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Dallas handed the ball off to the running back on the next play, and the play after that. We failed to get a first down, and had to punt the ball to the Raiders.
“I know, I know,” I told him when we were back on the sidelines. “I’ll tighten it up.”
He nodded, but said nothing else.
We ended up winning the game, thankfully. But I didn’t contribute very much. Five receptions for just twenty-one yards, which was well beneath what I normally averaged for a game.
“Kincaid!” Double-D roared in the locker room after the game. “Four touchdowns. You beautiful dreadlocked son of a bitch.”
Kincaid shrugged modestly. “I’m just happy to get the extra passes. I think it’s because Stella needs to get her groove back.”
A few of the guys glanced at me.
“There’s still some summer rust on these gears,” I said, flexing my biceps. “But once this engine heats up? It’ll leave the rest of y’all in the dust.”
Kincaid pointed at me and grinned. “Hope so.”
“You sure it’s rust?” asked Stevie, the captain of the defense. “Or does it have to do with the noises I heard coming from your hotel room last night?”
“You talking about when she stormed off?” Double-D said. “Or when she came back?”
Jeers and hoots filled the locker room as the guys teased me. Double-D grabbed his discarded shoulder pads and began humping them.
“Oh, Brody!” he moaned in a high-pitched voice. “Give me your long-horn!”
I laughed and hurled my deodorant at him.
Being on a sports team was a special form of camaraderie. These guys were my brothers, which meant that we would die for each other—but it also meant we gave each other a lot of shit. For guys, teasing and taunting was just another way of showing love.
But there was an underlying truth to their jokes. Isabella was distracting me. And all of us, every member of the team, knew that I needed to straighten up.
As the week went on, I realized what the problem was. Although I had enjoyed the first month Isabella and I spent together, I had expected us to hang out less when the season started. Yet the opposite was true: she was digging in her claws even more than before.
She wanted to go out almost every night.
When we did go out, she wanted to stay out late.
And when I told her I wanted to go home, she pouted and got defensive. She asked if I didn’t really care about her. And then, when she was really drunk, she would bring up Taylor.
“I bet you would want to stay out later if you were playing trivia with her,” she said one night.
Trivia games don’t go on until two in the morning, I thought, but it wouldn’t help to say that out loud.
Whenever she brought up Taylor, I ended up caving. I could tell it was a sore point for her, and I didn’t want to fight. It was easier to order another beer and ignore the fact that I had to be up for practice in six hours.
As the week went on, I could tell I wasn’t getting enough sleep. My rhythm was off, both at practice and at home. I didn’t have the energy to take Luna for her morning runs, which made the husky very cranky.
Everything came to a head on Friday afternoon, when Isabella called me.
“Where are you taking me tonight?” she asked.
“I was going to stay in,” I replied. “We’re flying to Los Angeles for the Chargers game tomorrow.”
There was a long, dangerous silence on the line.
“I won’t see you until you get back,” she said. “I expected you to take me out. Don’t you want to see me before you go?”
“I’m only gone two days,” I replied.
