Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (21 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

- Derek -

The weeks leading up to the Outback Bowl have been a blur for me.

I skipped all the holiday stuff with my family because I wanted to spend time with Jason. That of course meant actually
telling
them about Jason, and while both of my parents were supportive, my mom now texts me every other day telling me how much she can’t wait to meet her ‘future son-in-law.’

Christ.

So that’s going to be a thing when the season’s through. I’m not really nervous about my family meeting Jason, because I think they’ll love him. But I am nervous about him meeting them. He might decide it’s a little bit too much; that he doesn’t really want to do the whole domestic thing.

He’s been doing really well with recovery so far. Despite loosening his grip on football, he still comes to every therapy session with a crazy amount of intensity. I attend as many as I can with him, and help him exercise his knee under the therapist’s guidance.

It’s slow-going right now, because he’s still coming off of the surgery. He’s basically having to work on strengthening exercises and limiting the potential for injury.

Seeing the therapist work with him every day, and watching Jason go from frustration to confidence has honestly been pretty inspiring. The NFL has never really been on my radar—not since high school—but I’ve also never really decided what the hell I wanted to do with my life.

Until now.

True, I have a bowl game to get through, not to mention another year of school. I’ll probably end up busting my ass as a senior, just trying to get in the right classes to prepare for it. But I really want to work in PT.

Even if the scholarship doesn’t happen next year, I’m determined.

For now, though, I have a promise to keep.

The team bus took us to Tampa for the bowl game, and we’re facing off against Michigan. They’re ranked #5 in the country and, like us, they weren’t one of the teams invited to compete in the post-season tournament.

They’re favored to win by every major paper and network, but the guys are all planning for an upset.

As I suit up in Tigers blue and black for the last time this season, I feel like I’ve come a long way from that first practice jersey. Even getting on the field again was a struggle for me, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Jason. He’s a born coach, and I really hope he’ll consider it once we’re out of school.

Mostly, though, I’m feeling proud of myself because I haven’t freaked out yet about the fact that all of my teammates know about Jason and I. Yeah, I’ve probably lost some potential friends. Not like I’d want to hang out with those guys anyway, though, and I can deal with the fact that it sometimes gets quiet in the locker room when I walk by, or that Matthews has made a habit of learning more gay jokes so he can be sure to say them in front of me.

Whatever. As long as I still have Jason, that’s all I need.

Of course, I never anticipated getting actual notice outside of my teammates, and when a reporter barges into the locker room before the game, I’m as shocked as everybody else.

She easily gets lost in the sea of guys and lockers. They give a few predictable wolf whistles, but I hear Davies tell them to knock it the fuck off. As she looks around the locker room, I assume she’s trying to get an early scoop—a read on how morale is doing before the game, and what we’re planning as far as strategy is concerned.

She’s not going to get it. Coach has made sure we don’t breathe a word of it. I haven’t even been able to tell Jason.

But when the reporter’s eyes meet mine, I see recognition there. She pulls out her phone and comes right up to me like we’re best buds.

“Are you Derek Griffin?”

“That’s me,” I say, watching as she pulls up some kind of app.

The guys beside me stop what they’re doing, all in various states of undress. She doesn’t seem to care, and I’m guessing if she’s willing to duck inside the guy’s locker room before a big game, this isn’t her first rodeo.

“Sasha Everly, Orlando Sentinel. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind?”

I glance toward the coach’s office. Coach Garvey is in there with Coach Hanes and Coach Gonzales. None of them are paying attention to the locker room right now. If they were, security would definitely be on its way.

“You can ask. I can’t guarantee an answer.”

I expect her to ask about my stats or our plays or what I think of Michigan’s defense. Typical stuff.

But that’s definitely not what comes out of her mouth.

“How does it feel to be a gay player in Division-1 football?”

I just blink, half-gaping at her. She’s asking me about being gay? I look around to see if maybe the other guys are pranking me, but they look just as stunned.

“I…”

“Do you ever feel judged by your teammates, Mr. Griffin? Would you say football is an accepting sport?”

I don’t know what to say to any of that. I almost feel like I should have a lawyer present, or at least somebody who handles Eastshore’s PR. I look toward the coach’s office for help again, but they’re still busy.

“Great,” I hear Matthews say from a row over before he rounds the lockers. “Instead of focusing on the game, now every paper’s gonna call us ‘the team with the fag.’”

“Shut the fuck up, man,” Mills says.

“Is this the kind of reception you normally get?” She asks me.

“No, it isn’t,” Carter says. “Nobody here gives a shit. Griff is a good player, and whatever he chooses to do off the field is his business.”

“Speak for yourself, cocksucker,” Matthews continues.

I’ve never wanted to punch that asshole more than I do right now. Unfortunately, Mills beats me to it. 300 pounds of solid muscle channel into his fist and connect with Matthews’ face. He’s knocked off his feet and stumbles hard against the lockers.

Then he lunges for Mills.

That finally catches Coach Garvey’s attention, and he, Hanes, Gonzales, and a couple security guards break up a fight that now involves six different guys. Nobody notices the reporter until the dust clears, but soon after she’s escorted out of the locker room.

Holy shit. This was the last thing I wanted. And as I run out of the tunnel with the other guys less than a half hour later, it has me rattled.

But as soon as my number is called, the stadium just erupts in applause. I’m so inside my own head I don’t notice it at first, until West nudges me with his elbow and points up to the crowd.

It looks normal at first. Lots of signs. Foam fingers. Streamers. The sort of thing you would normally see at a bowl game, in both teams’ colors. But dotting the packed rows of people I see rainbow signs. Rainbow body paint. Rainbow everything.

