Isolation Play (Dev and Lee) (46 page)

Dev texts me as I’m pouring wine into a Firebirds mug.
HOME SOON
is all he says. I prepare myself and wait.

Lousy fucking week. Lousy mornings, lousy practices, lousy evenings. I was already in a bad mood Tuesday. Spent the morning stewing about my family and still couldn’t get up the nerve to call my mother. Got to the stadium an hour early, spent it punching the punching bag in the weight room. I’m not worn out by any means, but I’m a little looser by the time I head back to the locker room to get dressed.

And fucking Corey’s there. I’d thought he wouldn’t be back for another week, at least. I don’t even see him, at first. The distraction of the weight room is wearing off, dropping me back into the funk I was in all day Monday when I hear, “Yeah, I’ll be starting again in a couple weeks.”

I recognize the voice, but can’t place it until I turn around and see the tall cougar, arm taped up, bragging to Carson. “I’m rehabbing way ahead of schedule,” Corey says. “Doc says he’s never seen anything like it.” The leopard’s pulling his uniform on, paying little attention to Corey.

I flick my ears around, away from him, and catch a snatch of conversation from a few lockers away: a sharp vulpine voice, purposefully loud. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen in this locker room in weeks.”

It’s Colin, talking to Zillo. The coyote doesn’t react to Colin, but he does catch my eye, his ears flat. I shrug, and he nods in return. His paw makes a quick thumbs-up gesture, which I acknowledge with a smile.

Corey’s standing near me when I turn around, dressed. He pretends it’s just chance. “Oh, hey there, Miski,” he says. “Not bad, huh? Thanks for filling in.” I don’t answer. He flexes his arm. “Coach says maybe I can get a couple series against New Kestle next week. I wanna see that stag again.”

“
I’m sure he’d love that too,” I say. My paw curls into a fist, but I keep from punching the locker.

“
No hard feelings,” he says.

“
Why should there be? If you earn the job back, you earned it. No hard feelings.”

I toss the towel at him. He lets it fall past him to the floor. “How’s those ribs feeling?”

I brush my brace and tape through my jersey. “This is just precautionary. You know how it is.”

Pike steps in beside me. “Dev’s fine,” he growls.

Corey looks up at the big white bear. His assurance wavers a bit. “Geez,” he says. “Suck a little cock and you can get anyone to defend you.”

“
Oh yeah?” Pike says imaginatively. The other guys around Corey look away. Some take a step back.

I grab the bear’s arm. “Let him go.” In my head, I hear my father say,
Devlin the faggot
.

“
You won’t have to settle for him for much longer,” Corey says to Pike.

He doesn’t respond, but I do. “Sorry, I gotta go.
Starters
are practicing.” I follow Gerrard out, feeling Corey’s glare on my back.

After five minutes of practice, I almost walk off the field. My ribs ache, even with the brace. I can’t get my father’s words out of my head. Fuck, is there ever going to be a time when my fucking personal life doesn’t interfere with football? I anticipate Steez’s growls, Gerrard’s piercing looks, and I think, I’ll be damned if I’ll let my father interfere with my life that way. I hear Lee telling me that I’m going to play football. I clench my fists. Damn right I am. Fuck the ribs.

The station practices, from one drill to another, help me focus. All you have to do is one thing: grab a ball, tackle a lineman, strip the ball from a runner. Mindless, repetitive tasks: exactly what I need. I punch, run, and tackle single-mindedly, leaving family behind. It takes me half an hour, with Steez’s help, to figure out how to block without slamming into the injured rib. After a few hours at the stations, it’s time for lunch.

Without the distraction of football, I brood over the two plain burgers on my plate and grunt replies to my teammates. They leave me alone. The afternoon doesn’t require any talking: more drills. I’m exhausted at the end of it, but I run six laps around the field, even though my side’s hurting again. I don’t want to wait in the locker room, where I might have to talk to someone.

Despite my efforts, Gerrard’s waiting for me when I walk in. I go right to my locker, panting. “Whatever’s goin’ on,” he says, walking up beside me, “leave it off the field.”

