Page 37 of Last Slice of Pie

“Come on, you have to remember the photo that was taken of him knuckle-deep picking his nose, and then it was blasted all over the Internet.”

“Oh yeah. Fucker. That was gross, too.”

In my peripheral vision, I see Jack shake his head in disgust.

“Yeah, exactly—he’s gross, and it’s been used in a thousand memes since. The world has been relentless in making fun of him. Dude will never live it down, not that I think he cares, but who knows, maybe he does.”

“Whatever. Do you want me to feel sorry for him or something?”

“Nope. Absolutely not. But next time you’re up against him, think of the memes, because no matter how well or how dirty he plays, he’ll always be remembered for that.”

“All right, Dr. Phil. I get where you’re going with this, but I still hate him.”

“Never said you shouldn’t.”

Silence settles between us as he takes an offered water bottle and squirts some of the clear liquid in his mouth. He’s calmed down significantly from a few moments ago, and I’m glad. Jack has always worn his heart on his sleeve. He’s very transparent with his emotions, and it wouldn’t hurt him to hold them in sometimes. Granted, he wouldn’t be Jack if he did, but it also wouldn’t give our competitors a one-up on him.

Looking around at my teammates who’re hovering on the sidelines, I spot a journalist from NFL Today. The team knows her well—some very well—and she’s aggressive with her interviews but fair at the same time. Only one time has she attempted to initiate a conversation with me, and she found herself disappointed by my lack of enthusiasm for answering her questions. Since then, she’s avoided me and found others who are more willing to stand in the spotlight.

Speaking of the spotlight, my mind drifts to Lexi and her television segment. I know I probably shouldn’t be happy that she was asked about me, but I am. Cat’s out of the bag. Between the team picnic and the photos circulating from last weekend, people know. They aren’t stupid.

Leaning closer to Jack, I ask, “Do you see Dee Peterson over there?”

He looks over my shoulder to spot her. “Yep. Same spot as usual, just waiting for tidbits to be thrown her way. Why?”

“She won’t stop staring at me. It’s weird.”

“Maybe it’s because you won’t stop with that shit-eating grin, which you need to get off your face so you can start focusing more on the plays they’ve been running on us today.” He points to the iPad I forgot was sitting in my hands, and I toss it on the bench to the left of me.

“This game is almost over,” I tell him, shrugging my shoulders, and his forehead wrinkles with confusion.

“Who are you and what have you done with Bryan Brennen? Because this”—he waves his hand in my direction—“bro, it’s not normal.”

The smile on my face drops. He’s right. I never smile, at least not until the game is over. No wonder people like Dee are looking at me.

Around us, the volume of the fans again increases. Jack and I stand as the clock hits the two-minute warning, and the ball is declared dead just as the Dolphins get a first down. Our defense has been on fire this game, and there’s no way they are scoring. Our offensive coordinator looks over at us, and without even speaking, we both know what has to happen. We’ll get the ball back here shortly, I’ll take a knee to run the clock down, and then we’re only four games away.

Four more games until playoffs, then three more until the Super Bowl.

So close I can almost taste it.

Orange Cream Pie

EVERY BIT OF anxiety I had about coming to the home game today against the Steelers is washed away the minute I find Camille by the players entrance gate. She’s so tiny and so perfectly put together. In another life, I would be completely intimidated by it, but her smile and personality have a way of putting even the harshest person at ease.

Bryan asked me to come after he got home from the Miami game, and all week I’ve been dreading the unknown—where to go, who I’ll see, and who will be staring at me.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” She squeals, grinning from ear to ear, and wraps me in a giant hug.

“Me, too.” I think to myself, I can do this. They’re just people. I can blend in with them and it won’t be a big deal.

She loops her arm through mine, and we walk in together.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it. I’ve been so busy with work, but my business partner Marie and I got a little ahead, so here I am.” I smile at her.

“From what Reid has told me, your business is doing very well. That’s so exciting.”

Reid told her—that means Bryan has talked about me to his friends. A blush rises and heats my cheeks.