Page 62 of Last Slice of Pie

I should have found an alternative plan. I should have grounded the ball. I could have and should have done it differently. But I didn’t.

He fumbled the ball.

The Wolves picked it up and scored.

There was no coming back after that. Everyone on our team took a mental hit, me sustaining the most impact.

It was my fault.

We tried to turn things around, but the Wolves smelled fear in their prey and capitalized on it in the biggest way possible. Their confidence, focus, talent, and joy shined over the four quarters, and there was nothing we could do about it. They outplayed us in every way.

I didn’t even have to look at the game clock to know it was over. The roar now coming from the fans of the Washington Wolves is unlike anything I’ve heard, and my skin vibrates from the sheer force of the contained stadium volume.

Every speck of my being wishes that was for us, for me, but it’s not.

Fireworks explode in the night sky, and the sixty thousand phones flashing all around us are almost blinding. It’s one of the single greatest things I’ve ever seen, only it isn’t for us like I thought it would be.

People from every direction are stampeding the field, and needing a minute, just one minute to myself, I squat down and hang my head. My fingertips find the turf for balance, even though the ground thunders from so much movement. Slipping my eyes shut, I do what I’ve done so many times before: take in two deep breaths and then swallow once. I need to suppress it, box it up. I have to hide it. No matter what, I’m the leader of our team, a captain, and I need to stop thinking about myself and start thinking about them. I’m not the only one who lost today, even though I feel like I’ve lost more than anyone else.

Standing up, I come face to face with Reid, Billy, and Jonah, who’ve been keeping people away. There’s a swarm around us that I didn’t even realize was gathering: reporters, teammates, Wolves players, team staff, so many people. The air is thick with red and black confetti, but as I stare at my friends, I still see through all the chaos to the devastation in their eyes.

A devastation that is hugely my fault.

A hand clamping down on my shoulder has their gazes sliding to the person behind me. Turning around, I find Luke Pierson, the Wolves quarterback. He’s so happy, and on another day I’d be happy for him, just not today. Today, I’m blinded by my own losses and failures.

“Hey, man, great game,” he says. I know he genuinely means it, but the truth is, it wasn’t. We played terribly, I played terribly, and the scoreboard reflects it.

Nodding, there’s nothing for me to say except, “Congratulations.”

The biggest smile splits across his face. He’s trying to be respectful of our feelings and contain the once-in-a-lifetime elation coursing through his veins, but it’s there. We see it and feel it radiating off him, and who can blame him?

“Thanks.” He leans forward to hug me, slaps my back twice as reporters push in to capture us on film, and then he’s gone, back to his team, back to his beautiful wife, one he didn’t feel the need to give up in order to have it all. She’s waiting for him, just like Lexi should be waiting for me.

How did this happen? This was supposed to be my year.

Tony Dungy once said, “You don’t win on emotion, you win on execution.” Tonight we didn’t execute. That’s all there is to it.

Everything I fought for, trained for, lived and breathed for . . . it didn’t matter. We still lost. I lost. I’ve given up so much of myself and my life. I was certain this was going to be my year, but it wasn’t, and now I’m standing here wondering if it was all worth it.

For so long, deep down in my core, I’ve lived with this fear of not being enough. I felt I had to win the Super Bowl to finally be someone, and if I didn’t then I wasn’t. I was just another guy from a broken, loveless home who played football. It’s a story that can be repeated by hundreds of guys, maybe even thousands, and I’m no better than any one of them. What makes me different? What makes me better? Nothing. The only thing I’ve ever felt that could separate me was winning. I have to win, I have to be perfect, and I wasn’t. I’m not.

Oh God. I just need to get out of here. I need this to be over so I can empty the box holding all these emotions. It hurts. It hurts more than anything I’ve ever experienced.

So many flashes, so many people, and not one of them Lexi.

Lexi.

My heart bleeds for her, and only her. What I wouldn’t give to walk out of this place with her by my side, to not be alone. I’ve never wanted to be alone, have always wanted her, but I had to win in order to be good enough for her, and I didn’t. I’m not.

If a man can suffer from two broken hearts at the same time, that’s what’s happening to me right now. I don’t know what I’ve done, don’t know what to do. I’ve lost it all, even though it was never mine. The game wasn’t mine, and in the end, neither was she. Not once did I give her my all, but in truth it was hers all along. I felt I had to compartmentalize, but I was wrong about that too, and now she’s gone.

I’ve made so many mistakes when all I wanted was to do my best.

As the guys push us through the crowd and start walking toward the tunnel, security has finally reached us and I’m so grateful. People are doing their best to reach through, touch us, and send positive vibes, but I don’t want to be touched, and I don’t want to talk to anyone. I need off this field, and I need off of it now. The pain in my chest, it’s so tight, so severe, and I feel like the walls of the stadium are closing in on me even though I know they aren’t.

In front of me, our head coach and offensive coordinator slide through the crowd and stop me. My eyes burn with the loss I’ve caused them both, but instead of frowning and being angry about today’s turn of events, Coach smiles affectionately and wraps me in a hug.

“I know it wasn’t the ending we wanted, but thank you for leading us to play in the greatest game there is. Deep breaths, son. Stop thinking about the loss and instead take in where you are.” He pulls back, the other coach squeezes my arm, and they turn for the tunnel.