by Rebel Hart
Alongside the dramatic display of their semi-pro perks was an entire crowd of Montpelier Vipers fans. The hardcore ones painted their faces green and put in gold eye contacts. They were decked out head to toe in Vipers gear and taunted the Widows and our fans as they walked by to get to the bleachers reserved for an away team.
MontRec wasn’t a big stadium by any means, but with me at the helm, I refused to let our field be only grass and spray paint. I saved up my salary for an entire year, and when I took over as office manager, I had legitimate turf installed. We didn’t have the funding for anything like stadium seating, but we had as much as a traditional high school field, if not a bit more. Our goalposts were pushers that I kept stored in MontRec’s garage and only pulled out for home games. They came bright orange, but I had them painted black with a red spider painted over the intersection between the post’s arms and stand. We had a single electronic scoreboard that was also mobile for use in other ways at MontRec. It had been set up near the corner of the Vipers’ bleachers at the head of the field.
I watched with anticipation as both sets of bleachers started to fill up. The team had talked me into posting the Vipers game on our official schedule, and once one person knew something in Montpelier, it spread like wildfire. The Vipers fans were overflowing off of their bleachers, but the Widows’ fans were nothing to balk at. There was little room left on our bleachers, as well. It was a packed house.
MontRec’s volunteer refs were present to officiate the game, and the Vipers had brought a ref of their own, as well. One of MontRec’s refs and the ref that came with the Vipers walked out to the center of the field, shook hands, and then called out for the captains. When I started to walk out, Hollie came and stood at my left and Lila stood at my right.
“We got your back,” Hollie said with a smile.
Lila said nothing, but when I eyed her, she nodded. I took a deep breath and started out. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Zeke didn’t come with backup as I had. He sauntered out to the middle of the field with a cocky swagger in his step. I held out my hand to shake when we reached the middle of the field, but Zeke didn’t return the gesture.
He smirked. “Sorry, I have no respect for someone who makes a mockery of my sport.”
I pulled my hand back. “I’m going to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face.”
“All right, folks, let’s keep it civil,” the Vipers ref started in a professional manner that clearly intimidated ours. “I’m not going to insult you by running down the rules for you.” He looked at me. “You’re home, so you get the coin toss.”
“Heads,” I replied. He nodded, fished into his pocket, and returned with a coin in his hand. He flipped it up, and we all stepped away to let it drop to the turf. It bounded back up slightly and then landed, heads up. The ref looked at me, and I smiled at Zeke. “We’ll kick.”
Zeke shook his head with a smile. “That confidence is going to be your downfall.”
The Vipers ref pulled a regulation whistle to his mouth and blew, holding out an arm toward the Vipers. “The Vipers will receive!”
We all turned to head back to our benches, and Hollie looked sideways at me. “Are you sure that was a good idea? We might have done better with the first possession.”
“No. I want it to hurt.” I clapped my hands as I reached the Widows. “All right, ladies, this is it! There’s nothing to it but to do it. We’re not facing anything new out there. Another team between us and victory.” Alec handed me my helmet, which had my gloves and mouth guard resting inside. I grabbed it from him and knocked it against my head. “Let’s kill ‘em!”
“Yeah!”
We got our helmets on, and I pulled on my gloves and put my mouth guard in. Alec reached out and took the grill of my helmet in his hands, pulling my head to him. “Don’t go out there and get so confident that you break yourself. I’m not dealing with your whining if you can’t play football.”
Alec knew me well. I did okay with fluffy words of love and confidence, and he could have gone with that, but when I played football, I was in beast mode. It was much more effective to give me an incentive not to be an idiot. I tapped his head a couple of times and then turned and led my team onto the field. Everyone was down in position to begin when Zeke stood up and put a hand in the air. The ref blew the whistle and put his hand up as well, and Zeke started to walk out toward the center of the field. The refs started in, as well, but Zeke held a finger out at his ref, who stopped moving instantly. The Widows ref looked over at me, and I shook my head, so he stayed in place on the sidelines. I stood up, sifted through the team, and moved to centerfield. The entire field was pin-drop silent while Zeke and I moved to meet each other. The only sound was the crunch of our feet against the turf.