“
Am I not?” I throw my helmet viciously into the back of the locker.

“
You’re doing fine,” he says. “Some of the guys just noticed, that’s all.”

“
If I’m doing fine, then what’s the problem?” I snap.

He puts both paws up, pads out. “I’m just sayin’.”

Charm, of course, comes over right then, carrying a towel, naked. “Looked like your panties were all in a bunch.”

“
Fuck off.” It feels good to let out steam.

“
Hey,” Charm says to Gerrard, “you think if we can get the Highbourne guys to call him a pussy, he’ll be this pissed at them?”

“
You’re doing fine,” Gerrard says. “Just keep it that way. Don’t let it get worse.”

I laugh, and slam my fist into the locker. “Can’t get no worse. So don’t worry.”

Gerrard gives me one last look and then grabs his things from his locker. Charm, who has been waiting for me to shower, hangs around. “This ain’t about Corey, is it?”

“
What?” I look around the locker room, but of course Corey isn’t here. I forgot about him hours ago.

“
That’s what Coach Junior is worried about,” Charm says. “Thinks you think Corey’s just gonna take your spot.”

“
So why doesn’t he just tell me he’s not?”

Charm shrugs. “Ain’t his decision, is it?”

“
I guess not.” I sag against the locker.

“
You gonna shower with your pants on?”

I glare at him. “You going to walk around all evening with your dick hanging out?”

He grabs it with his towel hand and punches my shoulder with the other. “’Kay then.” With that, he heads off to the shower. I stare after him, shaking my head, and then follow.

My lighter mood lasts only as long as it takes to get in my truck and get home. I grab dinner at the spaghetti place and call Lee. He’s trying real hard to get me to cheer up, talking about maybe me coming up there for Thanksgiving for a change of scenery. And hell, I think, nobody’s going to be practicing. Why not? But I can’t make myself be enthusiastic about agreeing. I can’t stop thinking about Dad, about Mom and Gregory, about not having dinner with them for the first Thanksgiving ever.

It reminds me of the feeling I had when I thought I might have to leave football, when I was thinking about coming out and the risk in that. Lee says it’ll only be for this year, me missing Thanksgiving. I can’t help feeling like shit at even missing one. He asks if I’ve called my mom yet, and I haven’t, because I don’t know what I’d say to her. I can barely think of what to say to Lee, except that football’s going fine and getting back to it will be the best thing for me.

Hearing him go from cheerful to discouraged, no matter how well he tries to hide it, is almost as bad as lying down on my broken ribs. It feels like the whole world is dimming around me. The spaghetti tastes bland. The garlic bread is dry and stale, not at all like their usual. Everything on TV is uninspired. I play some rounds of UFL Football and lose every game. I know none of that is my fault, not like the hurt in Lee’s voice, but I can’t snap myself out of it. Not without football to distract me.

Corey joins the linebackers for practice on Wednesday. He’s a step slow, and he doesn’t know a lot of our plays. Still, he shows a lot of energy. Steez says he could see limited time in the backup spot as soon as next week. To keep myself focused, I watch him in drills, looking for the things he does well. I make it my personal mission to do everything just a little better than he does. This week, that’s easy. Next week, I’m sure, it’ll be a little harder.

Ogleby calls after practice. I tell him to leave me alone until next week. Miracle of miracles, he does. Charm, Gerrard, and even Pike try to draw me out, before, during, and after practice. I don’t push them away; I just don’t respond.

Thursday, Friday, Saturday, all the same. Lie in bed in the morning brooding until I can go to the stadium. Wear myself out in practice. Eat dinner alone. Talk to Lee for a short or long time, because the aches don’t come when I’m talking to him. Feel better briefly. Fall into bed and sleep.

And then Sunday, game day, finally comes. We’re all energized for the Rocs, or we should be. I feel it, but it’s a weak shadow of what I felt last Sunday. I know Lee’s in the stands watching today. I look for him, but he’s in the shadow of the deck, at the top of the lower level. Hard to see back there.

