The Quarterback

by Mackenzie Blair

  Fischer apparently decided to remember that lesson and shut his mouth, biting off the next insult he was about to make, as Matt stepped over to intervene. O’Donnell followed Fischer’s lead, but Matt could tell they were still spoiling for a fight.

  “Jamal, go hit the showers.” Matt shoved the kid toward the back of the locker room. Jamal didn’t deserve Fischer’s slanderous words, but siding with him in front of Fischer wouldn’t help matters. He needed to diffuse the situation.

  “But—” Jamal started to protest.

  “Go,” Matt said, a bit softer. His eyes making it clear that Jamal would be doing him a favor. Jamal understood. He nodded and headed off to the showers.

  “Back off the kid,” Matt said quietly to Fischer. “He doesn’t know better.”

  “Then he needs to learn,” Fischer said firmly, and turned his back on Matt, dismissing him. Matt was fine with that. He didn’t want to deal with Fischer anymore either. So he walked back toward his locker.

  The tension was still in the air as Coach Boyd entered with the Head of the Athletics Department, Warner. Now there was a good ol’ boy if ever there was one. Dean Warner and Fischer’s father were thick as thieves. And everyone was very aware of that fact.

  “Boys, let’s say a prayer of thanks for our win today,” Dean Warner announced to the room. Matt and Connor locked eyes but dutifully bowed their heads. Even Coach Boyd could barely stand the dean’s holier-than-thou attitude.

  Matt was glad Warner hadn’t heard the fag comments, or he probably would’ve made it very clear that wasn’t tolerated on this team. Not faggot slurs (no, those were fine), but fags themselves. It was one of the main reasons Matt feared discovery. He knew Warner would take away his scholarship. After the Supreme Court ruling legalizing gay marriage, he’d heard Warner rage that the “country was going to shit by siding with the damn sodomites.”

  Luckily, Warner kept the prayer brief and headed out to bask in the adoration of his happy alums, who gave heavily to the program. His interruption had cut the tension in the room, but Matt noted Damian kept Jamal on his side of the locker room.

  Matt knew this wasn’t going to be an isolated incident. Because even though Fischer had pulled a ligament for this game, he hadn’t really been holding his own in the previous ones. He’d missed a field goal against West Georgia, and he’d barely made the extra point against Delta State the week before. But Jamal, well, Jamal could kick a good ten yards farther than Fischer. He was eager but a bit of a wild card on the field, so Matt knew that Coach was staying with Fischer . . . for now. But that might not last.

  Matt changed into his street clothes, and then headed off to find Coach in the unfamiliar locker room. He found him in a back room at a makeshift desk, talking on his cell phone. He motioned for Matt to sit down as he finished the call.

  “Politics,” Coach Boyd said with a shake of his head, hanging up.

  “Fischer is a piece of shit,” Matt replied without any preamble.

  Coach Boyd raised his eyebrows but calmly responded, “I know. What happened?”

  Matt filled him in on the altercation with Jamal. When he was done, Coach pulled out a bottle of aspirin from his duffel bag. “Do you know who Fischer’s daddy is?”

  “A reverend or something, right?”

  Boyd nodded. “Evangelical preacher. And not the love-and-forgiveness kind.”

  “Ah,” Matt said, leaning forward. “I can see why he’s friends with the dean, then.”

  Coach raised an eyebrow in rebuke.

  “Sorry.” Matt knew he still needed to respect his elders. “So Fischer takes after his dad?”

  Coach nodded. “And his dad is pissed his son’s not doing better this year. My guess is he’s taking it out on him, but also making up excuses. He blames affirmative action for his boy not being more of a star.”

  “How delightful,” Matt replied sarcastically. “And he’s loaded, right? Fischer’s dad is one of our biggest donors.”

  “Huh, surprised he told you that,” Coach Boyd said.

  Matt shrugged. “He didn’t. The dean told me once. Bragging about a big check from the Fischer family.”

  “Ah. Well, Fischer Jr. never wanted anyone to think he had preferential treatment,” Coach Boyd explained. “But yes, his father is a huge donor. We need the money, son. Football isn’t cheap. Course if we win the Championship, the alum money will go up, seats sold, all that.”