A spare set let me know that I was being followed again, but I didn’t turn to see who it was. I made my way to centerfield and came to a stop, facing Zeke. He used his middle finger to hook into the cord that attached his mouthguard to his helmet and yanked it from his mouth. I reached up and pulled mine out with my fingers, as ours didn’t have cords. It oddly felt like another peacock dance, but I didn’t waver.
“Delaying the game?” I asked. “Did you want to start out with a penalty?”
“Clock hasn’t started yet.” He looked over my shoulder. “I don’t believe we need you.”
“I don’t believe I asked for your opinion,” Lila’s voice replied. I wasn’t sure if the support she’d shown me in the past week was arrogance, confidence in me, or something else entirely, but I didn’t question it. The president of the United States had worse bodyguards.
“Let’s make a deal,” Zeke pressed on, ignoring Lila. “If you win, the Vipers will completely endorse the Widows’ bid for semi-pro. We’ll go public, and we’ll pay your establishment fees.”
I’d looked into the establishment fees very little. I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. It was only something we’d have to worry about if we actually made semi-pro status. They had to be hefty, though, considering they were related to establishing a base of operations and commissioning a stadium. It was a lot to offer. He was either incredibly cocky or incredibly stupid. I was placing my money on both.
“And if we lose?” I asked.
“You have to withdraw your application.” It was a blow to the face. I had, of course, considered the possibility that the Widows wouldn’t be victorious, but I didn’t plan to put so much on the line. He sneered because he saw my hesitation. “Oh, not so confident anymore?”
“She’s just thinking about the best way to spend your money,” Lila spat.
“My Widows will win.” I took a deep breath. If I wasn’t willing to go all-in on my team, why were we even here? “You have a deal.”
That time, it was Zeke who held out a hand, but I didn’t take it.
“Sorry, I have no respect for someone who makes a mockery of my sport.”
Zeke smiled at me, but there was nothing but malice behind his eyes. “Best of luck to you.”
“Fuck off.” I turned around and started back toward my team, shoving my mouth guard in my mouth so hard it rattled my teeth. “This is for our right to apply!” I yelled.
The team all shifted, but Lila was right behind me. “Stay in it!”
Everyone locked in despite the news, and with a loud, screeching whistle. The game began.
We kicked off the ball to the Vipers, and the Widows charged forward. The kick was impressive. It was nearly as far downfield as it could get before it would become a safety. Adrenaline rushed through my body as my feet carried me toward the person with the ball. I zeroed in on him like I had a scope attached to me and he was the only thing my crosshairs would find. The yards between us got smaller and smaller until I was finally in his zone. I ducked in and charged, and a moment later, like I’d had a memory lapse, I was face down on the turf. I had no idea what had happened, but I didn’t make contact with the runner.
I got up and turned around, and the sight broke my hear
t. The Widows were barely managing to keep up as the Vipers snagged my girls one by one, and the runner cleared all the yards between the end zones for a kick-return touchdown. When he passed into the end zone, everyone in attendance was utterly silent. All of the Black Widows were statues in place. Finally, the field erupted with the cheers of the hundreds of Vipers fans, but the Vipers didn’t celebrate. The runner who’d gotten the touchdown tossed the ball to the ref and joined his team in corralling up to prepare for their post-touchdown points, and by the way they were lining up, they were going for a conversion.
The Widows lined up, despite how obviously shaken we were, and the ref blew his whistle. The sounds of the Vipers’ center counting were distant in my ears, and when the snap fired back, I was at a wall before I’d even moved my feet. The Vipers locked the Widows up with no issue, and to mock us, Zeke tucked the ball under his arm and lightly jogged through an opening to get to the end zone.
Just like that, the Vipers had scored eight points in the less than five minutes that had elapsed in the game, and they hadn’t even broken a sweat. To say I was suddenly very nervous would be a severe understatement.
