Five-Star

by J Santiago

  She made some scoffing noise in the back of her throat, and she thought she could see Franco struggle with a grin.

  “Are you defending him?”

  “Absolutely not.” His answer was quick, and she believed him. “Look, things are going to get bad here. Really unreal.”

  At his description, Amber’s confusion played across her face.

  “His hand is being forced; his plans are being ruined. This next week is going to be really hard for all of us with things we have to do that none of us want to do.” He looked over at her, gauging her reaction, looking for her understanding. “Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”

  “That I shouldn’t take everything at face value.”

  He nodded his head, looking back to the road so that she couldn’t really see his face.

  “Where does that leave you, Franco?” she asked.

  “Nowhere different. Right where I’ve always been. Trying to be a good mentor and a good father. I failed at one. I want to try and get the other right.”

  “You never failed me. I failed myself, and I just couldn’t face you knowing that you couldn’t be proud of me.” It flew from her mouth without any thought or censor. And it felt like a magnificent weight had been lifted from her.

  He didn’t respond. But, when he came to a red light, he turned in his seat toward her. “I can’t recall a day since I was sixteen and I held you that I haven’t been proud of you.”

  He turned away from her as the light changed, and silence descended again. As they pulled up to Nona’s house, Amber reached out for Franco, catching his forearm.

  “Thank you for yesterday, for coming to my rescue. I didn’t really deserve it, but…I just really appreciate it.”

  He shrugged a bit. She saw him hesitate, like he was stuck between two decisions. Then, he reached over with his left hand, placing it on her cheek. He moved forward and kissed her on the forehead. He quickly pulled back, looking like he feared a strike from a snake. Then, he turned from her and stepped out of the truck.

  It took her a couple of seconds before she followed. Once again, she was reminded of the damage she’d done over the course of the last few years. If Franco had given her a chance, she would have leaned into him.

  Forty-One

  It was as if someone had pressed the pause button. For a week after that fateful Saturday night, nothing had changed, nothing new had happened, everything had seemed to remain status quo. Amber never spoke to Tank, and since they didn’t run in the same circles unless they wanted to, she didn’t see him, hear him, or even speak his name.

  She was back to numb, and she reveled in it.

  Except with Franco. If she could chalk it up to one thing, she would have said that Franco smoothing her way with Chantel Jones had opened her up in a way that allowed him to get closer to her. In seemingly small increments, Amber worked on her relationship with her father. The embrace in the car was step one in that it’d punctuated how closed off she’d made herself to him over the last few years. His immediate withdrawal from her after his embrace had felt like a knife cutting through her hard exterior. Her father was afraid to touch her, and that realization hurt her in a surprising way.

  If life was all about timing, her time to forgive her father was now upon her. So, she allowed herself to follow her impulses on the small things with him. When she came home from work and knew her father wouldn’t be far behind, she would find herself waiting up to talk to him. They’d discuss Xs and Os, they’d gossip about her aunts and uncles, and they’d laugh. It was sweet and poignant, and it started to heal her in ways that she hadn’t realized she needed.

  They never talked about Tank, and she rarely allowed herself to think about him. When the images of him flashed across her mind, she would block them out. She felt she’d dodged a bullet. Things wouldn’t have ever worked out for them, and now, with some distance, she could appreciate that. The unwelcome memory of how she’d felt that day of the game was locked away.

  When she walked into the Bear’s Den that Monday night for work, she felt pretty good, considering where she’d been a week ago. Monday Night Football helped keep the Bear’s Den hopping, and Amber looked forward to being busy. The Monday regulars were KSU Bears fans first, so it wasn’t surprising to find them talking about their football team, even with the thirty-two flat screens ablaze with professional football. It was in the din of the game that Amber heard the news.

  “Shame, isn’t it? Think this will hurt his chances of winning the Heisman?”

  She couldn’t help but hear the discussions. Finally, after catching snippets of the conversations, she leaned on her forearms and asked the question, “What is everyone all freaked out about?”

