by Vanessa Fox
After I left the game with my injury, fortunately the Alphas were able to pull off a miraculous win from behind under the backup quarterback, Vince Rogers, a young rookie straight out of Tulane. He impressed everyone with his calm demeanor and quick thinking, executing the necessary plays almost flawlessly. I like to think his success stemmed at least partially from my tutoring throughout the season... though I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel a hint of jealousy and spite at the ease in which he conquered the same game that had left me struggling.
It's the fourth quarter, and there's no question that the Alphas will take home this win as well. We're up 37 to 16, and there's only six minutes left on the clock. The Highwaymen certainly looked to be fierce contenders coming into this game, but our defense has kept them in check and the offense has been dominant, scoring several too-easy touchdowns.
I realize the gravity of the situation. The Alphas are going to the Gridiron Bowl. It's two weeks away. In my current condition, there's no way in hell I could play. I don't know how I'll be feeling in two weeks, and the doctors wouldn't give me much of a timetable. Two to six weeks, they said. Everybody's different, they said. Thanks, that's really fucking helpful. Twelve years of schooling and a high six figure salary just to tell me "I don't know"?
But I do know myself. And I'm gonna fight like hell to play regardless of whether I'm "all there" or not. I'll bluff it if I have to. I don't give a shit. There's no way in hell I'm skipping the Gridiron Bowl, after taking my team 99% of the way there. It would be highway robbery if they don't let me play.
My parents cheer and high five each other as the Alphas score a field goal. My dad stands and leans towards me, holding out his palm. I slap it half-heartedly.
"It's happening, baby!" My dad bellows.
"We're going to the Gridiron Bowl!" My step-mom Rose squeals in delight.
"We're?" I ask.
"Hush, you," she slaps my shoulder. "You'll be fine by then, don't you worry."
"I fucking better be," I grumble.
My parents exchange wary glances. I usually have the good manners not to curse in front of them. I don't know if it's the concussion or my own frustration, or both. I don't care.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to see yet another text from Willow.. "Congrats! I know it's still early but I think that field goal may have been the nail in the coffin. Me and Katie are watching and cheering on the team. We're thinking about you. Hope you're okay. :)"
I clench my jaw as I read the words. She hasn't quit. She's been calling and texting but I just can't bring myself to answer her. I'm not really sure why. I guess I don't trust myself in my current state not to do or say something stupid. She's been on my mind constantly, from the moment I took the hit to the head. I've been dreaming about her. Longing for her. But at the same time, I'm angry. I'm so fucking pissed off that sometimes it takes everything in me not to punch the wall.
I know she's just worried about me, and I probably should send her a quick note to let her know that I'm okay. But I'm afraid that even the smallest contact will lead to the floodgates opening all over again. And I don't know if I'm in the right state of mind to deal with all of those emotions and the implications that come with them. I don't know. I just feel so mixed up.
Not much happens for the remainder of the game. The Highwaymen try and fail to get a touchdown. Then they try and fail an onside kick attempt. The Alphas use their turn to run out the clock until the game winds down to zero. All in all, not the most exciting championship playoff game, but a solid win, with serious ramifications for the team. It's Gridiron Bowl time.
I feel like an outsider as I watch the press flood the field and begin interviewing the players. Vince Rogers is the star now, apparently. At this moment I'm but an afterthought— though that will change as the big game approaches and the media questions whether or not I'll be playing. I better be. I can't stand sitting here and watching my own team play without me, like I'm just another average Joe sitting in his recliner eating chips and drinking beer on Sundays, drunkenly cheering from home.
A nobody.
Chapter 21
Kade
I'm lying on my bed, reading an old tattered novel I found on my dad's bookshelf: The Stranger by Albert Camus. I don't really care about the book itself. It's pretty boring. I'm just trying to kill time until I finally get to go home.
