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16
CARTER
Long after the game, the stadium is dark. Quiet. All the fans are gone and even the cleaning crews are done for the night. The air is still hazy and smells of gunpowder from the pyrotechnics and at the north end of the stadium, the scoreboard still shows the final score. I look at it then down at the ball in my hands and smile to myself.
“Forty-two to ten. Hell of a game, Carter,” he says. “Hell of a start to the season.”
Ryder steps up beside me and looks out across the field. We stand in silence for a few minutes, both of us just taking in the moment. If you had told me six months ago that I could stand beside him in the spirit of camaraderie, I would have told you that you were either an idiot, a blind optimist, or that you needed to be drug tested. Those first couple of weeks after the incident at Cami’s place were rough. Ryder was sullen and sulky. He was angry. And whenever he looked at me, I got the feeling he was thinking about murder, which only seemed fair since I was thinking about the same thing whenever I looked at him.
But then things started to change. I don’t know what sparked it—I honestly didn’t think he had the capacity for self-reflection that deep—but I saw a shift in Ryder. It took some time and some doing, but Ryder changed. And maybe I did too. Through all the turmoil of the summer, we eventually found some common ground. We found our way to a bit of mutual respect. And from there, we started to develop the sort of bond I’ve only seen in the best of teammates. He was full of questions and devoted himself to learning from me. He devoted himself to the team and to refining his craft as a quarterback. He dedicated himself to it and had been relentless in trying to become the franchise quarterback this team needed.
Like I said, I don’t know what the root of his turnaround was, but by the end of camp, he’d done a complete one-eighty. He had become not just a good quarterback but a decent human being as well. I have to believe that maybe, once it seemed settled that I would be QB1 heading into the season, he was able to step out of the spotlight and just relax. Lofty expectations are heavy burdens to carry and maybe not having that weight on his shoulders was liberating for him. Maybe allowing himself to just be one of the guys instead of "the" guy was freeing.
“Seriously. Great game, man,” Ryder says.
“You didn’t do too bad yourself, kid,” I say and toss the ball in my hands to him. “I think this belongs to you.”
“Coach gave you the game ball.”
“That’s not the game ball. That’s the ball from your first TD pass,” I tell him. “I thought you might want to keep that.”
He looks down at the ball, a smile on his face as he relives the moment. If you’re lucky and you work hard, your career is going to be filled with special moments that you can look back on fondly after you hang up your cleats. But none will be sweeter than those first accomplishments—like your first TD pass. I still remember mine vividly. And I’m sure Ryder will as well.
“Thank you,” he says and gently pats the ball. “I was so excited after the play, I totally forgot to grab this. I’m grateful you snatched it.”
“It’s going to be the first of many. So long as you keep putting in the work.”
He nods, a wan smile on his lips. “I will. I have to say, this summer has been… humbling. But I’ve learned a lot.”
“So have I, to be honest. And one of the things I learned is that when you and I work together, we can do great things for this team. We can take it to heights we didn’t even imagine when camp started this summer.”
“I heard that you went to the mat for me. That you basically forced Coach B to put in those packages for me.”
“You’re too talented and work too hard to let you completely rot on the sideline,” I reply with a grin. “I think getting you a little game experience is critical for your development. And look, it paid off. You looked good out there. You looked comfortable. I think getting you in on some plays now will only help you when it’s your time to take over as QB1.”
“Thank you. Really, thank you,” he says with sincerity in his voice. “But why would you push so hard for me? After everything that happened—that I did—you could have buried me. You probably should have buried me.”
“Because I believe in second chances, kid. I was you once—I mean, I never tried to extort the coach’s daughter for sex or anything like that,” I say with a sly grin.
Ryder laughs. “Yeah, not my finest moment.”
“I’m just fucking with you. All I’m saying is that I was like you. I came in as a rookie with a chip on my shoulder and felt like I had something to prove too. I said and did some stupid shit,” I admit. “If not for second chances and somebody willing to roll the dice on me, who knows what would have happened or where I might have ended up?”
Ryder gives me a mischievous grin. “Wow. You can remember back that far? I mean, your rookie season was what, a hundred years ago?”
“I may be an old man, but I can still whip your ass, kid,” I reply, and we share a laugh.
As we look across the field, soaking in the moment, Cami sidles up beside me and takes my hand. I smile at her then a quick kiss as I intertwine my fingers with hers. My heart swells and in that moment, I know what it's like to feel true contentment. True happiness.
“Good game,” she says. “You killed it out there.”
“It was a good team effort,” I reply.
“You had a good game too, Ryder. That touchdown pass was a beauty,” she says. “Congratulations.”
“Thanks, Cami. I appreciate that.”
Cami has warmed slightly to Ryder, but she still keeps him at an arm’s distance. For obvious reasons. I don’t think that wall between them is ever going to come down, and I can’t blame her for that. What he put her through was unthinkable. But I’ve seen him making a real effort to atone, and she’s at least been receptive to it. She can at least stand to be in the same room with him now, which I consider progress.
