Red Flag (FSCU Pitbulls Book 2) Page 15

  Everyone but me decides the contest is a tie and we all dirty dance but it’s in good fun. He’s got a girl back home and I got Jackson. Laughing we slow dance and talk about our future. He’s got a hi-tech government job in computer security waiting for him.

  Too much to drink, I get a little weepy explaining how my Dad wants me to take over his practice.

  “Star, you gotta do what you gotta do. If you want to be a psychologist, go for it. Otherwise, there’s a whole lot of other ways to help people out. You could get a Master’s degree and be a social worker. Or, use your grandmother’s money and get a degree in something completely different.”

  I kiss him on the cheek, for being so understanding. “Thanks, Paul. Appreciate it.”

  He laughs. “Ever wonder why we never hooked up?”

  “I guess we’re too competitive. I always want all the drum solos.”

  “Shit. If I had known, I would’ve never tried out.” He smoothly takes my arm and leads me back to where the rest of the marching band is sitting.

  The guys onstage start another set, I grab Kira’s hand, and we dance until the place shuts down.

  Chapter 30

  Jackson

  Fuck it all.

  Star’s kissing some guy on the cheek in some nightclub in Atlanta. The picture has been posted onto my Facebook account. Her pink hair is down, face flushed, and she’s giving him the smile reserved for me

  What the hell? I asked her to marry me and she agreed. This isn’t the way an engaged woman acts. She should be eating popcorn in front of her computer, renting movies on Netflix. I don’t have time for this shit.

  After we win the championship, the Combines are next, then the draft. She knows how important this is to me. Why would she fuck me over? Obviously, she’s nowhere near as serious as I am.

  Can I blame her? Shit.

  During practice, I miss a throw a five-year-old could’ve caught so Chris calls me off the field and we take a walk.

  “What’s going on?”

  I show him the post on my illegal phone and he shrugs. “Did you talk to her about it?”

  “No.”

  “Really? I thought you guys were tight.” He throws me a Gatorade and I drink it down, sweat pouring off me in the hot southern sun.

  “Me, too.”

  “Well… Tomorrow’s the big game. I think you ought to…” He stops when two guys in suits show up on the field.

  Coach motions us over. “Jackson, these guys want to talk with you. They’re with the NFL draft commission.”

  My heart thumps. Is this how it happens? I get thrown out on my ass right before the big game?

  They stop inside the locker room and we all take a seat on a bench. One guy I recognize from the Miami Dolphins. The other is familiar but I can’t place him.

  “CJ told us what happened but we wanted to hear it from you.” When the heavier of the two frowns, I take a deep breath, and start from where everything went south last summer.

  “Me and my cousin Egan are close. He’s the little brother I never had. You know? His dad lost his job last summer and his mom is working part time. She makes too much to get Medicaid and too little to afford insurance.”

  I dig my cleat into the floor and pause while I think what to say next. “They dipped into his sister’s college fund to keep him in insulin and it tore him up so bad, he started rationing, hoping to make it last further. I was the one who found him. The doctor said had I arrived five minutes later, he probably would’ve died.”

  I stand and pace, knowing my whole future is on the line and knowing I’m no good with words. “At first, I applied for credit cards. When those maxed out, I got a few bucks together and used it to do a little online gambling. I won enough to buy a couple months’ worth of shots. Then, I didn’t do so good for a while and borrowed from a shark in Savannah. I figured I’d pay him back as soon as I got hired but he wanted payment a lot faster than we agreed.”

  I go on to explain about the three goons they sent to rough me up and my black belt in martial arts.

  Not wanting to rat Chris out, I stretch the truth about how I found James. “Out of the blue, this guy calls and says if I let him be my trainer, he’ll pay my bills. Come to find out, he wanted fifteen percent of me. So, CJ stepped in, payed everyone off, and he went to you guys with my shit show.”

  “That’s pretty much it.” I sit and put my head in my hands, waiting for the ax to fall.