A week has passed and in a couple days I'll drive back to Atlanta. I'll meet up with my doctors and coaches, and they'll grant me the final word on whether I'll be allowed to play in the Gridiron Bowl. I'm feeling a hell of a lot better, but ultimately, it's not up to me. They get the final say.
But I'm optimistic. My head is clear. My senses are sharp. I may not be at 100%, but I'm getting there.
I'm certain I can do this. I will do this.
Sitting out the game is not an option.
My thoughts are interrupted by a knocking downstairs. I hear the muffled footsteps of my dad, and the jostle of the door opening, followed by voices. A moment later, my dad calls for me.
I lazily rise my to feet, dread settling in the pit of my stomach. I'm not really in the mood for guests, whoever they might be.
I freeze at the top of the stairs.
"Look who it is, Kade," my dad announces cheerfully.
It's Willow. She casts me a warm smile as she pulls off her white winter jacket and hands it to my dad. Then she bends down and unzips her black boots, leaving them by the door.
I immediately regret ignoring her attempts to get in contact with me. It would've taken ten seconds of my time to send her a simple text, and all of this could've been avoided. But I never thought she'd be bold enough to make the drive all the way over here.
She hops up the stairs in her socks and wraps her arms around me, squeezing me tight. Feeling the heat of her body against mine fills me with strange and confusing emotions. I gingerly pat her on the back.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
She glances up at me with a nervous, but hopeful smile. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to see you. I needed to make sure you were okay."
I glare at my dad, who's standing at the foot of the stairs with one hand on his hip and a dumb looking grin on his face. I know he's behind this.
"Can we go to your room?" she asks.
I nod, and lead her down the hall to my old room.
"Wow," she says, glancing around at all the junk. "This really brings back memories. It's been so long."
I shrug as I take a seat on the bed. She zeros in on the book laying on my mattress.
"What's this?" she asks, picking it up. "Oh, The Stranger. One of my favorites. I didn't know you liked Camus."
"Who?"
She points at the name on the cover. "Albert Camus."
"Oh. Well, I just needed something to pass the time. I don't really understand the book. It's kind of weird."
She flips through the pages. "I believe it's about nihilism. You know, the philosophy that life is meaningless and there's no point to—"
Noting the look of disdain on my face, she stops. She sets the book down on the end table and sits next to me. "Listen, I'm sorry for just barging in like this. I've just been so worried about you. You've been ignoring all my calls and texts."
I take a deep breath. I'm really not in the mood to get into all of this. "I'm sorry," I say slowly. "I just… didn't know what to say, I guess."
"You didn't have to say anything besides 'I'm okay'. I was worried sick."
"Well, you knew I wasn't dead. You knew I was in concussion protocol. What more do you need?"
She stares at me, her eyes glimmering with the first inkling of tears. Eye contact makes me feel uncomfortable, so I look away.
"I wanted to hear it from your own mouth," she says finally.
"Okay. I'm fine. There you go."
Her face falls and she looks at the floor, dejected. A long silence passes. "Listen— I wanted to apologize for everything that happened. I'm sorry that I accused you. I had n
o evidence of anything, really. I just had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I couldn't let go of it. I was so afraid of getting hurt. I still am, I guess."
I study her face. She looks tiny and vulnerable sitting next to me. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes are watery.
I'm searching deep inside myself for a little bit of sympathy, but I can't find any. Instead, I only find myself growing more annoyed.
"Did you come to that conclusion before I got hurt?" I ask point blank.
"W-what?" She's taken aback.
"Let me guess, it wasn't until you saw me lying there hurt on the grass that you magically decided, 'Oh, I guess I actually do love Kade after all'."
"N-no, that's not it…"
"But isn't that why you came? To tearfully apologize? Then we'll hug and kiss and make up, and everything will be perfect again?"
"No, Kade, I just wanted to—"
"The fact that you come here, uninvited, and immediately start talking about yourself and bringing up all this drama, when I'm just trying to relax and get my head clear—"
She shakes her head adamantly, her face red and strained with tears. "That wasn't my intention at all!"
