After the Game

Brady had stepped out of his truck and was leaning against the passenger’s side, waiting on me. I walked back over to him. If he was going to apologize again, I just may have lost my temper. I didn’t want his apologies. I wanted to pretend I’d never gone over there.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” I told him as if he were going to keep me. We both knew he had a game to go win. “And if this is another apology, please don’t. Just let it go.”

He shifted his feet and seemed almost nervous. “I want to be friends. My original offer—or request—still stands.”

What?

“Why?”

He sighed and ran his hands through his messy dark hair. “Because I want to be friends with you. I believe you. I feel like shit about the way I treated you when you first came back into town and the fact that I turned on you two years ago. I was young. That’s the only excuse I have. But I know better now. My team doesn’t get to tell me who I choose to be friends with.”

He sounded so determined I wondered if he was trying to convince himself of all this. And why he felt the need to come see me before his game when this could wait.

“You’ve got a championship to win,” I reminded him. He’d been pretty set on that the other night.

“Yeah, I do. But that shouldn’t stop me from doing what is right.”

So I was what was right. That made me feel like a charity case. The kid at the lunch table with no friends. Something he had learned in Sunday school as a kid. Be kind to those in need. Well, I wasn’t in need. I was perfectly fine.

“I don’t need your guilt friendship. I’m better than that. But thanks anyway,” I said, then turned to head back inside. This conversation was over as far as I was concerned.

“Wait. Don’t. It’s not guilt,” he called out, but I knew the truth even if he didn’t. “The truth is I can’t stop thinking about you.”

I stopped. Well, that was definitely a turn I hadn’t expected.

“Excuse me?” I asked, looking back at him.

He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets. “I think I need you. A friendship that isn’t based on my performance on the field or getting into the best party. A real one. That means something.”

Now, this was going to be harder to argue or walk away from. I’d been vulnerable at his house the other night, and he was now doing the same with me. It had just taken him time to think it through.

“Why now? Why not when the season is over?”

I can honestly say that I was worried about the other guys and this stupid football game now. Not because I wanted them to win but because I wanted Brady to win. I wanted him to get that future he’d worked so hard for. Why did I want all that? God, I was getting feelings for him. All this crap around us, and I was starting to care about Brady Higgens’s happiness.

“Football can’t make all my decisions in life for me. If I let it, then I’m not fighting for my dream; I’m letting my dream own me. I should own it.”

I stood there in silence and let his words really sink in. He meant this. I respected him for it. But I still wanted to protect him.

“Then let your new friend make a decision for you. Wait. Give this season time to play out. Then we can try the friendship thing.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. I can’t.”

His determination was . . . cute. Admirable but cute.

“Then let’s be friends in secret for a few more weeks,” I suggested.

He frowned and looked like he was going to argue again.

“Just think about it. Go win tonight’s game and let the pros and cons play through your head this weekend. If you’re still dead set on blowing up the town, we will go to the Den and eat burgers Monday night. But if you see reason like I do, you’ll drive two towns over and meet me for pizza.”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “Can I have your number, then?”

As if a female could say no to that.

By Three Touchdowns

CHAPTER 18

BRADY

Getting my head completely in the game was hard, but seeing the fans who had driven out here in the stands, cheering with their banners held high and their cowbells ringing, reminded me of the importance of tonight. I wasn’t out here worried about a girl who I couldn’t stop thinking about. She was okay now. We were okay. And the idea of a future for us excited rather than scared me. I was ready to win this game now. This wasn’t just my future weighing the balance. It was all of ours. Even those of us who would hold this as our last memory of football. It would mean something.

By halftime we were down a touchdown. The Panthers were tough, and even with all the prep work, we were having to be on our very best game to keep up with them. West slung his helmet across the field house as he let out a string of words that I knew Coach would overlook. We hadn’t played a game this hard all season.

Gunner slammed his fist into the old, beat-up lockers that were reserved for the Panthers’ opposing team. He didn’t let a string of curses fly from his mouth, but he continued to beat the locker a few more times before resting his forehead on it. We had two quarters left to change this.

Coach would talk to us and remind us who we were and what we’d come here for. He was good at halftime talks. I could count on him to get the team’s heads back up and ready to go fight.

There would be roars and fists in the air as we charged back onto the field. This wasn’t the first halftime we had been behind. It was just the first time we had been shaken. The way we had played tonight should have had us a touchdown or more ahead. Not behind.

“Where is your head tonight?” Gunner asked me as he lifted himself up from the locker he’d been leaning on.

Was he blaming me for this? “Not sure what you mean by that,” I replied, anger slowly building inside me. The accusation on his face was enough to tell me he was pointing at me instead of all of us. “This is a team. Where is your head?” I shot back.

“Fuck that. You’ve got the ball. You run the team. And I’ve been playing ball with you since we were kids. Your head isn’t with us out there. So where the fucking hell is it? Because we need it on that field.” He was yelling now.

“Back off, Gunner,” West said, stepping up between us. Nash and Asa had also moved closer to us. As if a fight was about to start and they all needed to be there to break it up.

“No! He is going to lose us this game. His head isn’t there, and we need it!” Gunner yelled. “Hunter is a damn sophomore and not ready for this. We can’t hand the game over to him. We need Brady to get it together before we walk back onto that field.”

I wanted to get in his face and tell him just where he could shove his accusation. The idea of slamming my fist into his face was also appealing. However, he was right. My head wasn’t completely there. Gunner was the only one with balls enough to point it out.

“Go drink some water and calm down,” Asa told Gunner. They all thought we were about to tie up. Any other time, I just might do it. But tonight Gunner was right. This was my fault. Admitting it hurt, but it was true.

“What’s going on out there, boys?” Coach asked as he entered the field house. The local media had stopped him for an interview on his way to us, so he’d missed the confrontation.

Everyone but Gunner turned to look at Coach while Gunner’s eyes stayed glued to me. He was waiting on his answer. He wasn’t getting one because the truth would cause more than just me messing up. Hell would break loose.

“I’m off tonight,” I replied to Coach’s question while keeping eye contact with Gunner. “This is all on me.”

That was the first moment I’d had to do this in a locker room in all the years I’d been playing. It had never been me. It had always been someone else I had to talk out of whatever funk they were dealing with. This was hard. Like admitting I was a failure.

“Then let’s fix this. You’re the best senior quarterback in Alabama, Brady. Or did you forget that?” Coach replied.

I hadn’t forgotten. I may not agree, but I hadn’t forgotten the title had been given to me in the latest stats. If I lost this, Riley would blame herself. This wasn’t her fault. It was mine. This wasn’t just for me; it was for this entire team and our town.