  “You haven’t heard? And you call yourself a Bears fan.” That was Al Stevenson, a faithful Bear.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she said, playfully swatting his arm. “So, what’s going on?”

  Al shook his head, dropping his eyes. “Tank Howard got hurt at practice today. Concussion. Can’t play on Saturday in the championship game.”

  Amber felt her jaw slacken and hang open. She couldn’t even muster up a response.

  Al took pity on her and reached out to pat her hand. “Shame, isn’t it?”

  Pulling herself together, Amber managed to ask, “Does anyone know what happened?”

  “Well, you know Lauren Hayworth works as an ER nurse. She was there when the ambulance arrived with the trainer and Tank. Said he was conscious but that they didn’t want to take any chances with him. Coach Franco was there, too. He’s out. Tank is, I mean.” Al took a sip of his beer, drowning his sorrows. “I know Franco is a good coach, but I don’t know if we can win without Tank.”

  Amber stopped listening. Grabbing a towel, she started wiping down the bar, so she looked too busy to talk to anyone. Why hadn’t anyone told her? Keira hadn’t said anything. Reaching in her back pocket, she pulled out the old-school flip phone. There weren’t any text messages.

  She’d been Tank-free for one week and one day. And, with just the mention of him and the thought of him hurt, there she was again. But she wanted to fight it, and she did. Jumping back into interacting with her customers, the constant work kept her desires at bay.

  Until she got home.

  Sitting in Franco’s favorite chair, with her feet curled up under her, Amber waited for her father to walk through the door. She figured it would be late because they were probably working through their plan B for the game, getting their backup quarterback up to speed. She must have dozed because she didn’t hear Franco pull up, open the door, or walk into the house. When he nudged her leg, she came awake instantly.

  “Is he okay?” she asked without any preamble.

  She noticed Franco look her over, study her, try to pry into her heart and mind with that look he’d leveled at many a player over the years.

  He cocked his head a little and then nodded. “He’s okay.”

  “Out for the championship?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you still win?”

  Franco flashed that cocky smile of his that, back in the day, she’d shared. “Yeah.”

  “Heisman?” she asked, not really sure why she cared.

  Franco shrugged. He must have realized that this wouldn’t be a quick conversation because he dropped his bag by his feet and found his way into the chair across from her. “I don’t know. He’s got to be so far ahead in voting that it shouldn’t matter, but no one knows for sure.”

  She merely nodded. She felt the relief flood her body, like her worries had been held at bay by a dam of uncertainty. She saw Franco’s eyes get wide, and he was suddenly out of his chair. It dawned on her that he was worried, scared even. It wasn’t until he pulled her out of her chair and into his arms that she realized she was crying. And when she was protectively wrapped up in her father’s arms, the dam shattered, and she sobbed. She cried for Tank, she cried for the splintered pieces of their relationship, she cried for the hell she’d put her
father through. She cried for the ruined burning skin on her neck and face and the girl she’d been.

  Franco held her the whole time, saying nothing. When the hiccupping sobs stopped and her tired body sagged against him, he picked her up and took her to her room. He literally tucked her in bed. When he smoothed the hair back from her forehead and placed a kiss there, she reached for his hand and squeezed. He ran his hand across her hair again and walked toward the door.

  I owe him, she thought as he flicked the switch to turn off the light.

  “Franco?” she said just loud enough for him to hear and turn back.

  “Yeah?”

  “I love him.”

  “I know, baby.”

  It had been a shitty day, a shitty eight days. There was no end in sight. As Tank left Miss Magee’s office on his way to Franco’s, he found himself wondering if there would be a day soon when he would wake up and the ever-present pit in his stomach would be absent. It was all about to come to a head, so he hoped it would be soon. He had to go see Franco, but it was becoming harder and harder to be around his coach. He wasn’t sure what had happened. He’d gotten to know Amber better and could suddenly see all the similar mannerisms between her and Franco and he missed her so much that being around her father made him aware that he couldn’t be around her.