  “So that’s why the dean sucks up to Fischer’s father?”

  “That, and the dean’s a real admirer of Reverend Fischer.”

  Matt groaned. Talk about shitty luck. Then again, if it wasn’t the dean or the reverend, someone else would be against him. This was football in a Southern college. People sure as hell would not be okay with a gay quarterback. Not now, maybe never. The dean and the reverend were just more vocal about it.

  Matt’s phone dinged in his pocket. He glanced down at the text. His dad was waiting for him outside. Matt was supposed to meet his father’s cronies after the game. Since Mississippi College was actually closer to Matt’s hometown than Bodine, his dad had brought some of the good ol’ boys to the away game. His dad loved to show Matt off like some trophy to his prospective investors. It wasn’t exactly something Matt ever looked forward to. But he stood up, knowing he couldn’t wait any longer without making things worse.

  Fischer and Matt had that in common—asshole fathers. They really sucked the fun out of playing.

  Matt grabbed his bag, realizing he was also keeping his sisters waiting. And that he didn’t want. Damn, he missed them. Since his sisters were four years younger than he was, Matt had always been overprotective of them, especially when their mom got sick. It wasn’t as if his dad had been much use in raising them. He always had a business deal or drink to attend. Always looking for that easy money.

  As Matt exited, he scanned the waiting friends and family and spotted his blonde sisters. They raced over to hug him.

  “How are you guys?” he whispered. And he meant so much more. How are you holding up with Dad? Can you make it until the summer? Do I need to get you out of that narrow-minded back-alley town sooner?

  “We’re fine,” Hope whispered. “Honestly.”

  He nodded, then turned to hug Summer. As soon as they turned eighteen, they could move out of their dad’s place, away from his temper, and demands, and sketchy friends. They could go live with their aunt and uncle. But that wasn’t until May. For now, they were essentially his prisoners. Or, at least, that was how Matt had always felt.

  “You guys have fun?” he asked them.

  “Too much soda.” Hope grimaced. “Which way to the ladies’ rooms?”

  Matt pointed down the hall. Hope grabbed Summer’s hand and dragged her away just as their father spotted Matt. Summer gave an apologetic look for abandoning him, but kept walking anyway. Smart girl. Their father neared Matt with a big fake smile.

  “Matty!” he called, yanking Matt forward into a hug.

  “Hi, Dad,” Matt dutifully replied. Behind his dad stood two of Albertine’s biggest pillars of the community, whose wives managed the church’s Sunday school. Their very rich wives.

  No wonder his dad had been leaning heavily on the religion lately. His father loved to talk folks into his latest investment opportunity. He was a good salesman, talked the talk, walked the walk, and hid the fact that he was a shady bastard like a pro. Matt had realized this as young as sixth grade. His father had teamed up with a developer in Georgia, but when the suburban community had gone bankrupt amid rumors of shoddy construction, they’d skipped town fast. No charges had ever been pressed, but his father had been more careful since then. Sticking to day-trading and hedge fund management. Big investment schemes for those he advised. He was a genius with numbers and government loopholes. Although Matt was pretty sure the great hedge fund his father was currently pushing was just an elaborate Ponzi scheme. Which scared the hell out of him. One of these days his father would go too far.

 
“Matt, you remember Mr. Harris and Mr. Wainwright from the church. They wanted to see my boy dominate today,” his dad said.

  “Sirs,” Matt said politely, shaking their hands.

  “Good work, son. Representing our town well,” Mr. Harris replied with a hearty back slap to Matt. “Albertine boys showing their greatness.” Mr. Harris had been mayor of Albertine at one point and had a bit of an inflated opinion of himself and their hometown.

  “Thanks,” Matt forced himself to respond.

  “Matt’s a chip off the old block,” his dad boasted with a smug grin.

  Crap, his dad was laying it on thick. What was he after today? His dad always had an ulterior motive.

  “Matt here plays with Ryan Brantz. His father owns half of Myrtle. Loves to invest. He wants to hear some of my ideas,” his father added with a conspiratorial wink.

