by Kara Hart
“What else did she say?” I asked him with a straight face.
The man hesitated and choked on his spit. “She said…” He looked around the room at our coaches. They were currently holding their breath and shaking their heads. “Well, Liam. She's making claims you propositioned her. Multiple times.”
“That's a fucking lie!” I screamed. “I would never fuck that troll ever again, you hear me? Never again!”
The coach sighed and waved at me to shut up. “Settle down. I don't need to hear about it anymore. We just need you to take care of everything. Sound good to you.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I said.
“Alright, everyone. I think you've heard all you need to hear. Now, I'm going to ask you all to leave. I need some time alone with my star player.” Stevens said, staring out the window now.
The men around us grumbled and filed outside. As he shut the door, my PR agent leaned inside and said, “Call me right after you get out of here. We’ll need a statement. Better yet, let's do a press conference this week too.”
“Yeah, sure.” I mumbled. “I'll call ya.”
The coach closed the door and locked it. He gave a big sigh of stress. Then he did something weird. He actually burst out laughing. “What the Hell? Is this funny to you?” I asked, confused how any of this was funny to him.
“I love your energy, Conway. You're finally playing like you want to win!” He laughed. “Look, let’s get down to the truth of the situation here. They're going to suspend you, Liam.”
“Fuck.” I nearly quit right then and there. In my 20 some years playing ball, I had never missed a game. Never. Now they were talking about a suspension. “How long?”
“One game.” He said. “Hey, don't give me that look. You're lucky I had kind words to say about you. The higher-ups wanted you out longer. They said you're a liability for the networks. One game and you’ll be back on that field, leading the team to victory.”
“Oh yeah? So I guess the game is all about the ratings, huh? Well, that’s good news.” I said with heavy sarcasm.
“Take a look outside for a second, Liam.” He motioned for me to come stand next to him, near the window of the office. “You see that sign? How about that sign there? See that one next to it too? Those three signs supply our team with 2 million dollars. Now, that may not be that much to you. But it pays your bills.” He stopped and thought to himself for a second.
“It just feels so plastic. That is all I’m trying to say.” I mumbled.
“You knew what you were getting into. No doubt about that. Remember when we recruited you? You must have played over 1000 games. You were the clear front-runner choice. Most kids would have killed to be where you were. When we recruited you, we gave you everything. Drugs, booze, all the girls you could have wanted. We even gave you new cars, a home. We gave you the world. Now you’re saying it feels too plastic for you? Liam, come on. This is the big league. You know exactly what they want from you. They chew you up and spit you out. Pretty soon, they make you coach and tell you ‘Make this kid better than you were or you’re through.’ It’s rough, but it’s what we signed up to do.”
“The guy said he knew my new girl. Said he’d been watching her on the streets. Said he heard she was the wettest girl in town. He couldn’t wait to have a go with her, that I was less than a man. I can’t remember the exact words. But that’s more or less what he said to me. And, trust me, he wasn’t talking about Cindy.” I said. “What do you expect me to do? I had to defend her. No one talks about the woman I love like that. No one.”
I stared at the ugly carpet below my feet. It was the carpet stupid rich men placed their desks over and dirtied their shoes on. I doubt these guys even watched the games. No, they probably wake up early, get their memos and drink their coffee, and tell the next person in line what to do. Shit, the players should be running this shit. Instead, we’re just a bunch of slaves.
“You’re right, coach.” I suddenly said. “And you’ve been good to me. Great, actually. You’re my mentor and I’m proud to say that you’re my friend too. I know you’ve always had my back. Times are just hard right now. You know I’ve got a kid? Found that out about a week ago.”
“A kid? With that woman? What’re you going to do?” He asked me, now sitting down at the desk.
“The only thing I can do. Raise that child and be the best damn father anyone’s ever seen.” I said.
Laura
The time had come for Alex and I to stay in New York. I had packed all I needed to pack for the week and took off for the city. My plan was to turn off my phone and dive into the work for my show, but that of course, was impossible to try and pull off.
The morning I got in, I walked to Central Park with Alex, and sat down to enjoy the day. That’s when he called me. “Liam, stop it.” I said. “I don’t want to talk to you about this.”
He shouted over me. “You don’t understand what happened. I’ve seen the tapes of what happened and it looks worse than it was. This kind of thing happens all the time in football. It’s par for the course.”
“Which is exactly why I want this to end! I don’t like the football life. I don’t like the NFL, the stupid Patriots, and I sure as hell don’t like the violence they’ve embedded into you! It’s not normal to get in fistfights all the time. I don’t want Alex growing up around that kind of lifestyle.” I wanted to throw the phone in a nearby pond. This was my one free day with Alex and I wanted it to be good. Instead, I was too busy arguing with his father over something that was so over.
“Then I’ll quit.” He said in defiance. “I’ll fucking quit. Would that make you happy?”
“Look, Liam. I don’t care what excuse you have for me this time. Nothing is going to change my mind. It’s obvious you can’t control yourself out there. How will you be able to control yourself here at home when the going gets tough? You’re ruining your image and you’ve made me lose all the trust in the world for you.” I said, too angry to cry. “God dammit, Liam. I heard you got suspended too.”