  Franco hadn’t said another word to him after the warning he’d leveled at Tank’s apartment that fateful night. Perhaps now, with some distance, Franco could see what Tank had seen, what had driven Tank to make the decisions he’d made. Whatever it was, the thread of Amber had snapped.

  He’d just gotten his draft prediction back. No surprise it was first round. Just like Franco had promised, they were keeping it all on the down-low. With him out for the championship game, they were trying to clean up some things, like his ineligibility and reinstatement.

  He’d reviewed his letter for the Student Athlete Reinstatement Committee with Miss Magee. He’d signed his Buckley Amendment. Tonight, once again, he’d be the lead story on ESPN. But, this time, he’d resigned himself to what was about to happen. It was for the best. He would declare for the draft. The die had been cast.

  There would be no championship game, no bowl game. They couldn’t run the risk that Richard Howard and John Barnett wouldn’t try to bring everyone down. It had been Tank’s suggestion really. He needed to stop playing to protect his team, his university, his coach. It was the honest thing to do. In exchange, he’d pick a good agent, he’d enter the draft, and he’d move on.

  He would run the scenarios every night before he fell asleep. And the verdict was always the same. It got easier every night. So far, with the news of his concussion over twenty-four hours old, it still appeared that he was on the Heisman ballots, the body of his work speaking for him.

  “Tank,” Franco said, when Tank arrived at his office, “everything handled?”

  Tank found his way to the chair in front of Franco’s desk.

  “Signed, sealed, emailed,” he responded as he sat.

  “How ya feeling?”

  Tank seemed paralyzed in that moment. He knew what he’d talked himself into feeling, much like how he’d talked himself into the haphazard blow job. But, now, with Franco’s gaze leveled at him, he couldn’t put his pat answer into words. He shrugged.

  Franco sat down next to him. “I can tell you how I feel,” he said. At Tank’s nod, Franco began, “I feel like I’ve lost my way.”

  Tank’s inward reflection stopped, and he looked, really looked, at his coach.

  “I have no doubt that we did the right thing,” he said reassuringly. “Getting you off the field, declaring for the draft. Barnett has no hold over you in the NFL. If this situation were put in front of me one thousand times, I’d do it the same way. I just hate that I have to do it. Football should be pure.”

  Tank smiled at his choice of words.

  “Pure. I get that, Coach.”

  “I just want to coach players, win a few games.” He winked at Tank. “I don’t want to have to be creative and sneaky to do what’s best for a player who just wants to play the game. So, anything you’re feeling, it’s all good. You might not be able to see it right now, but this will all work out in the end. It’s not going to be the way we envisioned it, but it will be okay.”

  “I wanted one more. One more with you and Iman. I wanted one more year to be here. And I’m not going to have that.”

  “No. But life has a funny way of working out. You never know. You might be throwing the ball to Iman in two years, making a hell of a lot of money to do it.”

  “True,” Tank said with the first genuine smile he’d felt in days.

  “Get some sleep tonight. You’re going to need it over the next couple of weeks.”

  Tank got up to leave. He almost made it to the door, but something stopped him. He wasn’t sure if he’d regret bringing Amber up, but he couldn’t help himself.

  “Coach?”

  Franco looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Will you…” He paused, not knowing how to go forward. “Can you tell her that I’m sorry?”

  Tank held Franco’s gaze, noting the quick flare of anger. They both stood stock-still, Franco judging and Tank allowing him to.

  Franco slowly shook his head. “No, Tank.”

  “I understand,” he said. And he did. Truly. He just hated it. He turned and started out the door.

  “She loves you,” Franco said quietly.

  Tank didn’t turn around. He stood, his hand on the doorknob, his body rigid. It dawned on him that he did know, just like he knew that he loved her. That was why he had to walk away.