  Ah, so that was it. He wanted to be introduced to Ryan’s dad. He probably wouldn’t try to sell the man on any investments, but just the name recognition of being friends with Mr. Brantz would go a long way toward his dad’s reputation. His dad loved to name-drop, to bulk up his image. Made him seem important, trustworthy, competent. Of course, that was all part of his dad’s con too. Which meant there was no way in hell Matt would let his dad get near Mr. Brantz. Or his roommate.

  “Ryan’s not really involved in his father’s business,” Matt said with a hard look at his dad. He watched the old man’s jaw tighten, the warning he shot back.

  “Matt, all sons learn the family business,” his father countered. Then he turned to his church cronies. “Matt here will join the family business once he’s done with football. He’s making some great connections.”

  “You could learn a lot from your old man. He has the Midas touch,” Mr. Wainwright said with a smile and nod.

  Yeah, and Midas turned his own kid into gold because of greed. Great role model there. But Matt knew to keep his mouth shut. He just gave a tight smile and played along. “Yeah, he does.”

  The talk turned to the game, and Matt nodded and smiled when appropriate, but when he searched the crowd for an out, he saw Connor heading his way. And was that Danielle with him? Connor’s old girlfriend?

  “Hey, cutie,” Danielle said with a huge smile as they neared. She was all red curls and big blues eyes . . . and devilishness behind those eyes. “Hope we aren’t intruding.” They were, and Matt was incredibly grateful. He stepped a few feet away from his father to greet them.

  “Danielle! Good to see you.” Matt pulled her into a hug. “What made you come all this way for an away game?”

  “Me, asshole,” Connor said, removing Matt from his hug with Danielle and slinging an arm over her shoulders. Claiming his territory.

  “Oh god, don’t go all caveman on me.” Danielle rolled her eyes. “That’s what got you in trouble in the first place.”

  “Babe, it was our freshman year. I was an idiot. Cut me slack,” Connor replied with a winning smile.

  “Uh-huh, we’ll see . . .” She smirked up at him, but Matt could see that these two were clearly smitten with each other again. They’d been freshman sweethearts, but it had ended badly. When the hell had they reconnected? Matt had clearly been too obsessed with his own personal life to notice.

  He was so happy for them, he didn’t even see Jocelyn until she was launching herself into his arms.

  “Matt! Great game!” she said, giving him a kiss on his cheek. “Danielle and I didn’t want to miss it.”

  “Oh, uh, thanks for coming,” Matt murmured in reply. He’d almost forgotten that Jocelyn and Danielle were good friends from the same high school.

  “Matt, aren’t you going to introduce your girl?” his father interjected, not liking being ignored.

  Matt cursed inwardly, but politely turned around and introduced both Danielle and Jocelyn to his father, trying to make it very clear he was not involved with either one of them. Jocelyn’s close proximity wasn’t helping.

  Connor tried to distract Matt’s dad, reaching over to shake his hand as well as Mr. Harris’s and Wainwright’s. Then he brought up Matt’s awesome play in the second quarter, but Matt’s dad had no interest. He’d zeroed in on his prey.

  “So, Jocelyn, what a pretty name for a pretty girl,” his dad said with a charming smile.

  Matt wanted to die, but Jocelyn seemed pleased. She smiled back and answered his questions about her hometown and current classes. He knew his father wanted to ask a whole lot more pointed questions, so Matt stepped in.

  “Dad, we should walk the girls to their car before we have to go.” Matt politely took Jocelyn’s elbow.

  “Yeah, Coach’ll want us to load up on the bus soon,” Connor added, backing Matt up. “Nice seeing you, Mr. Lancaster.”

  “You too, Connor,” his dad replied, but it was clear he wished they’d be sticking around for longer.

  Matt gave his dad a quick hug to end things. “Dad, thanks for bringing Summer and Hope. Mr. Wainwright, Mr. Harris, thanks for coming.” He nodded to the group.

  As he headed toward the parking lot with Connor and the ladies, he spotted his sisters hiding out in an alcove.

  “Connor, you got this?” Matt nodded toward Jocelyn and Danielle.

  Connor waved to Matt’s sisters. “Of course. Say hi to Hope and Summer for me.”

  Matt joined his sisters in the alcove, out of sight from his father, who was down the corridor outside the main locker room.

  “Hiding out, huh?”

