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“Now for the game itself.” I slide my hands into my pockets and rock back on my heels. “It wasn’t our best performance. We got sloppy in the fourth quarter, and the mistakes we made were lazy. Jett.” I glance at our quarterback. He has an ice pack on his head and a purple bruise on his shoulder. “Did you see the defense shifting before the snap?”
“No.” He shakes his head, and he looks a little dazed. “It was too loud. I only noticed when I went to throw. That’s my fault.”
“I’m going to take the blame,” I say, and I turn back to Dallas. “I should’ve listened to you back in the second quarter. We should’ve kicked and held them off on defense for the last thirty seconds leading into halftime. It wouldn’t have given them a chance to run back a touchdown and take a lead we couldn’t recover from. I trust you, and not listening to you was shitty.”
My kicker perks up. “You’re in charge, not me,” he says.
“Yeah, but you—allof you—have the right to stand up to me when you think we should do something different. This is a team sport, and we’re not going to win by only listening to my play calls. It’s a collective effort. Going forward, I’ll be better at getting your opinions. And I want you all to hold me accountable, okay?”
The team nods, and a murmur of positive agreement spreads through the locker room.
“Good. Now let’s talk about the loss. It sucks, doesn’t it? It hurts like hell. It makes you think we’re not good, and everything we’ve worked on this season has been for nothing. It makes you question the lunges we do, the miles we run, and the drills we practice over and over and over again. But do me a favor. Look up. Look around this room. What do you see? Fifty-two other guys who are feeling the same way you are. You’re not carrying this burden of disappointment alone. Yeah, we can be pissed about this for a couple of hours, but tomorrow is a new day. And you know what tomorrow means? Forward. A chance to try again. We got the first loss out of the way—better now than in the postseason, right? We’re going to remember this feeling, and we’re going to carry it with us for the rest of the year. We’re not going to hang on to this specific loss—that doesn’t do us any good. We can’t change the past. What we are going to do is acknowledge that we don’t want to be here again. So, we’re going to forget that there’s a tick mark in our loss column, and we’re going to come back stronger next week. All of us,” I say. “Me included.”
The guys lift their heads and their shoulders relax. Dallas grins at me, and his eyes twinkle.
“Being the best shouldn’t be comfortable,” he says. He stands up and looks around the room. “Comfortable means we’re not doing it right. I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t want to be comfortable. I want a Super Bowl ring. If that takes losing two or three games to figure out how to get one, then so be it. The people who are successful are the ones who can embrace change. We’ll dust ourselves off, get back home, go back to the drawing board, and start fresh on Tuesday. Hands in, boys. Want to do the honors, Coach?”
I nod, and a huddle forms around me. “Titans on three,” I say. “One, two, three.”
“Titans,” they all bellow with renewed energy, and I can’t help but smile.
“We’ll bounce back. Go shower. Bus for the airport leaves in an hour,” I say.
“Shawn, the media is ready for you,” Darcy says, and I sigh.
“Let’s get this shit show over with,” I mumble.
I follow her down the hallway to the visitor’s press room. Unsurprisingly, it’s packed to the brim and overflowing with reporters and cameras. I check my phone as we walk in, and I see Lacey’s name on my screen. I slide open the message and read it.
Lace Face
Sorry about the game, pal.
Me
You watched?
Lace Face
I’m the girlfriend of a football coach now. Of course I watched.
What did the headset you threw do to you? It looked like you had a personal vendetta against it.
I huff out a laugh and bite my bottom lip. My fingers fly across the keyboard and I take a seat at the table.
Me
A lot of things.
Going into media. I’ll text you in a few.
I pocket my phone and glance out at the crowd of people. “Before we get started, I want to acknowledge what happened after the loss. My guys know they shouldn’t have gone onto the field like that, and we’re handling it.” I pause for a breath. “What else do you all have for me?”
A guy in the front row raises his hand. I don’t recognize him, and I gesture for him to go ahead.
“Levi Smith, L.A. Confidential,” he starts. “Shawn, your first loss of the season comes after you’ve confirmed your first public relationship in years. Do you think there’s any correlation between your coaching performance and your personal life?”
I blink, and my mouth droops into a thin line. “Are you implying that because I’m dating someone, the team lost?” I ask. “I want to make sure I’m understanding you correctly.”