Things never got better. By halftime, I was tempted to call it. The more the minutes ticked on and the more points the Vipers scored, the more I watched my semi-pro dreams slipping from my fingers. Even Lila seemed dejected, and she didn’t get that way often. The few hours that had passed between the beginning and the end of the game felt like three weeks. When the final whistle blew at the end of the game, the only thing I could do was drop to my knees. I looked over at the score just to see if something had happened that I missed, but I saw what I feared in the bright red digital numbers.
Fifty-seven to three. The only points we earned were from a single field goal we were lucky to have gotten.
Emotions welled up into a knot in my throat. I spat out my mouth guard and bit down on my bottom lip until I could taste a metallic swill in my mouth. I wasn’t a crier in general, but I refused to show any emotions to Zeke. That was what he wanted.
A few of the Vipers attempted to high five, but anyone who tried was immediately advanced on by Zeke until they backed off.
“What would you celebrate for? This was just another practice.” The teams started to file off the field, but I stayed where I was, and so did Zeke. When it was just us left on the field, Zeke walked over to me.
“Get up,” he said.
I couldn’t bring myself to look up at him, but I did climb to my feet. I kept my gaze trained downward, and Zeke sighed.
“You can wait until tomorrow to withdraw your application,” he said. I looked up at him, shocked at the random kindness, but his deathly glare sent shudders down my spine. “Use tonight to think about your mistakes and how you wasted my time.”
He didn’t stick around any longer. He turned on his heel and walked straight past his team and walked onto the bus. I stayed standing in place on the field until there wasn’t a single soul left except Alec, and that was only because he was my ride. I wasn’t sure how long he’d left me to stand in place, but he finally walked over and wrapped a hand around my shoulder. He didn’t say anything, just pulled me off the field to his car. Once he’d pushed me into the passenger’s seat, I finally ducked my head against the dashboard in front of me and let the tears flow in earnest.
8
Zeke
The bus pulled into the Vipers’ stadium and parked in the parking lot. A few of the guys grabbed the materials we’d brought with us off the bus, and the team assistants and ref grabbed them from there and brought them back inside the stadium. I climbed off the bus, lifted my jersey over my head, and yanked my pads from around my shoulders. An assistant had stayed back to collect them, and I nearly took his head off when tossing mine at him.
“Careful,” Coach Tyler grumbled. “Just because you’re in a bad mood doesn’t mean you can kill my assistant.”
I didn’t respond. I shoved my jersey at the same assistant and dug out my keys, starting toward my car. To say that I was fuming would be an understatement. After her grand display at the game I watched and all that trash-talking Quinn did, her team didn’t even scratch mine. I thought I’d at least be mildly entertained, but that game turned out to be a complete waste of my and my team’s time.
The only silver lining I had was that she did seem to be sufficiently embarrassed by the game. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she’d be withdrawing her application after that shit show. I told her to wait until tomorrow, but I fully expected she was doing it at that exact moment. Someone who suffers that sort of crushing defeat doesn’t wait to wave the white flag, at least, not if they have a shred of integrity left.
“Whoa, there.”
I was so lost in my irritation that I barely noticed a looming figure standing between me and my car. He was six-foot-five and solidly built, with wide shoulders and tree-trunk arms. Even his legs looked like if he were to reach out and kick me without much effort, I’d go flying fifty yards back. He had cocoa-colored skin and round, walnut-shaped eyes with brown irises hidden behind a pair of thin, rectangular spectacles. He had a short cut afro of black hair and was dressed in a light gray suit and black tie. I couldn’t tell if he was going to try and sell me a car, offer me a job, or present me with a summons. For as imposing as he was, it was a shock that I didn’t see him there.
He held out his hand. “Zeke Matheson, I’m a big fan.”