From down here, it’s hard to make out what they say. When I look up at the screens, though, they’re focused on one sign in particular, and I can clearly read it:

We support Derek Griffin

The camera pans across a few others.
Football is For Fags
, written in a way that I’m guessing isn’t the same as how Matthews would mean it.
Eastshore Diversity Club Supports Derek Griffin. I Came Out Because Of You. You’re My Hero. My Dads Love You, Too.

Jesus. By the time they start focusing on the field instead of the crowd, I’ve practically got tears in my eyes.

I never wanted to be this guy, but if this is the positive side? Maybe it’s worth all the negatives.

With the crowd on my side, I play my fucking heart out.

It’s just the sort of thing I needed, since Jason isn’t here. His therapist didn’t think it was a good idea, and for once, Jason decided to not be stubborn. Mostly I think it was because of his dad’s suggestion that they could kick back with a few beers and watch the game together. So even though he isn’t here, I know he’s seeing every second of it.

I wonder how he’s reacting to the fact that the stadium roars every time I get a completion.

I know I feel fucking fantastic about it. I’ve never let the crowd get into my head before, but this time I think it’s helping me, and our whole team. Even though Michigan comes out with a strong start, scoring a TD that doesn’t go answered until the second quarter, we’re playing the best football we’ve ever played.

By the time we reach the half, we’re still trailing by 7, but we’ve managed to put 14 points on the board. One of those was from my run-in, and I thought I was going to go deaf from how loud that crowd was when the play was made.

Coach Garvey gets us fired up with one hell of a pep talk in the locker room, and there’s not a guy on the team who isn’t prepared to give it all they’ve got. Even Matthews has shut his fucking mouth for once and is focused on the game, finally working with me instead of against me.

The back-up QB, Taylor, is no Hawk, but he gets the ball down the field consistently and puts plenty of pressure on Michigan. Most of the third quarter crawls by with both defenses getting the job done, until the last two minutes when Taylor makes an amazing drive.

We’re set back by a penalty, though, and it becomes first and goal on the 20-yard line. The pressure’s on, and there’s no way he’s going to be able to run the ball in. Our running back is stopped both times, way short of the goal line, and we come up to it at third and 13.

Taylor calls for the audible and I switch places with Matthews in the backfield. I run toward the goal, but there’s a Michigan guy right on my ass, apparently managing to guess exactly when the ref’s back is turned. He grabs my jersey and even my mask once, and I try to shove him away, but he’s too strong.

On the other side of the field, Matthews is just as fucked.

Taylor is looking for someone to throw the ball to, and when I see it fly toward me, I wish to God he would’ve chosen Matthews, or just chucked it to a tight end. There’s no way Michigan isn’t going to pick it off, and the best I can hope for now is a touchback.

I do what I can, and out of the corner of my eye I watch one of the linemen sprint faster than I’ve ever seen before. The guy covering me doesn’t see it coming. He’s taken down and I can hear the wind get knocked out of him. It’s such a fucking shock that I almost don’t catch the ball.

Almost.

I leap for it, jumping over the tangle of players, then pivot to the side. I run it in, and it seems like everyone’s on their feet in the stands.

This could’ve so easily been a repeat of high school. My heart thuds in my chest as I jog off to the sidelines, my teammates patting me on the back. They were there for me. Throughout this whole game, they’ve been there for me. To them, I wasn’t ‘the gay football player.’

I was just another guy working his ass off, determined to win.

In the end, it came down to a field goal late in the fourth quarter. We pulled ahead by 3, and got it to stick as the clock ran out. Final score: Eastshore 24, Michigan 21.

I knew everyone would call it luck, but most of us played career games. We were the best we’ve ever been, and when I was handed the MVP trophy, I truly believed I’d deserved it. All of the blood, sweat, and tears had been worth it.

But I knew I wouldn’t be here without one specific person.

So, standing up there at the podium, with cameras flashing in my eyes, I tell the world the truth.

“I’d like to thank the players and coaches who worked with me this season to help me get where I am today. But I want to dedicate this award to the real MVP: Jason Hawkins. Hawk couldn’t be here with us tonight. I know he’s watching this at home, and probably yelling at his TV right now,” I say with a grin, already knowing it’s only going to get worse.

I’m riding high on a mix of adrenaline and euphoria, and I’m fucking giddy. Raising the trophy up, I look straight into the nearest camera.

“You gave this team your all, so this trophy belongs to you. I love you, J.” After a beat, I add, “And there’s no take-backs on national TV, so deal with it.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

- Jason -

I can’t believe he said that. On national fucking TV.

Holy. Shit.

Derek Griffin loves me.

It doesn’t matter how I run it through my head, I can’t get over it. I just sit there, staring at the TV, all these emotions rolling through me at once. Trampling over every thought, every sense, everything I am.

It takes me the entire commercial break to realize I’m not just watching this at my dorm where I’m completely alone. I’m watching it at my dad’s place, and he’s sitting right here in his recliner while I’m on the couch.

He saw the game. He cheered and swore right along with me. Yelled at the refs for bogus calls. Lost his shit when drives were stopped just short of a first down.

And he saw my boyfriend confess his love for me in front of an audience of journalists and sportscasters.

I glance over at him, and he’s already looking at me. I wonder how long he’s been that way, just cautiously watching my reaction. Maybe he’s waiting for me to look happy or mad or something inbetween.

Right now, I’m still in shock.

“Hell of a way to accept an MVP award,” he says simply.