“You don’t understand, baby. I was suspended for one game. That’s it! I—”
“I do understand. I understand a hell of a lot more than you do. For example, I understand that this is over. I understand that you and me are not connected. We had one silly night. One random, stupid night, and you became obsessed with the idea of being with me. But you don’t want to be with me. You want to fight with your little friends. You wouldn’t be a good father if you tried.” It was a harsh sentence to give. The problem was, he wasn’t all that bad. I knew that deep down. But this thing we had had gotten too messy. I didn’t know how to reconcile it. And this hidden violence that was within him was something I wanted no part in.
We had met. We got lost in our passions. And a life was born from ignorance and too much hopefulness. That was our story.
“I love you.” He whispered. I couldn’t tell, but from the sound of it, he had given up as much as I had. I gave us what we both needed: I hung up the phone.
I turned to my baby, sweet and innocent. But with every giggle and every smile, I saw him. His nose, the dimples in his cheeks, the color of his hair. It was all Liam.
In the distance were the rides. I remembered as a little girl being taken to the city once. It was the one trip out of the farmland, the one great escape. I remembered my dad holding my up against the wind, and I was screaming as we circled round and round. A million lights spun around us. The tallest buildings in the world towered above. “Someday,” He said, “this will all be yours.”
“Alex, want to ride the carousel?” I asked him.
“Daddy! Daddy?” He was asking for his father. It was times like these that made it hard for me. Life had a way of fucking things up for everyone. Why did I ever introduce both of them?
“Daddy’s not coming. He has a big game coming up.” I whispered with a huge fake smile on my face. He had begun to cry.
I picked him up and he wrapped his little arms around my neck. Again, I f
elt Liam. “I’m sorry for everything.” I found myself saying to Alex, walking toward the rides. “I know it’s been hard for you.”
Alex, still crying, was saying nothing. Obviously, he could barely understand the words I was trying to convey. I just had no one to talk to right now. I just wanted to make things right with my baby boy.
“But it’s been hard for me too. Your father is… Well, he’s different. He’s a rough guy. A handsome guy. But his job is scary.”
“Scawry?” Alex asked me. I laughed a little. He was learning too fast.
“Yes, scary. He’s not a bad guy. He has a good heart. He’s just unpredictable. Mommy needs someone who can give his all to you, not someone who’s going to give their all to a silly game.” I said. We finally got to the carousal. The same one I had rode with my dad a lifetime ago.
“I just wanted to apologize to you now, Alex. Someday you’ll be a big, strong man. You’ll find a woman you want to take care of and love. When you do, give her 100 percent. Give her your all. Because if you don’t, she’ll be gone forever.” The people all around us looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe I was. All of the stress of this fucked up situation had gotten to my head a bit.
“Two riders for the carousel please.” I said to the booth man. I dumped the money into his hand and he handed us the tickets.
I walked up to the wooden booth designed with horses, frogs, and other animals, and set Alex down on my lap. He stared above at the lights and old-style paintings. “It’s just you and me now, kid.” I kissed his head as the floor beneath us started to spin us into orbit. We were freely spinning, yet connected to all those around us. As hard as it was to see outside our booth, the world was there. It was just dormant. It was waiting for us to slow down.
What I needed, however, was a night out on the town.
Liam
Suspensions aren't for guys like me. They knew just how much they needed me. Which is why I only got one game I had to sit out. Well, one full game turned into one half a game. That is, after all the negotiations went down. Turns out, the fight actually boosted my career. My worth went up like a firework on the Fourth of July. My internet searches skyrocketed. People apparently liked watching me dick around on the field.
But I was still being rejected by the one I loved. I didn't understand – I was trying my hardest. If she knew what that guy had said to me out there, she might've understood. I had nothing else now. It was back to the basics.
I poured myself into training. Whether it was practicing my throws, my weight training, or studying my plays, I devoted my whole and entire life to it. I did this at all hours of the day. I became a fucking monk. It was football or nothing. But I promised myself that when I won this thing and brought my team to the top, I would get Laura back. I'd get her and my baby boy back.
The thing got me the most was that I was actually a good father. I was at least a million times better than my own. Yeah, I made mistakes. But they were the cost of the game. Sometimes you just got into scuffles. It was a hell of a lot better than getting a concussion. Yet, that kind of a thing was swept under the table. Tabloid magazines couldn’t give two shits about long term brain injuries. Sex and violence. That's what makes the big bucks.
I was getting bored of all that now, ever since I met Laura. Ever since I met my son. But it was all I had for now.
Even the players were lined against me. They were getting cocky, even when their playing was getting worse. Some fuck-toy on the second-string team even said, “Hey Conway. Now that you're on the outs, mind if I try out some of those signature plays?”
I threw the ball into his shaking hands. “I’d love to see you try, boy.” I laughed. Then I got real close to him and muttered, “I know you'll say anything for a reaction, but I'd hold your tongue if I were you.”
He kept on smiling, although I know deep down he was shaking in his underwear. “What'll you do? Hit me?” He asked.
