges here this fall?” Momma sets her napkin down. Marni, our housekeeper, bustles in the moment the snowy cloth hits the table. She must’ve been watching from the kitchen door.
I scoot back so Marni has easy access to my plate. “Sure, I was thinking a viewing party for the Clemson and Florida matchup on Friday night since we’re going to play the Saturday night game.”
The corners of Momma’s mouth turn down. “Maybe those girls don’t like football like you, Bryant. How about we do a pre-Halloween event? The girls can decorate special trick or treat baskets that we can fill and drop off at the children’s hospital.”
Daddy clears his throat when I don’t immediately agree. Hiding my disappointment, I nod obediently. “That sounds great. I’ll stop and pick up some of those plastic pumpkins this week. I’m sure we’ve got enough other stuff around the house.”
She smiles approvingly, but before I can breathe a sigh of relief, she brings up another concern of hers. “Louise Cottrell called and said you turned down the little sister program for the Sigmas.”
I grimace. “I’m too busy. Besides, I only did it my sophomore year because I was dating Cooper Smythe, so it made sense. Since we’ve both moved on, someone else is better suited for that position.” Being a little sister to a fraternity house is a lot of hard work. Cooper was my second-semester sophomore project, and while he was a tough nut to crack, he ended up in good shape. One of my sorority sisters is currently dating him. She says he's the best boyfriend she's ever had. I give myself a mental pat on the back.
“I don't know why you broke up with that nice boy,” Momma chides. “His father is the mayor. He could've hooked you up with a nice job at City Hall.”
“I suppose.”
“If you would just hold on to one of these boys, Bryant. Your sister—”
“She has a new man.” Daddy jumps in to save me.
“Oh? Who is it this time?” Momma swings her gorgeous hazel eyes in my direction.
I pin on my brightest smile. “Oh, Momma, you would just love him. He's a northern boy and has that clipped Yankee accent, but he’s just gorgeous. Green eyes. Light brown hair. About six feet five.” I slide a sly glance toward Daddy. “Well, the program states he’s six-five, but I’m thinking he’s about an inch shorter.”
Daddy smiles benignly. “We don't lie about stuff like that in our program.”
I hoot. “Ha. That’s a whopper. You listed Travarius Daly as five-eleven and anyone with eyes knows he’s not much more than a couple inches taller than me. In fact, when I’ve got my hair pinned up, he’s not much taller than my bun.”
“Maybe your hair shouldn't be so high,” Daddy suggests with a grin.
I playfully stick my nose in the air. “If I'm not using at least one can of hairspray per dance, I'm not even trying.”
We all share a laugh at that, which is a good note to end our meal on. “May I please be excused?”
“Of course, darling.” Momma rises from the table at the same time I do.
Daddy brings up the rear. “I hope you know what you’re doing?” he murmurs low so my mother doesn’t hear him.
“Of course I do.”
“Don’t break that boy. He’s the linchpin to our success this year. My backup quarterback is so green, he’d give a leprechaun a run for his money.”
“Don’t worry. By the time I’m done with Ace Anderson, the scouts’ll be lining up to draft him,” I declare.
6
Ace
“You ready for the game tomorrow?”
I look up from the playbook to find Julio Fleming, a six-foot, four-inch wide receiver, standing in front of me, squeezing the gloves in his hands so tight the mesh is going to leave an imprint on his palms. The redshirt freshman is making his first start for the Renegades—just like me.
I set my playbook aside. “Yeah. It’s a good team, but we’re better in every aspect. There’s no way their defensive backs are keeping up with you.”
“Right.” He nods, his chin bobbing up and down, but his eyes aren’t conveying any confidence.
That’s not good. Wide receivers are the divas of a football team. They run on self-confidence and Red Bull. If Julio isn’t walking around the locker room with his shirt off, beating his chest, there’s a problem. I take a quick look around the room and find that no one else seems concerned.
Julio doesn’t move. Instead, he gazes at me with stupid hope in his eyes and waits for me to say something inspirational as if I’m Lou fucking Holtz. I rub m
y palms against my sweatpants. “Okay, so what’s your favorite route?”
“Batman,” he says immediately.
The Batman route is where Julio and Carter line up on opposite edges of the line of scrimmage. When the ball is snapped, Julio runs straight and to the left corner. With two receivers, the pattern looks like a bat’s wings.