  “Is CJ taking care of your cousin?”

  “Yes sir. Until I get a job. Then, I’ll start paying him back. Coach is a real good man, the best.”

  They share a look with one another and nod.

  I can’t read what they’re thinking and it scares the shit out of me. “Can I ask what you’re going to do?”

  “We’ll let you know.” When they stand, I start sweating bullets.

  “Can I play in the championship game?”

  “It’s not up to us, it’s up to the college commission. You talk to them yet?”

  “No sir. Coach said he’d vouch for me.” I wipe my wet palms on my sweats.

  “You’re probably good then.”

  Shit. Probably? “Can I compete in the Combines?”

  “We need to take a vote and get back to you.”

  I guess my face looks pretty devastated because one of the suits slaps me on the back. “Guys have done a lot worse than you and not ruined their career. It looks good you spoke up and your reasons are admirable. Your honesty counts for a lot. We’ll get back to you next week.”

  First my girl, now my future.

  What the fuck else could go wrong?

  I come back onto the field after the men take off. A few guys give me a questioning look so I grin and wave. Let them think some local talent scouts were checking me out. Better that than them knowing how badly I’ve screwed up my life.

  Chucking my burner phone into the garbage, I focus on the game. From here on, nothing else matters. If some pink haired girl really cares, I’ll find out in the next few weeks but hell if I’ll go running after her.

  She knows how I feel but kissed some other guy.

  I suck up the pain and bottle it for another time because I got a game to win. Single-mindedly I prepare for the game and when the day comes, me, Ryan, and the rest of the team are ready.

  As we jog onto the field, a drum cadence tugs on the edges of my focus but I quickly shut it down. While my friend waves to the bleachers, my eyes shoot toward CJ and Chris urging us to huddle.

  We say a short prayer, shout, and jog to the middle of the field. The referee tosses the coin, Atlanta wins, and defers to the second half. So, we decide to let them kick-off. As the ball flies through the air, I venture a glance at our quarterback, who seems unusually nervous.

  Me? I’m in the zone.

  The ball makes it to the end zone and sails into my arms. From there, it’s placed on the twenty-five yard line.

  When we face our opposition, some of Alabama’s guys look like they’re just shy of thirty and my winning mindset wavers. However, our first play is so fucking bold, they never see it coming. Poised at the line of scrimmage, I change places with Jose but it’s all for show. Ryan calls, I dash down the field with my arms held high, and three guys follow, leaving my pal a small hole to run through.

  With most eyes on me, my pal runs up the field and holy shit. Touchdown!

  Closest to him, I slap him on the ass as we trot toward where the guys line up. Quest punts and the ball sails dead center between the goal posts.

  Pissed, our nemesis removes all stops and controls the ball for the rest of the first half. CJ told us to expect this and our defense team gets a bruising. Ryan and I watch from the sidelines, screaming out to our teammates and urging them on.

  Cheerleaders shout during a timeout in tempo to a drum cadence I recognize too well but I force my concentration to the field. Like trying not to think of pink elephants, a vision of her pretty face as she cums floats into my brain.

&nbs
p; Angry, I crush my Gatorade bottle, stand, and search her out. Is she kissing the percussionist? Hell, they sit right next to each other, knees touching on the bleachers. This is so fucked up.

  Coach glances at me, brows furrowed.

  Yeah, I get it. I’m with you. No distractions. Tell it to the damned drummer.

  One second on the clock, Alabama scores but misses the extra point. Then, it’s half-time.

  Inside the locker room, our defense team is looking pretty beat up while Coach goes over our strategy. He brings out our playbook and using a white board, maps out our moves.

  “We good?”

  The response is half-hearted so he shouts out, “I said, are we good?”

  “Hell yeah!” I thump my fist in the air.

  Break over, we’re soon back outside with the sun at our backs. It’s a small advantage but I’ll take it. We maintain a one point lead as the ball changes hands for the last time in the third quarter. At the start of the fourth, we’re behind.

