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CHAPTER 34
BRYANT
The offensive line sets up against TCU's defense. We're ahead by seven, but we need another touchdown to secure the win. It's the fourth down and we're just four yards from the red zone and a first down conversion. We either secure the win, or push through a first down so we can keep running down the clock. There's just enough time left that the other team could push through our defensive line and tie it up if we don't, sending us into overtime. After a full season of all but dominating every game, this game has been tough. The team is tired, pushing through blood, sweat, and tears to secure this win in the last minutes of the game.
Jack Perry is still the dominant force on our team, helping QB Lane Masters work out the best plays to get through the other team's defenses. He's run four of our six touchdowns through the end zone himself tonight. But he isn't himself, isn't pushing as hard as he usually does. I can see it in his eyes that he's all but given up, but he knows winning this championship is his best chance of making something good out of his life. So he's still there, still doing the legwork.
His heart isn't in it, though.
"Come on, baby! Bring it home!" I hear a shrill voice scream from the sidelines, sparking more cheers from the crowd of Jackals Football fans. Aniyah Wilcox has left the cushy private box her parents pay for, and is standing on the railing, as close to the players on the field that she can get, blocking the people in the seats behind her. They don't seem to mind. In fact, one of the men is very graciously holding his hands against her waist to secure her so she can use her hands to cup around her mouth and wave frantically.
Jack gives her a little wave, but I notice his eyes cut back to me. I keep my face impassive and direct the team to pay attention.
The whistle blows. Jack pushes through two defensive linemen, dodging the players that come at him from all angles. Lane should throw to Grant at this point, because the TCU defense has been up Jack's ass, but no, Grant is blocked. Switch gears, Lane, run the ball! We only need four yards for the first down.
I hear Jack yell Lane's name. Lane throws the ball, but he's sacked just as it launches, and the throw is off. Magic Jack contorts his body, seemingly midair, and plucks it from the air. He tucks the ball, and lands just inside the end zone.
The stadium erupts, wildly cheering. There's still time on the clock and game to play, but everyone in the stadium knows we've clinched it. We're going to the national championship!
Jack does a showy kick up from the ground, landing on his feet and pointing at the sidelines where Aniyah is screaming. The people around her are lifting her up on their shoulders, celebrating her man's game saving play.
He looks over at me, and I can't see his eyes from this far down the field, but I'm more or less positive he's fucking barking at me. It's confirmed when the rest of the team starts jumping around and barking. I fight not to grin, because I know, as much as he's pointing to his fiancé in the stands, he's putting on this show for me. He wants me to know he's invincible, that he can handle the repercussions of the conversation we had two days ago.
But he's wrong, full of his baby bulldog bravado. And I can't do that to him.
I tear my eyes off of them and motion for defense to get set up.
Behind me, Aniyah is screaming, "I love you baby!!!" and waving a flag that says, "SOON TO BE MRS. PERRY!"
Goddamn, I just want to go home. We have ten days to get ready for the championship game, minus the travel days to Charlotte, North Carolina. The Bank of America Stadium, home of the Carolina Panthers, and Jack's top pick for teams he wants to be drafted to, is where we'll be playing against the Alabama Crimson Tide for the championship.
I should be happier. And he should be more excited. But all I see on his face, as he hugs his teammates on the sideline, is exhaustion.
A thumping sound rouses me from a disturbing dream that I can’t quite remember.
The door. Someone's knocking on the door?
I sit up in bed, looking over at the hotel's analog clock. It's fucking three a.m.
Not thinking clearly through my sleep muddled haze, I rush over and open the door. Jack stands there, leaning against the door frame in dark jeans and a black button-down shirt. His hair, which has grown a little again, looks mussed. He looks fucking edible. He smells like a bar and dried sweat, and the spicy body wash that I secretly keep in my shower at home just so I can rub him into my skin when it all gets to be too much.
"Happy New Year," he says casually, his eyes looking me up and down. I'm in nothing but a pair of boxer shorts, and the erection from my sleep is trying to push its way through the folded area at the front.
"What's wrong?" I ask, trying to pretend like I'm not standing in front of my biggest weakness, half naked with a hard on. Something about the way he's leaning into the doorframe reminds me of Cowboy Jack, and that actually helps clear my mind a bit.
"Nothing's wrong. I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year."
"Why aren't you out with the guys… with her?" I can't force myself to say her name, despite my attempt to pretend I'm above it all.
"I was. It got old. I wanted to be here."
"More like you got drunk and your fiancé doesn't do it for you, so you hoped you could come here and get off?"
His brow furrows, like he might take offense, but then the shithead shrugs. "Could have been a little of that, too, I suppose."
"Get out of here, Jack. I'm sure the future Mrs. Perry would be more than happy to suck your dick for you."
I move to push the door closed, but he steps forward and blocks it.