I know he’s there, and that’s what matters. I don’t let myself slip. I’m going to prove myself for him, prove my dad wrong, prove to Corey that he can’t just walk in and take my spot. And I do pretty well. The Rocs are all business, quiet and efficient. I make some plays and I miss some plays. We hold them in check pretty well, but their defense is just a little better, or our offense just a little worse. We’re up 10-6 at the half, but it doesn’t feel like we’re winning. Jaws got one touchdown run, and they clamped down after that. He’s not finding any holes to run through. Aston keeps rushing his throws because they’re bringing pressure every down.

Coach’s halftime speech is encouraging, and the mood of the team gets pretty positive, except for me. Gateway is the only really tough team we’ve beaten, and a win here would do a lot to build belief in ourselves. And all we gotta do is keep doing what we’re doing.

Then the otter rips off that fucking run past Carson, and that deflates us. We stay close to them all second half, but the whole team can kinda feel we’re not going to make it. It’s a fog that settles on you, no matter how much you fight. Your legs feel heavier. Your reflexes feel slower. It’s not just me; everyone’s a half-step off.

The bright side is I’m working better with Gerrard. Least, I think I am, and he doesn’t yell at me once the whole game. And the focus of game time, of running the plays and anticipating the other side, dulls the edge of my family troubles. But although we do the best we can, Gerrard and I aren’t on the field when Aston’s last pass sails long. Time runs out. The scoreboard reads Firebirds 17, Rocs 20.

We march out to congratulate the other team. It’s been weeks since we had to do that. Any good feeling I had from how well Gerrard, Carson and I are meshing is lost in the oppressive gloom of defeat. I’m exchanging meaningless words with a cougar on the defense who has some good moves when I feel a paw on my shoulder.

I turn. It takes me a minute to remember the white wolf standing there, the setting sun pink on his white fur. He looks familiar, but the navy and russet is throwing me off. Then he holds up two fingers and grins. “Two and oh against you now,” he says.

“
Seito.” He nods, his grin widening. “Yeah, you wore that headset like a pro. Why don’t they have you starting yet?”

“
Ah,” he waves in the direction of the all-star wolf at the center of a mob of microphones and cameras, “they got this old guy they like. How you doing?”

“
Keeping the D-II spirit alive.”

“
Amen.” He squints up at me. “Were you gay, like, all through college?”

I glance around. Everyone else is busy with their own thing. “Not all through. Just the last year or so.”

He bobs his head. “Awesome. Still with the same guy? Don’t hear much about him.”

“
Yeah.”

“
Cool.” He leans in and says, in a quick, low voice, “Text me in the off-season if you ever wanna double-date.”

I blink. His brown eyes sparkle with sunlight as he steps back and winks. “You...?”

He puts a finger to the front of his muzzle. “Shh. D-II spirit.”

“
All right.” I grab his paw and clasp it tightly. “Good game.”

I’m still trying to process Seito outing himself to me, if that is what he did, when we gather in the locker room. Coach reminds us that he doesn’t like losing. “Got a road trip coming up,” he says. “New Kestle, Hellentown, and Port City.” We murmur. Port City’s leading their division. They and Hellentown went to the playoffs last year. “This road trip is where our character will be tested. I know this team has character, that every one of you has the heart of a winner. None of you has anything to be ashamed of after this game, but now you know you need to be sharper, harder, faster. I know we can do it! Are we? Are we?”

“
Yeah!” We yell. For a moment, the energy of the team that we’ve had for the last month comes back.

“
All right. We’re gonna be away from home for three weeks. We want to try staying on the east coast the whole time. Let’s use this road trip to come together as a team. Practice tomorrow. Friday we fly to New Kestle to start a new win streak.”

“
We need the extra practice,” Gerrard says to me as we’re dressing, post-shower. I’m holding my cell phone, deciding whether to turn it on. Lee knows when I’ll be home, and I don’t want to talk to anyone else. I drop it in my pocket, still off.

“
Speak for yourself, Coach,” Charm says. “Did you see me kick right over their rabbit, number 92? Thought he could block me.”

“
We,” Gerrard says, indicating him and me, “need the extra practice.”