  In huddle, Ryan makes the call and I grin.

  We’re going to do this. Fuck yeah.

  To most observers, it looks likes Ryan’s getting rid of the ball so as not to get sacked but the opposition is taking no chances. Faster than anyone in the league, I got a great head start. I jump like a fucking toad, arms reach high, and I catch his throw.

  There’s about a half-second to gloat before I fall hard with three guys landing on top, forcing the air out of my lungs. I curl up in a fetal position as a few fists crack my ribs.

  Dazed, I hold on tight as someone tries to tug the ball out of my grasp.

  “Son? Let go.”

  When I open my eyes, the concerned referee squats by my side. My teammates are there, too. Damn. I may have blacked out for a second.

  Remembering scouts in the bleachers, I force a grin, despite the ribs. I’m no wimp. I grasp Ryan’s forearm and we high five as the crowd goes fucking wild. Star plays her drum and without thinking I wave in her direction and throw her a kiss.

  Alabama signals their last timeout which is good because I need a minute to catch my breath.

  “Holy shit, bro. Amazing catch.”

  “A little higher and I’d need fucking wings.” I slap him on the back.

  The next minutes are tense. With three yards to go, Ryan calls his favorite play and although I think he’s out of his mind, I high five him.

  He makes the call, fakes a throw, and then launches. Alabama grabs his ankle but Jose sees it and hits the guy from behind, essentially helping Ryan across the line.

  The stadium erupts, Alabama throws a red flag but the play is good.

  With no timeouts left, the clock winds down. The opposition tries for a long throw but they miss and the buzzer goes off.

  We win the fucking championship.

  Chapter 31

  Star

  Despite our win, Mr. Miller refuses to let us take the field. Instead, we’re piled onto a bus, driven to the airport, and back to FSCU.

  Me and Kira share excited stories about the game and worry if our guys got hurt. On wifi, we watch their interviews until the steward tells us to shut down all electronics.

  “For sure, that long pass will get Ryan into the NFL.” I open a package of gum and offer some to my friend.

  She unwraps the stick and pops it in her mouth. “I heard an announcer say how the play will be talked about and studied for years. He was predicting our guys may tie for most outstanding player.”

  My heart pounds as I recall the last pileup. “You think Jackson was hurt? He limped off the field.”

  Chewing, Kira shakes her head. “Hard to say. Didn’t he call you?”

  “No, which is weird. He always texts me. I haven’t heard anything for the last few days. You?”

  “No.” My friend sighs, grabs the instructions, and follows along while the stewardess recites what to do in case we crash.

  Peppermint explodes in my mouth when I bite down. “I suppose I should get used to this. Playing for the NFL will be even worse. I might not see him for months.”

  “Wait, did I miss something?” Her eyes go wide.

  “He asked me to marry him and I said yes.”

  Kira squeals and hugs me. “That is so awesome, tell me everything.”

  I do then add, “…but I’m not sure he really understands. I’m afraid, after the dust settles, he won’t want a med student for a wife.” I sigh and lean back in my chair, wondering how I’ll go on without him.

  When I land, my Dad texted so I call him as we taxi to the gate. He doesn’t follow football so something else is up.

  “Your mom is back in rehab.”

  No surprise there. “Uh-huh.”

  “She’s going to need your support when she gets out. I was hoping you would consider taking classes online next year.”

  I say nothing.

  “It would only be for a couple semesters. It might mean the difference between her staying sober and not.”

  “I’ll think about it, okay?”

  “She missed you at Christmas. I think that’s what sent her over the edge.”

  In the past, I might’ve felt guilty but something inside has changed. Maybe it’s the shitload of books I’ve been reading or the hundreds of websites on alcoholic families. Perhaps, it was Jackson’s family, full of unconditional love, something I thought I knew but after meeting them, I realized my family doesn’t come close.

