Page 93 of The Check Down
And it’s all downhill from there. I get called for holding later in the quarter, and on our next drive, I drop another ball. Greenway makes a costly fumble in the red zone that results in our opponents scoring a field goal. When Beau throws another interception at the beginning of the fourth, I charge down the field to make the tackle, but my legs run out of steam before I can stop the guyfrom scoring. We end up losing by an embarrassing margin, and we don’t score a single touchdown.
It’s our worst game of the season so far. Sure, it was a team loss, and several of my teammates made bad plays. But I fucked up the most.
We’re all quiet as we file into the locker room, even Coach.
The mood is somber as we shower and change. Coach takes Beau and a defenseman to the media area for the visiting team, and the rest of us are left to deal with the members of the media who are allowed into the locker room for postgame interviews.
When SNN’s Blues reporter makes a beeline for me, I mutter a “fuck” before pasting on a fake smile.
Andrea aims her phone my way and starts her interview. “Griffin, thoughts on today’s loss?”
My stomach knots. I don’t want to do this. I’m ready to board the plane and get home to my woman. But duty calls.
“It was a tough loss. We made too many mistakes, and they capitalized on every one. I’ve got to play better going forward, and this team is committed to finishing the rest of the season strong. We’ll regroup this week and put in the hard work so we’re prepared for the next one.”
Fuck, I deserve a gold star for that soundbite—not a single curse.
Andrea’s bleach blond hair sways as she gives her head a tiny shake and pinches her lips together. Not the reaction she was going for, then. I square my shoulders and lift the strap of my bag, hoping she takes the hint.
She doesn’t. Instead, her eyes take on a cunning glint, and she goes in for the kill. “There’s been quite a bit of speculation about your new relationship floating around social media the past couple weeks. What, if any, impact has that attention had on your focus on the field?”
My blood boils at her audacity. But by some miracle, I keep my features neutral when I answer. “My personal life has always been and will always be just that—personal. My life off the field is separate from this.” I heft my bag onto my shoulder and dip my chin. “Thanks for the time, Andrea.” Duty served, I head out to the team bus to wait for the rest of the guys.
While I wait, I check my phone. There are several unread messages on our Lacey family thread and one from my friend Mel, my buddy Cordell’s girlfriend. She critiques my clothing choices before every game. I save those for later and tap on the name that steadies my heart and soothes my stress.
Brynn
I did a Google search for the most inspiring quotes about losing. But none of them felt right. So I’m going to send you an original Brynn Nelson quote instead, one composed just for you.
“You might have lost the game, but you’ve totally won my heart.”
Too cheesy? Perhaps. But a wise man once told me that I’m an amazing badass who can do anything. Surely that includes writing motivational quotes?
I miss you. See you soon.
Fuck, I love her.
She makes me laugh and eases my worries and turns me on, all at once.
The last-minute offer from the Blues was like a checkdown pass Beau relies on when his primary options are covered—it was mylast resort. A life preserver when I was drowning in uncertainty about my future in this sport. But that Hail Mary has not only given me another season of football. It’s given me the greatest gift of my life: Brynn.
I type out a quick reply.
You’re perfect, professor. Leaving for airport. Can’t wait to kiss you.
I nap for half of the four-hour flight home and spend the rest of the trip catching up on the latest chapter of Brynn’s book.
We land in Memphis after midnight, and then we’re shuttled back to the Blues’ facility, where our cars wait in the player lot. I’m gathering my things, ready to follow the guys off the bus, when someone up front makes an announcement.
“Coach called a brief meeting. Said it would take fifteen minutes, tops.”
A collective groan ripples through the bus. This is the last thing any of us want to do after that shit show of a game and the grueling journey home. We expect the ass-chewing tomorrow when we review game film, but to endure it tonight, too?
“Let’s get this over with.” Beau slaps my shoulder as we shuffle down the aisle.
To my surprise, Coach Mundy’s brief speech is upbeat. The dejected, disappointed expressions we wore when we entered the room are transformed by his words, and I’m in a much lighter mood when he’s through.
Until I encounter a jackass on my way out of the building.