"Then what was it? Oh, let me guess, maybe you don't want to get back together, but you feel guilty about the way things ended. Right? So you wanted to come here and spill your guts like I'm a priest at confession, then I'll pat you on the back and tell you it's okay, so you can free yourself from all that guilt and move on with your life. You want closure, right? You wanna wrap this all up and put a cute little bow on top."
The words spill out of me effortlessly. I don't even know where they're coming from.
She just sits there, her jaw quivering in hurt and shock.
"Well, you're not gonna get that from me," I continue. "I have nothing to offer you. Nothing positive, anyway. We aren't compatible. We never were, and we never will be. I guess I should thank you for bringing that to light for me. A few weeks back, in your apartment. You really opened my eyes. I tore the band-aid off. And I was doing pretty well adjusting to it, until you decided to barge back into my life."
She wipes the tears from her eyes and stands. "This was a mistake. I'm sorry," she says quickly, not looking at me.
She walks out of the room with sagging shoulders and a lowered head, and as she descends the stairs I hear my dad asking her, "What's wrong? Leaving already?"
A moment later the front door slams shut. I can hear my dad turn on a dime and stomp his way up the stairs.
He appears in the doorway, his face seized in a vicious scowl. "What the hell was that about?"
"I was gonna ask you the same thing. Why did you let her come here?"
He crosses his arms. "She called me. The poor girl was worried sick about you. I didn't think it would do any harm—"
"Wouldn't do any harm?!" I bellow. I stand to my feet and confront him. He's almost a full foot shorter than me, but when he's angry like this he can still be intimidating. I'm not afraid to bring the heat myself, though. "Why the hell would you think I'd want to see my ex-girlfriend at a time like this?!"
"Kade, she's a sweet girl. She cares about you."
"So? She's my ex. We broke up weeks ago. I already know what she thinks about me. She told me. And I won't forget it. You seriously think I want to deal with all this bullshit right now? All this drama? I'm over it. I'm over her. And I don't appreciate you forcing her back into my life like this."
"Listen, Kade. You're making a huge mistake. That girl really loves you. I can see it. I saw it way back in high school, and I see it now."
"Love?" I scoff. "What the hell do you know about love? You fucked up your own marriage, so what makes you think you're some kind of authority?"
He narrows his eyes and his mouth sets in a stern line. I've touched a sore subject, but I don't care.
"Your mom and I, we never had what you and Willow have. Never. That's why it didn't work out."
"Oh, but you and Rose are different, huh?" I ask mockingly, rolling my eyes.
"Yes, that's right. We are." He sighs, shaking his head. "I don't expect you to get it. You're young. You're stupid. You don't know what's good for you. You may be an expert when it comes to throwing a football. You may have more money in your bank account right now than I've ever made in my life. But you're still just a dumb kid, and I'm afraid you're about to throw your life away."
"Throw my life away?" I can't help but laugh. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Do you know how hard it'll be for you to find another woman like that? A woman who truly loves you for you, not for your fame or your money? A woman who will stick by your side, through thick and thin? Well, let me tell you, Son, you've already found her. You just refuse to see it."
"Willow doesn't love me for me, Dad, that's the problem. And she hasn't stuck by my side. She bailed at the first sign of trouble."
"I don't blame her, with the way you're acting."
I can't take this anymore. It's too ridiculous for words. I just roll my eyes and shrug, turning my back on him. I sprawl on my mattress with a heavy sigh. "Are we done now?"
"Yeah, we're done," my dad glances me up and down, scowling. "I don't want to get you too riled up in your 'delicate state'."
He air quotes that last part sarcastically.
"Focus on getting better, and the game ahead," he continues. It's the only wise thing that's come out of his mouth today. "But after that, Son… I reckon you need to take a good, hard look at yourself and rethink some things."