“It’s the fifth play we’re running,” I remind him, pointing to the printout I have taped inside the playbook. Coach Johnson always scripts the first fifteen offensive plays.
“Yeah, I know.” Julio scratches his head. Confidence is contagious in a locker room, but so is uncertainty, which is why whatever is bothering Julio needs to be nipped in the bud.
I get to my feet. “We’re going to murder them. The Lions don’t have a chance against our offense and the defense is going to make them call their mommies in tears. You run like you have rockets in your cleats so there’s no way any d-back keeps up. Doesn’t matter which route you run. If you’re open, I’ll find you.”
I slap my hand on his back, but before I can escape, he says, “You got family coming?”
It’s the hesitant way he says it that strikes a chord of understanding. The kid’s parents are coming, and he’s afraid he’s going to fall on his face in front of them. “No, we can’t swing it. Money, you know?”
“You, too?” He raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah, my old man is always running behind on the cash.” In fact, the old man called me a couple of weeks ago wondering if I could get some booster to pay for his flight here. I reminded him that’d be an NCAA violation and hung up.
“This is my first game my dad is coming to see,” Julio admits.
“He’s going to be really impressed. I bet you score a touchdown on the Batman play.”
“Too bad you’re not going to be with family.”
“It’s all good. I don’t need—”
“Of course he’s got family. The entire Johnson clan is cheering their heads off for you.” Bryant appears beside me like a ghost, carrying a huge plastic container. “All eighty million of them.” She gives me a saucy wink before turning to Julio. “Look at you, Julio. You’re looking gorgeous this fine fall afternoon. I bet you can’t wait to get out on that field tomorrow and show everyone how amazing you are.”
Julio’s chest inflates like a balloon. He flashes a bright white smile at her. “You know it.” He claps his palms together. “Best hands in the conference.”
“Conference!” Bryant exclaims. “You’re underselling yourself. You’ve got the best hands in the damn country, equaled only by our very own Carter.” She points a finger toward our number one wide receiver, who gives her the thumbs up in return.
Carter calls from across the room. “What you got there, Miss Bryant?”
“It’s a little pre-game treat.” She shoves the container in my hands. “Ace is going to pass them out. Only one per player, except for you, sugar. You get two.” She tugs on my jersey, forcing me to lean down close enough for her to plant one of those too light, too fleeting kisses. The ones that heat my blood but don’t give me any satisfaction. “You’re going to be so awesome tomorrow, Julio. There’s going to be at least one highlight with you dancing in the end zone.”
She squeezes my biceps, which sends a charge of electricity through me. Damn, what the fuck is wrong with me? “Ace, these are homemade granola bars. Those processed ones you guys gobble down like they’re Tic Tacs have too much sugar. I make these with honey so that they’re delicious but nutritious. You like almonds, right?”
“Um, yeah. How do you know?”
“You mentioned it the other night.”
I stare at her skeptically.
“At the bar,” she adds and smiles again, two little dimples appearing on the sides of her mouth. My dick jumps in response. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The minute she’s out of the way, presumably down the hall to see her dad, the guys swarm.
“What’d she bring?”
“Is it cookies?”
“She’s not bringing cookies the day before a game, dumbshit.”
“Homemade granola bars,” Julio announces as if they’re his treat, not mine. The box is ripped from my hands and passed around. By the time it makes its way back to me, I expect it to be empty. Instead, two are left.
Ty Masters grins as I look inside with surprise. “The lady said two were for you. If she found out that we didn’t leave you enough, she’d skin us.”
“You guys really like her.” It’s a statement, not a question.
“What? You don’t?” he asks around a mouth full of granola.
“Girls and football aren’t a real good mix.”
Ty swallows and then shrugs. “Depends on the girl and the guy. There are dudes in here who are married, who have long time girlfriends, and who are single. Just depends. You one of those that can’t juggle both?”
“’Course not.” I shove one of the bars into my mouth so I don’t have to keep talking about this idiotic topic.
Carter leans against the locker next to mine. I hadn’t had so much as another guy within two feet of me before Bryant appeared. Now, they’re settling in like we’re going to have story time at the library.
“I’ve been seeing Lea Royce,” Carter announces between bites. “That Olympic distance runner, you know?”
