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Despite the slow start to the game, the remaining minutes fly by, and while I manage to complete twenty-one passes with two in the end zone, Toby doesn’t totally suck. He handles the running game and takes the ball in himself for our last touchdown. It’s nothing impressive, and he basically gets pushed in with the help of our offensive line. But it’s the last score of the game, and it’s the one that sticks in memories.
I should be celebrating. I am on the outside, for now. The locker room is full and everyone in here is on the high of our big win. My dad’s speech echoed my feelings. Nobody would know but me, but I sensed those things he was communicating behind his words. It was in his tone. The way he was guarded and told everyone not to get lazy and that we simply did what should have been done—we were the better team going in.
What he said to me without speaking, though, was that we should have won by more.Ishould have scored more. And if I can’t get my so-called group of friends to snap out of acting like dicks out there, I’m going to lose this starting gig. That can’t happen.
My father makes eyes at me as he passes through the locker room from his office, giving knuckles to a few of the guys on his way out. He lifts a brow at the last second, and I feel his message like a punch to the gut.
You gotta do better, son. Gotta do better.That’s the message I get. I have zero doubts I’m wrong about it.
I spend extra time in the shower to avoid Toby and the guys who are clearly rallying on his behalf. None of this is about winning for them. It isn’t about what’s best for the team. This is about status and ego, and their guy is the one they want wearing the QB1 title because he’s one of them.
Me? I’m an outsider. I’ve gone and made friends with people at this school who all stand out because of their own baggage. Most of it isn’t their fault, though I’m not sure why Cameron feels the need to be high all the time. Theo’s grieving, and he has so much to work through, and Lily and Brooklyn are processing a lot, too.
And then there’s Morgan. I probably shouldn’t have spent as much time looking for her in the stand as I did, but she’s like this celestial phenomenon pulling me in. And even though there’s a risk to getting too close, I can’t fucking help it. I spotted her when Lily left her sitting alone so she could go after Theo. Brooklyn joined her after halftime, and every time I did anything remotely worthwhile on the field, my attention zoomed right to her for approval. For praise. For affection.
The locker room is empty by the time I drag my ass out of the shower. I take my time getting dressed at my locker, throwing my towel into the bin with angry zest, the same fire I put behind the fling I give to my locker door as I shut it. I shove the metal door so hard it fails to latch and flies back at me, catching my forearm.
“Ahhhhh!” I pound the door again with my fist, using my arm as a hammer, and my aggressive closing breaks off the pin that keeps my locker closed. I laugh quietly at how pathetic this entire scene is. I came here with one job, and it’s a job I’m good at. Throwing a ball might be the only thing I’m good at. But talent doesn’t matter here because the only thing my dad has to offer this place is his acceptance of the coaching title. They could fire him in a blink. Hell, they got rid of the last guy.
I slump down on the bench and drop my bag at my feet before running my palm over my face. I have to find my calm. I’m no good like this. Papa would be ashamed. He said ego was the devil’s work, and I think he was right. And as if the devil himself were watching me now, something draws my gaze a few lockers to the right and up, to the name and number plates that flank every locker owned by someone. It’s Toby’s locker, and even though I know nobody gave him the right to put that plate up there, it still mocks me.
SULLIVAN
#17
QB1
I breathe out a small laugh and shake my head. It’s a tin plate made in the school’s shop class. Everyone has one. Mine says FUENTES #5. So what that he had someone make his special. It’s sad that he needs that to feel good about himself. What’s sadder, though, is that I want to rip it from his locker and destroy it.
My stomach twists with envy, and I mentally imagine cutting off the QB1 part and gluing it to my plate. When Toby confronts me, I’ll step up in his face, towering over him by at least five inches. I’ll make him feel small, and dress him down with shame. I’ll let my worst instincts come out to play.
I’ve gotta get out of this room.
I’m about to get to my feet when the locker room door creaks open. I freeze, my fist tingling with the urge to fight. A large part of me wants it to be Toby walking in, and an even lower version of myself wants it to be his dad.
“Hello?” It’s a female’s voice. My hand flexes as I rid my arm of the desire to go to battle.
“It’s just me. I’m almost done,” I call out, figuring it’s one of the ladies who collects the laundry after games.
“James?”
I freeze hearing my name. There’s a raspiness to the voice, but I recognize the way Morgan’s pitch goes up at the end of my name. She must have been screaming at the game. For me. She was screaming for me.
“Yeah, it’s me. Come on in,” I say, lowering myself back down to sit on the bench.
The sound of the door clicking shut is followed by the shuffle of sneakers against the concrete floor. I lean back and grip the bench between my legs as my eyes refuse to blink, afraid they’ll miss the moment Morgan clears the corner and comes into view.
“Good game,” she says the second her eyes meet mine.
I laugh silently to myself and tuck my chin.
“It was definitely interesting,” I respond, shifting my gaze from my thighs to the glitter W painted on her cheek.
“You’re very spirited,” I say, gesturing toward her face.
Her mouth twists with the cutest smirk—part playful and maybe a little embarrassed. She pushes away from the wall she was half hiding behind and steps toward me. I sit up tall and move my palms to my thighs.
“I wasn’t sure what your number was; otherwise, I’d have painted that on this cheek,” she says, tapping the other side of her face.
