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Mark replies to Rich, “You damn sure said that shit, Rich. He stepped his game all the way up and executed the hell out of the winning plays that will take us to the Superbowl. That’s how you do that shit, Wayne!”
I smile, then quickly humble myself. “Look, I hear you, but I’m nothing without you guys! We are one moving vessel on the field. We run plays together and score as one. I can’t take credit for every position because there is no I in team.”
Rich pats me on the back. “Yeah, you’re right, there is no letter I in team, but like the late and great Kobe Bryant once said, ‘there is amein that motherfucker!’”
We all burst out in laughter. Rich was notorious for quoting Kobe, and the quotes always fit the situation perfectly.
Rich continues, “We all played our part, but give yourself a pat on the back. Then, after you pat yourself on the back, let’s get these showers and head on out of here. We have to celebrate, and what better place to do it than with a few ladies and drinks.” He winks.
Jeremiah butts in, calling Rich by his full name. “Richard Holsey is going to fuck around and make Monica Holsey bury him in a shallow grave if he keeps getting caught with the ladies.”
Rich wraps a white towel around his neck. He turns beet red as he scowls at Jeremiah. “You’re on some bullshit, J. Why you calling me out like that? Mind your business.”
Jeremiah laughs. “I’m just telling you how I see it. We need you alive to win the Superbowl. We need both of you alive, so tread lightly with the ladies before your wives kill your asses,” he includes Rich and Mark in his light warning.
Offering my two cents, I agree with Jeremiah. “He’s right. Rich, your wife was out there with the biggest flashing sign in the crowd showing support. She’s your biggest cheerleader.”
My chest tightens, and an aching pain travels through me as I think about how Leslie might have felt after the game when all the other players’ women swarmed the field. I remembered seeing Monica damn near tackle Rich when she dove into his arms and stole him away from a reporter trying to get an interview.
As strongly as I feel it is right to protect Leslie from the media, I equally want to give her everything she desires. Leslie has already told me that she feels outcasted and alone because I keep her out of the public eye.
I hate that she thinks she’s not claimed as mine. I have claimed her. She is mine. I need to hurry up and get home to remind her of that.
“He’s not lying. Monica brings the most hype to the games,” Jeremiah tells Rich. “You can always point her out with her creative signs. The woman loves you.”
Offensive lineman Terrance King walks over and joins the conversation. “Everyone who’s ever watched a Saints game knows that one is…. How can I say this? She’s passionate. She will kill your ass if she finds out you’re still out here being too cozy with the ladies.”
“What is this? Gang up on Rich day?” Rich asks.
“Chill out, Richard,” Jeremiah mocks. “We’re trying to look out for you.”
“If I were you, I’d be in a hurry to get home.” I don’t think Monica is capable of hurting Rich. I just admire the love and support she shows him at every game. It’s admirable. I want that, but the spotlight isn’t for everyone. It works for guys like Rich, who don’t pour their hearts and souls into their women. From the outside looking in, it doesn’t appear he’s as into Monica as she is into him. Rich doesn’t care if his affairs are discovered and plastered in the media. If he did, he would be more discreet. Apparently, Monica is aware of his cheating ways.
Mark isn’t too far behind him in the way he treats Caitlyn. He’s just not as vocal about it.
Men like them will never be torn over losing everything because they spend every waking minute of their lives trying to fuck up their relationships. It would destroy me if Leslie were hurt by cheating rumors spread by brutal bloggers following NFL players' lives. I can only imagine how invasive they will be now that we’re headed into the playoffs.
“Let’s go get drinks and celebrate, then we all will head home to our ladies,” Terrance says.
“You have a lady now? You must be keeping her a secret,” Rich interrogates.
“Mind your business,” Terrance snarls. “My lady, my business.”
I could respect Terrance keeping his personal life, well, personal. As players, we share so much of ourselves with the public. Can’t we keep the thing that makes us most vulnerable, the energy source that makes our hearts beat, to ourselves?
I put my helmet and other equipment in my locker and turn to the guys. “I’m going to skip the bar tonight. I need to head on home to get some rest, so I can be up early tomorrow watching the video.”
“Oh, hell no. We’re celebrating tonight, and you’re the QB, so you gotta come with us,” Rich insists.
I take a moment to consider what I want to do. I threw the winning touchdown. Hanging out after the game is more about team building than the drinks.
Leslie’s face flashes in my mind. I haven’t seen her since this morning when I left home. I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her close. I want to smell her, kiss her, touch her all over. Being with her is all the celebration I need.
However, I conclude that I can do both. I will hang with the guys for a while and then go home to my girl, so I tell them, “I’ll go, but I can only stay a few minutes. I have to get home.”
“That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s get this party started,” Rich shouts.
Mark and Jeremiah give me a fist bump and tell me they’ll be ready in fifteen to twenty minutes. They head to their lockers to get showered and dressed.