  I take a deep breath so I can think before responding. “Mom’s been drinking for years. I won’t take responsibility for her last relapse, Dad. Neither should you. Listen, we’re approaching the gate. I need to go. Talk later, bye.”

  Kira gives me a knowing squeeze. Her family’s not much better which is probably why we’re so close.

  We share an Uber back to our apartment and collapse in front of the TV until bed. Much later, she gets a call from Ryan and I wait for mine from Jackson but it never comes.

  Three days later, I’m still getting the silent treatment. I want to share my misery with Kira but she’s all into this journalism assignment which is about to break, maybe even go national.

  Alone in my apartment, I study and eat chocolate mint ice cream. I’ve been texting him for a week and finally say uncle. The least he could do is grow a pair and break up with me.

  I have to hear it from my bestie. He’s quit school to focus on the Combines.

  At the news, my heart crumbles and I watch myself go through the stages of grief; a bystander in my own case study.

  I’ve already gone through the first stage. Last week I kept thinking he’d text any minute. I believed he lost his phone. From there, I decided he was merely having second thoughts and needed some space.

  Every night, I stayed awake, phone in hand, waiting for him to contact me.

  After denial, comes anger. In the mirror, my pink hair pisses me off so I call a hairdresser. She dyes it close to my natural blond and I have her cut it short.

  I delete his numbers, remove his pictures from my phone and for the first time in weeks, log into Facebook to change my status back to single.

  Oh my God. Is that why he broke up with me?

  My drummer friend posted a picture of me the night we all got wasted. I planted a kiss on his cheek and if you didn’t know we were simply band-buddies, and how he’s crazy about his girl back home…

  Shit.

  Well, fuck you Jackson Farnsworth. If he saw a photo and wondered about it, he should’ve said something to me. I block him on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram. This was a warning to me. Time to grow up and get serious about life.

  I’m not Cinderella nor am I marrying some famous NFL player and living happily ever after. What I am, is a slightly dysfunctional, pre-med student who has some crazy notion she can help people. Which is weird because I can’t even help myself.

  My dad’s been on my back about coming home for Easter but I still got a month to decide. I’m not sure I want that, either.

  Time is supposed to heal all wo
unds but for me, it’s not so. Every time I pass the amphitheater, the Student Union, and his dorm, tears drip down my cheeks. Hoping for a call from a burner phone, I answer every incoming call, barraged with offers for credit cards, home financing, and time shares in the Bahamas.

  When I hang up on the last one, I sit on the curb, put my face in my knees, and weep. I am officially grieving and it hurts so bad I wish I were dead.

  Scared how my thoughts have reached such a low, I call Mrs. Griswold. “Got time for me?”

  Chapter 32

  Jackson

  Now that I don’t have to worry about classes, I focus on my game. Assistant coach Chris, my new trainer, expects nothing less than perfection and we work from dawn to bedtime.

  He might suspect something is up with my girl but his answer is to keep my brain so occupied and my body so numb, all I can do is eat, sleep, and workout.

  It doesn’t even register the Combines have actually arrived until I land in Vegas. Like some kind of racehorse, I’m examined from teeth to my toenails. The teams ask a lot of personal questions, too. Some, about Star which I figure is none of their business.

  “She’s just a girl, okay.”

  It’s best they don’t know how pink turns me into a lunatic. She said she’d marry me and the first time were apart, she kissed some other guy.

  When they let me have a break, I call my Dad.

  “How’s it going?” It’s great to hear a friendly voice.

  “God help me, if one more doctor fucking prods me I’m going to take his stick and shove it up his ass.”

  Dad chuckles. “You never were very good with doctors. I was surprised you started dating one.”

  “Pre-med. And we broke up.” I take the little plastic cup with a lid and walk it to the restroom.

  “I’m sorry. When?”

  I lock the door. “She cheated on me.”

  “You sure? She didn’t seem like that kind of girl.”

  I put the cup in the urinal and text him the Facebook post.

  “You’re kidding. That’s why you broke up.” My dad’s incredulous tone pisses me off.