  Summer and Hope shrugged. “It’s been a long day,” Hope said.

  “Yeah, yeah, I bet it has. So Dad’s working on new investors, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hope said. “He’s been crazy recently.”

  “Shit. How overextended is he?” Matt asked.

  Summer and Hope exchanged glances. “We’re not sure. He seems way more stressed out than usual,” Summer admitted.

  “Is he drinking again?” Matt asked.

  “When has he ever stopped?” Hope replied, crossing her arms defensively. “He just says the usual bullshit about how we’re useless, how he wishes he’d had more sons. He went on a real bender last weekend. Got pretty bad.”

  “How bad?” Matt said, fearing the worst. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No,” Summer said. “He hasn’t gotten violent.”

  Matt sighed. He knew what they were up against. His dad was a master at belittling them, all of them. Always had been. Especially when he drank. He remembered being told he’d never get good grades, never make the varsity team, never amount to anything. And so he’d worked harder to prove his father wrong, and now their asshole dad loved capitalizing on Matt’s success. Maybe that had been the plan all along. Son of a bitch.

  “Okay, call me if you need anything.” Matt hugged each of them. “I’ll see you at Thanksgiving. We get to spend the day after with Aunt Sally and Uncle Larry.”

  They nodded, and then he begrudgingly walked them back to their father, hugged them good-bye again, and headed toward the bus. He heard Fischer and his buddies catcalling to some nearby fans. He looked over, expecting a group of girls, but instead saw the all-male a cappella group who’d sung the anthem at halftime. And two of them were definitely gay if stereotypes were true.

  “Fucking fags don’t belong at football games,” Fischer spit out.

  “Nah, it’s a man’s game,” O’Donnell called out.

  Oh, hell no, this wasn’t happening again. Matt headed toward Fischer.

  “Isn’t that right, Jamal?” Fischer shouted. “Why don’t you go join these cocksuckers?”

  Ah, so this was about attacking Jamal again. Guess they were sticking to the theme of gay slurs. Matt wondered what had riled up Fischer once more. Maybe Fischer’s dad had reamed him out for failing to play tonight. Matt could relate to shitty fathers, but that was no excuse for the assholery he was witnessing.

  Matt stalked over to them, pissed, enraged, pushing aside his own fears, the part of him that wanted to cower and hide. Because, damn it, he
was the captain of this team. “Get on the bus!” he snapped with a glare.

  “Just having fun.” Fischer smirked as he walked to the bus. “Relax, Lancaster. Didn’t know you had such a thing for pretty boys.”

  O’Donnell laughed and high-fived Fischer. Shitheads. Total shitheads.

  Matt used to like O’Donnell. When the hell had the guy turned into such a prick? Maybe the same time people had started saying he had a shot at the NFL. O’Donnell was even bigger than Connor, a beast on the field. He was one hell of an offensive tackle, always protecting Matt with single-minded focus. And Matt was grateful for that. But he doubted the guy would back him up if he knew Matt was gay. Yeah, he’d probably let Matt get pummeled by their opponents. Smear the queer.

  God, Matt could not wait for college to end. Which he knew was sad. He was supposed to be having the time of his life.

  “He’s right, they don’t belong,” Matt heard his father say behind him. Of course his dad had overheard the exchange.

  Matt tried to ratchet down his anger, digging his fingernails into his palm as he clenched his fists. Was this really happening?

  “Damn abomination,” one of his father’s cronies from church murmured. “All these unnatural sinners oughta be burned.”

  Matt had to get away from them. Now.

  He strode toward the bus, not even sparing a backward glance for his father. He did, however, look out the front window as he boarded to make sure the a cappella guys were safe. They were, but they looked . . . defeated. Fuck. He could relate.

  He slumped down in a seat next to Connor.

  “You okay?” Connor asked.

  Matt shrugged.

  “Don’t listen to them, man. Not everyone on the team thinks that way.” He slapped Matt on his arm. “You did good, watching out for Jamal.”

  “Thanks,” Matt replied. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  But, as the bus pulled out, Matt silently brooded, staring out the window. He heard Connor laughing to himself a few moments later, and looked over to watch him furiously texting. With a stupid smile on his face.