AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The last room to explore is just off the living room. There is a TV in here, but it's small and mounted in the corner. There's a dark wood desk in the middle of the wall, flanked by floor to ceiling bookshelves in the same dark wood. Degrees and awards hang on the walls, and there are a few trophies on the shelves. There are newspaper clippings and pictures of him in his #88 jersey. And there’s his fucking Heisman trophy, which is bigger than I thought it would be. I know I shouldn't touch anything, but it's a fucking Heisman trophy, and I'm so curious.
It's heavier than it looks. I read the inscription.
Bryant Nicks
Groveton College
1993
I do some quick math in my head. This means Nicks is, what… twenty-eight years older than me. Why does that sound like so much, but feel like so little?
I put the trophy down and keep looking around. I notice a fancy, expensive brand of whiskey sitting unopened on the center shelf with a glass next to it. Next to that, there's a small crystal dish with various coins and tokens of some sort. I pick some of them up to get a closer look. They all say things like, "to thine own self be true", and quotes about recovery. Some of them have numbers, and when I study them, I realize they are for a number of months and years. I pick up the one that says five years and turn it in my fingers. The sides are smooth and worn, like it's been rubbed down. Either he got this a lot longer than five years ago, or he touches it a lot.
"The fuck are you doing in here?"
CHAPTER 20
BRYANT
Jack startles and drops the token he was holding. With wide eyes, he drops down to the floor and scrambles to pick it up.
"I'm so sorry, I was just–"
"Leaving. You're recovered enough. Get the fuck out."
"Coach, I?—"
"You need to leave."
"Just let me explain."
"There's nothing to explain. It's time for you to go."
"What about earlier, I thought?—"
He probably thought what I was thinking, that we should discuss what's happening between us. I can’t seem to stay away from him, no matter how much I know I need to, and he doesn't seem interested in maintaining distance. If we're going to keep this up, we need a new set of ground rules.
Throughout the day I realized how absolutely, impossibly fucking stupid that is. Never mind the fact that I'm not gay—I can't have a fucking relationship with a student. He's almost thirty years my junior, and I'm his teacher, his coach. It's wrong, and we could both get in a lot of trouble for this. We could both lose everything.
And it's not as if a relationship could last between the two of us even if it wasn't dangerous, so why even entertain the notion? No, I needed to let him down gently, make him understand and see reason.
That was before I walked in to see him in my private space, going through my things. Specifically, seeing him holding evidence of my biggest weakness, my biggest failure, in his hands.
I feel exposed. Uncomfortable.
"There's nothing to talk about. What happened earlier was a mistake. All of this was a mistake."
I turn on my heel, needing to get out of our shared breathing space. I can't bear to look him in the eye.
"What? No. Coach!" Jack chases after me, reaching out and trying to pull me back by the shoulder. "Look, I'm sorry."
I look at him dead in the eyes, ignoring the pain I see behind his grey irises, and covering the pain it's causing me. He needs to see that I'm serious.
"This has gone too far, Jack," I tell him sternly, leaving no room for discussion. There's no talking anymore, because I know there's weakness in my resolve, and I can't show him that. "You need to go. I'll call you a cab."
"Don't bother," he snaps.
He picks up his phone from the kitchen counter, and shoves his feet in his football cleats, because those are the only shoes he came here with. I should chase after him and hand him the rest of his things, but I'm worried I'll be too weak in the moment and, in trying to explain myself, give away just how many feelings I have on the matter.
