“What does it mean?” Riley cries. My phone is blowing up, but Ellie answers for me.
“A selection committee of sorts decides who is in the playoffs. Ever since the loss four weeks ago, the Warriors have dominated. Today, the top ranked team lost to an unranked one, and by a big margin.” She gestures toward the television. “The rest of top-rated teams looked hamstrung and confused today.”
“When will we know?” Riley leans forward eagerly.
“Tomorrow,” Ellie answers. “The slate will be set tomorrow.”
I’m glad that this is the one day of the season they don’t make us wait until Tuesday for the rankings. Ellie’s correct. The final four BCS teams will be announced on Sunday, just one day away.
I don’t know if Riley or Jack sleep at all. I can’t. I keep waking Ellie for sex because I’ve got so much nervous energy. Around dawn, she kicks me out.
“Go run. I cannot have your dick inside me one more time.”
“I could lick you,” I say hopefully.
She slams a pillow over her head. “Seriously, I think another orgasm would feel painful.”
Reluctantly, I leave her and go run. I’m not even tired after ten miles, so I go to the weight room. I’m not the only one there. Matty’s doing deadlifts. I go over to spot him.
“The wait is fucking excruciating.”
“I know it.”
Grimly, he gestures for me to put another plate on the bar. “I’m hoping to lift myself into a stupor. Don’t stop me until the news comes out.”
I go to the bench press and hope I can do the same. After a couple of hours, the strength coach makes us leave. Matty and I go back to the house and play Madden with the boys. If I go home to Ellie, I’m afraid I’ll attack her, and then I’ll be divorced before the playoffs start.
Around supper time, the phone rings again.
“You gonna answer it?” Matty demands.
Part of me doesn’t want to. As long as I don't know there's still hope. But then I give myself a head slap and pick up my phone.
“I sent you a text. Read it,” Coach says and hangs up.
I pull up the messages. It’s a message from the BCS committee. I scan it. Then read it again. Then read it for a third time. I get up, walk into the kitchen, and put my phone in the far corner. Everyone goes silent. Matty’s hand freezes halfway between the Dorito bag and his mouth.
“You have to stop eating that shit food, Matty boy, because the Western State Warriors are fucking fourth seed.”
His hand opens and chips spill onto the floor. I couldn’t care less.
“You're shitting me?”
“No.”
“Fuck, yes!” He punches the air. Someone else flips the coffee table over. In less than five minutes, chips, beer, soda, and furniture are all strewn about the apartment as the guys hug, back slap, and throw shit around in unrestrained rapture. My smile stretches wide as a football field.
We are in.
38
Ellie
Post Game: Warriors 13-1
At the knock on the door, I smooth back my hair back and straighten Knox’s home jersey. The Warriors were the away team at tonight’s playoff game. They had easily won their conference title and with the win tonight stood only one game away from the National Championship Title. I check the peephole and a good-looking face—minus the close-set eyes and slightly crooked jaw—grins at me.
“Really?” I drawl as I swing the door open. “You think wearing his tie will confuse me.”
Ty self-consciously adjusts said tie. “Are you going to let me in?”
“Fine.” I leave the door open and walk back to the television, where the commentators talk about Western State’s national championship opponent. Ty doesn’t come over and sit with me on the sofa.
He closes the door and then stands by it, staring at me.
“You’re making me uncomfortable, Ty.” I make a face at him. “Do I have eye liner on my nose or something?”
“You really can tell us apart, can’t you.”
It’s not so much a question as a strange lament. He sounds almost mournful that I can see through his little games and tricks.
“Yes.”
“How?”
“It’s obvious.” I don’t tell him he’s not as attractive as his brother because these boys have big, but tender egos.
“I came too early, didn’t I? None of the team came back, so you knew it was me.”
If that makes you feel better. Actually, no, I’m not letting him off the hook. “Jack came by twenty minutes ago.” I point to the clock. “I figured Knox got cornered in the lobby by some enthusiastic booster.”
Ty gets up and begins to pace. “Is it the way I talk? My time in the South has given me an accent, that it?”
“I think the time in the southern sun has baked your brain silly,” I say. “Why does it matter? Isn’t it a good thing?”
“Not for me.” He frowns.