Page 33 of I Want to Know What Love Is

“If you ignore my play call for no good fucking reason again I will bench you. Got that?” He growls low and menacing while holding on to his smile. He smacks my shoulder good and hard knowing that’s where I hit the ground. A lightning bolt of pain shoots through my arm—my non-throwing arm—and fresh beads of sweat break out on my brow. But I don’t react and I don’t dare take my eyes from Coach’s as I smile back and nod. My heart pounds for a very different reason now. Not the high of scoring. This is not good.

Since when did I turn into a hot-dog, an irresponsible idiot who lets his dick steal all rational thought? Because I’m well aware now why I did it, even if I didn’t consciously think about it in the moment. I ran that fucking ball into the end zone because I told Amanda I would. Because I told her I’d do it for her.

Am I the biggest fucking asshole on the team because I let a woman interfere? An asshole like my father who ignored his responsibilities to others and followed his dick? Or am I the hero they all think I am because I’m a badass and scored on a running play against a damn good running defense? Almost got my head taken off in the process.

Shelby sits next to me when I take the bench.

“That was a fucking ballsy play,” he says. “Almost too ballsy. How’s your shoulder?” I nod. “Not the kind of play I’d expect Coach to call.” He meets my eyes. “It was fucking killer, but do me a favor and don’t ever do it again because I almost had a heart attack when you got laid out.” I grunt at his speech because the reality of my stupidity is hitting me harder than our opponent.

“That was some kind of fucking statement,” Jasper says sitting on my other side. “I thought you were going to get yourself killed, man. Fucking crazy TD.” He smacks my arm, grinning.

I sit staring at the field, trying to get myself back into game mode because the defense is working their magic while I try not to imagine what Amanda thought of my fucking touchdown. And I try not to grimace at the pain in my shoulder. Fucking luck is the only reason I didn’t crash on my throwing shoulder. The only reason I didn’t end my fucking season and possibly my future in football.

* * *

After I manage to get some ice and a pain patch on my shoulder, I get my head back in the game and stay focused. As soon as the final horn signals the end and our first win, the sidelines swarm with press and random fans, mostly friends and family of the players. Coach Radz is on camera with a sports broadcaster and his assistant is waving me over.

“Here he is,” the sportscaster says as moves close and the camera lines me up in the shot. Coach stays to the side watching. “Congratulations on being the Rollman Insurance Agency player of the game. Let’s get right to it. Tell me about that first touchdown where you ran into the end zone?”

“We needed to come out and make a statement. Army has a solid run defense, but we needed to give them something to think about, a new wrinkle.”

“I see, speaking of wrinkles, you probably got a few after they took you down in the end zone. That was quite a hit you took. How’s the shoulder?”

“Football is a tough game. The first thing we learn is to take hits and get up again.” I don’t look at Coach Radz, but I feel his eyes boring into me, the force of his anger palpable. The sportscaster moves on to a few other puffball questions about the upcoming schedule and our chances for a repeat of the national championship and I spout the answers I’ve been coached to give.

* * *

The hot shower helps take the edge off the aches and pains, but my shoulder’s going to be tender for a while. I take stock of the bruises and decide it’s an above average game. The locker room is loud and happy—no kidding—except for me and one other player. Randy Bane. Maybe we have more in common than I thought. I sit next to him on the bench and finish dressing, then tie my sneakers. Mom will wrinkle her nose at them since they don’t go with my dress pants and sports jacket, but I may as well keep up the tradition because I always wear the sneakers and she always gets annoyed—in a fond and harmless tsk tsk way.

“You ought to be proud of yourself,” Bane says.

“I’m proud of everyone on the team,” I say and look at him. “Even you.” He snorts.

“I didn’t play a minute. Although I should have since we led at the end and Coach could have put me in for a set of downs or something.” He looks at me and grins, surprising me. “I can’t say you didn’t do your part trying to get me some playing time—that stupid run into the end zone almost got you sidelined.” I’m not sure if he means because I almost got hurt or because Coach almost benched me for running a stupid play. I choose to believe the latter because I don’t think even Bane would wish me hurt.

“Maybe next game. It should be an easier win.”

After I slap high-fives and give man hugs on my way out, Shelby stops me at the door.

“Why are you in a hurry?” he asks.

“My mom is waiting.” I don’t mention that my dad is here too. My gut rolls. I don’t want to leave them out there together unsupervised for too long. Especially if Dad carried through on his promise to bring his new fucking wife. Nothing personal against the poor woman.

“Don’t forget to remind her about the cake.”

“Don’t worry about the fucking cake.” I laugh on my way out because knowing her, she brought a cake with her.

It’s not hard to find my parents outside in the hallway leading to the parking lot. Dad is almost as tall as I am. Mom stands with Aunt Viola far enough away from Dad and his new wife—he is as ballsy as I was dreading—and you’d never know they were all part of the same family once. Walking over to them, aiming for the spot exactly in between them, I notice that Amanda is there in the hallway with Coach Ryan and three other people, a couple and a guy.

The instant zap of jealousy stings my gut because I know this guy is her date. Fuck. Pulling my shit together because I have no claim on her, we aren’t a thing and we never can be, I turn away. This is fucking couyon to react like a betrayed lover, to feel the deep cut like I haven’t since I was fourteen and my first crush left me for another guy. Am I still that far gone? Or is she that deep into my head?

Mom spots me at the same time I pull my head out of my ass, turn back to her, and meet her in a hug. Aunt Viola joins in and the two of them gush and ask after my bumps and bruises like I’ve been in a war.

“I’m fine. Nothing serious. It’s just football. After all these years you know how it is.”

“Yes, I do. And that’s the problem.” Mom laughs and swipes a tear from the corner of her eye. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, but not long enough to make her cry. I know she’s dealing with the fallout of dad’s desertion. Steeling myself, I turn to him. He’s standing back with his wife, at least having the grace to give me and Mom some space and wait his turn.

“You gave me a heart attack, sweet pea,” Mom says, gathering herself, leaning on her sister. “Running into the end zone and taking that hit. Lordy, I swear I grew another gray hair.” She laughs and hugs me again for reassurance, her perfect auburn hair unfazed by her worry. I smile even as the pressure of her arms zings my shoulder. I should have spent some time with the trainer, maybe getting a heat massage, but I knew everyone was waiting for me. I’ll sleep with a heating pad tonight.