I looked down at it with suspicion and then back up at him. He didn’t withdraw his hand but slapped on a big, fake-looking smile. “That’s fair, I suppose. My name is Wright Johnson. I am the commissioner of the Idaho Athletics Board. I handle everything from baseball to basketball, from the pros down to the shows. How are you?”
I couldn’t quite get a read on him, but such a big name in sports probably wouldn’t be good to snub. I took his hand, and his grip around mine was borderline painful. I was relieved when he gave it a single firm shake and then let go.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I responded. “What can I help you with?”
He pointed across the street at a stadium bar that I generally avoided. “Let’s grab a drink. A victory drink, on me.”
“Victory?” I thought of our game against Minnesota the week before and turned up my nose.
“Against the Black Widows,” he replied.
I’d forgotten about it that quickly. It didn’t register as a game in my mind. I wouldn’t even consider it a scrimmage. It was a practice at best, and one I’d be lecturing my team on for their mistakes.
“Right.” I crossed my arms. “You sure you wanna go there? Usually where the die-hards go. They can be rough.”
He chuckled and headed in that direction, anyway. I unlocked my car, tossed my bag in the back seat, and followed after him. We walked inside, and, to my shock, the entire place was totally empty. I looked around, searching for any sign of life in the usually packed and suffocating establishment, but there wasn’t a single customer. All of the bartenders were behind the bar, and when we cleared the entrance wall, they all stared at us in anticipation.
“That’s odd,” I said, finally. “This place is usually packed.”
Wright picked a table in the dead center of the bar and sat down. “Yeah, I kindly asked management if they’d be willing to clear the place out. We couldn’t rightfully have the Zeke Matheson trying to enjoy a drink with the layman hanging around, could we?”
I wasn’t an idiot. Semi-pro was nothing like being pro. I could go to the grocery store or the park and not be recognized, and those who did recognize me typically had no problem approaching to ask how my day was going and then going about their day. I’d signed the passing autograph or two, but unless there were end-all-be-all football fans around, I wasn’t what someone would consider a celebrity. I knew I was a name that floated around the households of people in the industry—that was a given—and I was once a top pick to go pro, but clearing out a bar for me seemed a bit excessive.
>
Wright motioned to the chair across from him at the table. “Have a seat.”
He held a hand up, and the bartenders sprang to life behind the bar. Despite being weirded out, I did as I was told. I pulled the chair he motioned to away from the table and settled into it. He let out a small noise of satisfaction as I sat, and a few seconds later, a bartender brought over a couple bottles of beer. Wright lifted his and tilted the bottom out.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Cheers.” I clinked my bottle against his and took a drink. “So. What can I do for you, Mr. Johnson?”
“Wright is fine.” He’d already taken out half his beer before he set it back down on the table. “First things first, congratulations on your win.”
“With all due respect, congratulations aren’t needed. I considered that a practice, at most.” I took a sip of my own beer, mostly to keep the swell of anger rising up inside of me at bay. “I appreciate the notion, though.”
He crossed his arms. His ever-prevalent grin was haughty and difficult to take seriously. “I saw that it wasn’t too much of a trial for you.”
“You saw it?” I asked.
He knocked back the rest of his beer and held it up in the air, and bartenders quickly jumped to replace it with a full one. “I did, and I was impressed with your performance. You appear to be the glue that holds your team together.”
Well, that was true. “I do my best, sir.”
He laughed. “And humble. What more could you want?” He leaned forward a bit. “You know, I’ve been following your career for some time. All the way until you disappeared after college. Who knew you were right here in my pasture?”
We spent the next thirty minutes talking about nothing in particular. He asked about my family, my career up to that point, and how I felt about Idaho. I didn’t know what Wright’s angle was. He didn’t seem to be the kind of guy who drove into the sticks to have a beer with a semi-pro quarterback, but he hadn’t asked for anything specific or steered the conversation in any one direction. Still, it was my dream to go pro, so I wasn’t about to turn down the company or friendship of such a powerful contact. He ran in the same circles I was hoping to travel into one day, hopefully, one day soon. So he could ask me my blood type, and I’d answer him.