"Okay, Dad," I respond sarcastically.
He lets out a grunt of frustration before turning and stomping away.
Geez, what is up with him today? I thought I was supposed to be the crazy one. He's acting like I'm some kind of failure just because I refuse to consent to his arranged marriage with the girl next door— some harebrained idea that probably only occurred to him this morning when he heard her sweet voice on the phone. I blame his rapidly advancing senility.
Yeah, sure, I'm a failure— the loser son who's about to play in the Gridiron Bowl in his rookie year— and win.
Will he still think I'm a failure when I'm standing under the bright lights, surrounded by cameras and cheering fans, triumphantly thrusting the trophy in the air as confetti rains down on my head?
Willow
I'm driving back home with my tail tucked in between my legs. My heart is pounding. My throat is dry and I feel sick.
How could I be so fucking stupid?
I have no idea what I was thinking coming here. I blame Katie. She convinced me to do it. Somehow, she made it sound like a good idea. Sure, disregard the fact that Kade has been completely ignoring my calls and texts— if I show up in person he'll surely be happy to be see me.
Then talking with his dad on the phone filled me with a false hope. He just sounded so happy to hear from me. He said that Kade is struggling, and seems depressed. He said that seeing me might cheer Kade up and make him feel better.
What a joke.
This might be the most bone-headed thing I've ever done. I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted to apologize, and clear the air. I wasn't expecting us to leap into each other's arms and magically resume our relationship. I wasn't expecting some kind of cathartic reconciliation that leads to a happily ever after like in a sappy romcom film.
I wasn't really expecting anything, but I stupidly thought it just might be a positive experience for both of us.
Lesson learned.
But the worst part was Kade's reaction. He was fierce, his comments biting. He didn't hold back. I'm not sure if he's really still that angry, or if it was exacerbated by the concussion. He just doesn't seem like the same Kade I know. But maybe that's the person he becomes when he feels jilted and betrayed.
And it's all because of me.
I have to take deep, long breaths to steady myself as I make the long drive home. I feel empty.
I should've just kept to myself. I should've trusted the repo
rts on TV, and trusted that he was fine, and moved on with my own life. I was making a tiny bit of progress before his injury thrust me back into "constantly thinking about Kade" mode. And now I'm starting all the way back at the beginning, having to lick my wounds and figure out how to heal from this all over again. And it's even more painful than it was the first time, because his tone was so full of spite, his words venomous.
It pains me to think that he associates me with so much negativity.
But I guess it is what it is.
If I wasn't convinced before that we weren't meant to be together, I am now. Regardless of who's wrong and who's right. Regardless of whether or not he cheated. It doesn't matter.
We go together like oil and water. Even if we were to get past this current issue, there's no doubt that another one would pop right back up in its place, sooner or later.
I don't want to live my life feeling like Kade is "the one that got away". But I also don't want to live my life closing my eyes and sticking my fingers in my ears, lying to myself that he even is the "One"— against all the mounting evidence that suggests otherwise.
This is just life, I guess. There's not always a happy ending. There's not always a sweet moment of closure with a cute little bowtie on top, like Kade said.
There's just messy, complicated drama comprised of loose-ends, regrets and what-ifs.
And it hurts like hell.
Chapter 22
Kade
I'm here.
I made it.
The doctors cleared me, and I'm good to go.
And as I step out onto the field for the first play of the most important game of my life, I don't even feel nervous.
Everything feels bigger, grander. The lights are brighter. The crowd is louder. I'm being watched not by millions of people, but hundreds of millions— it's the most watched television event of the year. My face is plastered on the screen of nearly every American home, and my every move is being analyzed and judged. Some viewers are fanatically cheering me on, some are praying I fail, or hell, even that I get injured again. Some are indifferent, still salty that their favorite team didn't make it here. Some are barely paying attention, just here for the food, and only looking up at the TV to watch the commercials.