I nod, not because I know this girl, but because I recognize her name. Next to me, Ty grunts because his mouth of full of granola. Someone starts passing around a gallon jug of water.
“Anyway, the girl can go all night. Like her lungs must be the size of the quad. She has no quit. I can’t keep up.”
“You better be staying away tonight,” Ty warns. “We need you tomorrow. Besides, no girls in the hotel.”
The team stays in a hotel the night before a game—both home and away. Coach Johnson says it’s to keep us out of trouble and to make sure we get a good night’s rest, not to mention it’s easier to do a bed check in one hotel than a dozen different dorms and apartments.
“Don’t worry,” Carter says. “I’m not going to, but I got to have a plan of attack. I need to fucking tire her ass out. Our reputation as elite athletes is on the line here!”
“Glutes, man. All the power thrusting comes from the glutes.” Zane smacks Carter’s ass. “Do a hundred squat bridges and she won’t be able to walk the next day.”
Travarius disagrees. “No way. Abs all the way. You gotta do more curls. If your core is strong, you should be able to fuck all night.”
“Fuck that shit,” Zane protests. “The gluteals move your hips. Your dick is directly influenced by the hips.”
Beside me, Ty’s eyes light up in glee. “No idea what you’re talking about, man. Can’t see it.”
Zane puts his hands on his hips. “The hips, Masters. The glutes are our biggest muscle group. If you’re gonna thrust with any power, your glutes have to be fucking jacked.”
“Still no clue,” Masters declares. A couple of the other guys start to laugh into their hands.
Zane holds a pair of imaginary hips in front of him. “Like this, you assholes.” He pumps his pelvis. “Don’t any of you know how to fuck anymore? Thrust with your hips.”
“What the hell are you doing, Bettman?” roars our offensive coordinator.
Zane immediately stops, pelvis out. Masters collapses on the floor. The rest of the players who’d come over to watch the spectacle of Zane demonstrating his bedroom techniques are screaming their laughter.
He flushes. Smothering my own chuckles, I stand up and, as solemnly as possible, say, “Your booty is the best booty, Zane. I have no doubt your girl is satisfied every morning.”
The tight end gives me a suspicious look and flicks both of his middle fingers up. “You’re all assholes, especially you, Masters. Your ass is flat as a pancake. You can’t even keep your pants up without a belt. I doubt you even last five minutes in the sack.”
Ty is still rolling on the floor.
“All right, Pr
incesses. You have five minutes to get out on the field for a walk-through or you’ll get curfew thirty minutes early,” yells Coach.
“Need some help down there, buddy?” I ask dryly.
Masters shakes his head and drags himself to his feet. He swipes a hand in front of his eyes. “Shit, some guys are too easy.” He winks at me, then yells after Zane. “Why don’t you let me spot you while you’re doing those squat bridges? I want to know more about your power thrusting techniques.”
Zane doesn’t even turn around as he flips Masters off again.
The locker room quiets down as Bryant appears from the coach’s hallway.
“Thanks for the bars, Bryant,” Travarius calls out.
A bunch of other guys chime in with their appreciation. Bryant waves a cheery hand at all of them, but she doesn’t stop until she reaches me and Ty.
“How’s your brother?” she asks Ty.
“Good,” he answers. “Your bars were awesome.”
“Daddy said that Knox is going to try to see our game against Florida State since he plays Jacksonville the next day.”
“That’s right.” Ty arches an eyebrow in my direction, as if I’m going to completely lose it at the sight of my old teammate.
Yeah, it’s not something I’m looking forward to. Knox is best friends with Matty Iverson, Lucy’s boyfriend. But I’m not a fragile flower who’s going to fall apart at the first hint of conflict. If that were the case, I wouldn’t be the fucking starting quarterback of one of the best college teams in the country. “Be good to see an old teammate.”
“Won’t it, though.” Ty’s voice is flat, as if he’s remembering all the bad blood that drove me from Western State to this locker room.
“It certainly will,” Bryant says. She pats my chest and the uneasiness fades, replaced by an anxiousness of a different nature. “Have a good game tomorrow. I’ll see you after.”
She turns away, trailing her perfectly manicured fingernails across my chest. Goosebumps pop up on my exposed forearms, and I have to exert some willpower to prevent a shudder from breaking out at that light touch.
Downed (Gridiron #3) Page 5