“Oh, that's what you're scared of? Me hitting you? No I won't hit you, boy. I'll do much worse. I'll make sure you never play ball again. ‘Cause when I win and get this team the Super Bowl Championship trophy like I did with the Cowboys, people will be kissing at my feet. And guess what, partner? When that time comes, I'll be remembering that ugly face of yours.”
It was a useless threat, but I had to stand my ground one way or another. My team hated me now. That much I knew. But I wasn’t going to forfeit my crown that easily. Besides, I was still the best player on the team.
The entire practice was littered with smart-ass comments and attempts at getting the coaches to side against me. They didn't realize they already were. The narrative was: it's just not safe to put him in yet.
* * *
The night before the game, I went out. It didn’t matter anyway, I was sitting out tomorrow regardless. I walked down the strip, searching for the right place to loose myself in booze and sorrow-filled stories. When I finally found a dive bar suitable enough for me to sink into, I did just that.
“I'll take a shot of bourbon.” I muttered at the middle-aged bartender. He has a towel slung over his right shoulder, a tucked in black t-shirt, and the hardened look of a criminal.
He turned to me and said, “Ran out of bourbon an hour ago. How ‘bout some whisky?”
I gave him a nod of approval, as if to say, “Sure thing, brother. Whatever will get me fucked up fastest.”
He poured me a shot and I quickly swallowed it down. “Another.” I said, slamming the glass down on the table.
“Alright. You're the boss.” He poured another shot. Again, I dropped it back.
“Another.” I said, straight faced. I was tired. Not physically or anything, but I was tired of all that bullshit going on around me at all times. Sick of the game, sick of the industry, and sick of the people. The booze was a bandaid of sorts. Only, I knew it wouldn't help anything. That night I had a death wish and I wanted anyone to come up and try me.
“Okay. Another.” He poured and slid the glass over.
“Ahh.” I drank it down, feeling the slight burn go down my throat. It had been a while since I had drank anything, but it was the same old beast. Beautiful and destructive all at once.
“Another.” I said.
“Listen, pal. I've already poured you three. Don't you think that's enough for a bit?”
“Did I ask you to stop? I said another. I'll tip you triple this time.”
“Sure. No big deal.” He said. This time he was eying me with caution. It was obvious I wasn't someone to fuck with.
Drink, slam, and ask for another. That was the ritual at hand, right. “Another.”
“One more, champ. Then I want you out of my bar.” He said, loosely pouring me another shot. “I mean it. Last one.”
“I hear you.” I mumbled and took the shot.
“Alright, time to go.” He said. He wouldn’t take his eye off me for one second.
“You always stare at your customers like that? I didn’t come to cause any trouble. Just wanted to drink in peace.”
“I stare at people who come into my establishment with negative emotions surrounding them. We get a lot of that here. If a man downs four shots in a row, I know he’s going to bring me down with him. Got it? Now get the fuck out.” He threw a pointed finger at the door, which actually made me break down in heavy laughter. He didn’t scare me. No one did.
At this stage in the night, I was drunk off my head. Really, I just wanted to disappear. “Do you know who I am?” I asked him, headed for the door.
“You’re my mother’s uncle. No, I don’t know who the fuck you are and I could give two shits. Out!”
“I’m Liam Conway. Number 18 and starting quarterback for the New England Patriots.” I slipped and the rest of the bar couldn’t help but cackle with laughter. I threw the door open and the wind hit my face unexpectedly.
“Bye-bye, Liam Conway!” Someone drunkenly yelled from their seat.
I walked until I found a lone liquor store. “Light at the end of the tunn
el.” I whispered to myself. Tonight was everything it ought to have chalked up to be. I bought a bottle of whisky and walked to the park nearby.
Sitting and drinking aimlessly, I wondered to myself, “How funny would it be if a cop walked by me right now?” I could lose my career. All for the better, I decided. Maybe then I could get her back. Maybe then I could have a real fucking life.
No. That wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t be coming back to this wreck. She was long gone and I simply had to accept it. But men like me don’t accept the hard truth too easily. Men like me fight. We get maimed, shot, and lose limbs for the big things in life.
The night I met her – that man held a gun to our heads. I risked getting shot just to save her. Couldn’t she see I loved her? Couldn’t she understand that I would do anything for her? Shit, relationships are hard and people make mistakes. But if you really loved someone, shouldn’t you give them more than one chance? I know I had done wrong. I know it. But I was willing to take a step in a new direction.
I fell asleep with that bottle in my hand. By the time my eyes closed it was empty and dry as a bone. Men like me didn’t give up without a fight. Only problem was I was only fighting myself.
Laura
The TV in the bar blared loudly. I normally didn’t go for mimosas this early, but I didn’t have to shoot until eight PM, so why not? A sitter the network had suggested, thank God, was watching Alex. So it was me, all by myself. Just like old times. I could do anything I wanted. Of course, somehow I was sitting watching the fucking Patriots game in a bar in the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
“I’ll take another, please.” I said politely.
“Sure thing.” The bar tender, classy and very put together, said.
The TV roared above us: “And there we have it, folks! The Patriots, playing a good game this morning, but not good enough.” The one announcer said.