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Tony gets up and saunters off, and I watch him go, his words on repeat in my head.
Polish and expertise. Polish and expertise.
The more I think about those two words, the better I feel. Tony’s right. I have polish and expertise. I’ve been doing this for a long time. I lead this team. They look up to me.
I need to be an example, not an out-of-control asshole.
“Hey D,” I yell, when I spot Diego standing nearby only a few minutes later.
“What?” His jaw clenches and his eyes are still ablaze as he glares at me.
“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean to unleash on you,” I tell him, my voice dripping with sincerity.
He walks over to the bench, stopping directly in front of me. “I’m sorry too. The pressure has been weighing on me and it’s been—tough.”
“I get it.” If any two players on this team right now can understand each other, it’s us. I stand up and offer him my hand. “We good?”
Diego takes my hand, giving me one of our endless homie shakes. “We’re all right, Bennett. Even if you’re a pain in my ass sometimes.”
We chuckle, and the pressure sitting on my chest eases some.
Not enough to make it easier to breathe though. I’m still twisted up in knots, anxiously watching the game, my gaze never straying from the field. I keep my fists clenched on my knees, bent forward, so my ass is perched on the edge of the bench as I track everything happening. Our defensive line is strong and they keep the opposing team from scoring yet again, which gives me hope for the first time the entire game.
“Good luck,” I tell Marshall, just before he’s about to run onto the field.
He stops short, sending an appreciative look my way. “Thanks.”
I realize Marshall seems terrified. His brown eyes are wide and unblinking, and for such a big dude, he’s giving off major scaredy cat vibes.
“You’ve got this,” I tell him, my voice full of confidence. “Show them what you’re made of.”
He nods once, his helmet wobbling on his head. “Will do. Thank you.”
I watch as Marshall jogs onto the field and I go to where the coaches are standing, hoping one of them will talk to me.
“You all right, Bennett?” Coach asks me.
I nod once, staring out at the field. “I fucked up. Sorry.”
“We can’t be perfect all the time.” He slaps me on the back, smiling faintly. “Take a breather. Let Marshall do his job.”
“We’re down though. Now is not the time to put in the second string,” I remind him.
“Better to send Marshall out there than put even more pressure on you and watch you fail,” he says, blunt as always.
“True,” I mumble.
I watch my offensive line and Marshall play pretty damn well. To my surprise, they drive the ball down the field fairly quickly and end up scoring a touchdown, plus the extra point.
Now we’re only down by three.
Glancing toward the crowd, I can’t help but wonder if Ava is here. Is she watching? Or is she still with my mom? I have no idea what’s going on, because I don’t have my phone and there’s no way for her to get in contact with me until after the game.
I wonder if she’d be down for us being celibate at least through playoffs. I blew off the sex thing fucking with my head as a one off. Looks like it’s an actual thing, which is crazy, but I do remember when Tim Tebow was around and everyone said that guy was a virgin.
Maybe that big ol’ fucker actually wasn’t getting pussy on the regular and it kept him on top of his game. I’ve heard weirder shit.
And athletes are a superstitious lot. My dad had an ugly ass Forty-Niner Velcro wallet that he got in high school and he swore the one season he stopped using it, the Niners didn’t make it to the playoffs. He started using it ag