  Forty-Two

  Tank was here. In New York City. In December. Getting ready to make his way to the New York Athletic Club. It seemed surreal.

  He’d always wondered what people felt like when they achieved something they’d dreamed about forever. Like an actor who won an Oscar or an Olympian who won a gold medal. Was it a sort of self-righteousness? I’ve worked hard for this my whole life, and I deserve to have this honor. Was it a complete shock? Oh my goodness! I have worked so hard for this, but I never, ever thought I would be able to achieve this. Was it thankfulness? I am so thankful that I have been able to achieve this great honor. Was it a combination?

  He imagined that it took some ego for anyone to be recognized at the top of their game. You had to believe wholeheartedly to propel yourself to those heights. It was hard work and luck and probably a whole lot of arrogance. He smiled a little and gave a silent shout-out to Sunshine because he imagined she would vote for ego above all.

  As he pulled on his suit jacket and made his way to the lobby, he acknowledged to himself that he had thought he’d share this night with Amber. Even over the last couple of weeks, he had some silly vision that she’d show up with Franco, and they’d all walk in together. But he knew that wasn’t possible. He’d made sure of it. He was surrounded by good people though, people who’d supported him for a long time. Franco, his mother, Coach Hayes from his high school, Higgs. Steele, Tilly, Iman, and Marsh had all FaceTimed him earlier. They were all together to watch him on television.

  He wasn’t nervous at all. His concussion and subsequent absence from the conference championship game had given other hopefuls a leg up, just like Franco thought. He had no expectations of winning, and he thanked God for that. He didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t pure. He and Franco had discussed it at length. Tank had wanted to withdrawal his name. But, in the end, they’d felt like he’d had enough controversy attached to his name, so they’d just left it alone.

  Even though Richard had played in the NFL, Tank hadn’t been a part of his life, so he’d never been around the football scene. Again, he found himself thinking that Amber would love this and would know exactly how to handle herself. But he found himself a little star struck as he met the past Heisman winners and the past and present NFL greats. It was funny though. The commonality of football, talent, and recognition acted as an equalizer. They assumed he belon
ged there with them because of who he was and what he’d done so far. It was a good ole boys’ network at its core, and it was impossible to feel like he didn’t belong. After the awe wore off though, he found himself mingling just fine.

  It went by quickly, and soon, they were finding their seats, the ceremony about to begin. As Tank sat down and they began to go through each player, he found himself thinking about everything that had gone down in the last month. The memory that played out in front of him over and over wasn’t John Barnett or all the meetings or any of the bad. It was that moment after his game when he’d grabbed Amber in the tunnel, and he’d realized that he was in love with her.

  He was almost home free. Just a couple of weeks, he’d be free of all the complications around him. Then, maybe, just maybe, he could convince her to take a chance on him again. He looked up to find his mother watching him. When she reached over and grabbed his hand, he knew that she somehow understood what was going through his head. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did.

  Then, she squeezed his hand, and he shifted his focus back to what was happening around him. It was the moment, that moment, when they would announce the winner. Right now, the moment before the announcement, he could admit to himself that he wanted it. He’d wanted to win it for as long as he’d been playing football. Maybe it was to put the Howard name back to right. Or maybe it was because he wanted to know that everyone thought he was the best player in the country. There were thousands of reasons. For the last couple of weeks, he’d convinced himself that he didn’t want it, but now, with the lights and the cameras and the atmosphere, he could admit that he did. He wanted them to call his name.

  Dreamlike, Tank made his way to the stage with the rest of the nominees. He returned to his seat and watched as the past winners came up and were introduced. Finally, it was time for the announcement.

  “The Heisman Memorial Trophy winner is…Tank Howard, Kensington State University.”

  It rushed him. Beat at him. He wasn’t supposed to win. They’d fixed this. Done everything that they could do to keep this from happening. He let his mother take him in her arms and hug him.