Page 20 of Colliding with Ten

I adjusted the cold pack. “AJ, that’s just good football.”

His eyebrows went up. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, it’s the grey zone. But it’s smart. He’s using the rules without breaking them. Isn’t that what every good player does? You told me yourself that the best quarterbacks find advantages other people don’t see. That’s what you said to me last month when you broke down film at the kitchen table for an hour, and I had to pretend I was listening.”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“Because his advantage put you in a hospital bed.”

He was right. A direct chain of cause and effect, even if no link was anyone’s fault. AJ framed Lennox as a player exploiting loopholes because it was easier to be angry at a person than admit it was an accident. If Lennox played dirty, AJ had somewhere to put the blame.

“He didn’t mean to hit me.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you mad at him?”

AJ looked at the screen. It was on a different game highlight. “Because he came to the training room. He asked to see you alone, and you let him.”

Ah. AJ was mad because Lennox Monroe had walked into that room, and I had told my brother to leave. He couldn’t control what happened between a rival quarterback and me behind those closed doors.

“He was checking on me. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.” AJ looked from the screen to me. “You know he and I have history, right? Before any of this.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I was at a prospect camp in Florida, one of those things schools use to get an early read on you. Monroe was a senior there, coming off surgery. Everybody had already written him off before he’d thrown a single rep.” AJ’s jaw worked. “They ran us through a two-minute drill and split the quarterbacks up, taking turns against a rotating defense, mostly college guys and other camp kids. I went first and threw a dime on a corner route in a tight window. Then Monroe took his rep right after me, but his wrist wasn’t there yet. A starting corner tipped the ball. It almost got picked. In front of scouts who’d just watched me do it without a problem.”

“Okay. That sounds like a good day for you.”

“It was, for about ninety seconds.” He exhaled through his nose. “Then he found me by the water table afterward, in front of my friends, and said, ‘Nice rep. The corner you beat was some other kid, not even on scholarship yet. Come back when you’re doing that against somebody who actually belongs here.’” AJ said it like he’d rehearsed the words a hundred times.

It didn’t sound like the man who’d stood in a training room with me hours ago, but it also didn’t sound impossible, either.

“That was five years ago, AJ.”

“I know how long ago it was.” Years of doubt moved behind his eyes. “I don’t like that the guy who needed to invent a reason an eighteen-year-old didn’t count is the same guy who walks into the training room and asks to be alone with you.”

“AJ . . .”

“I’m fine.” He stood up and adjusted the cold pack on my knee. “I don’t trust him.”

“I get what you’re saying, but you don’t really know him.”

“I know enough.” He walked to the door, stopped, and looked back. “Get some rest and stop watching his highlights. It’s weird.”

“I’m watching the game recap.”

“You’re watching his game recap.”

He closed the door before I could argue, his favorite way to end a losing conversation. I looked back at the television, where the broadcast had cut to a post-game press conference. It was a different quarterback, a different game. I picked up the remote and rewound to the highlight reel, back to watching Lennox. But so what? It was good football. He gave his postgame interview, a towel over his shoulders, catching water dripping from his hair. The reporter laughed at something he said, but I hadn’t heard it.

“Were you trying to turn that cheerleader’s lights out, too?”

My stomach flipped.