A captain’s relationship with his teammates is an emotional bond. I'd sawed a notch in it by letting my emotions affect my mental sharpness. We'd repaired it, but I have to step lightly or run the risk of damaging it again. Like Ellie said the day we first met, winning is about the head and the heart. Not so much the body.
So I’m careful with my response. “When have I ever gotten discouraged by a setback? If you don’t sack the quarterback the first time, do you give up?” He shakes his head slowly. “Right, you keep going. It doesn’t matter if the guy on the line weighs a hundred pounds more than you and plays like the second coming of Gene Upshaw, that quarterback is yours. You dictate the play at the line of scrimmage even if it takes you the entire game. The whistle hasn’t blown for me. This thing between Ellie and me isn’t over.”
“When will it be over?”
“We will never be over.” I don’t raise my voice. I don’t say the words with any force, but there’s nothing I’ve ever said with more conviction. Matty recognizes that.
He blows out a stream of air that turns white in the November chill. “I don't want to fall for any chick then, if that’s what it’s like.”
It's my turn to look astonished. “You'll endure non-stop training and excruciating post game pain. You don’t mind cracked ribs, joint pain, or the bone deep bruises you have to treat with a motherfucking ice bath that’s so cold that your balls try to climb inside your asshole. You’re okay with all of that for one moment of triumph, but you won't suffer a few weeks of heartache to gain a lifetime of real happiness?”
He looks uncertain. “I don't feel that way about anything but football.”
I clap him on the shoulder. “That's because you haven't found the right one.” I shove his beanie over his eyes and walk toward my own class. Behind me I hear Matty’s footsteps.
“You think there is a right one? For me?” His voice sounds halfway between hope and fear.
I grin evilly. “Yeah, and I bet she wrings your balls, Iverson.”
He drops his hand to cover his groin, but his face still shows interest. He’s on board, which means the rest of the guys will fall in line…except for possibly Jack.
I nab him after film on Tuesday.
“Hey, Campbell. Got a minute?”
He pauses in the hallway outside the film room. The other offensive players brush by us. “Sure.” He doesn’t sound enthused.
I get straight to the point. “Your sister’s number is disconnected. I need her new one.”
“No, you don’t.” He turns to leave.
I grab his arm and lower my voice. “Ace told me about your meeting. I don’t want to jeopardize your playing time. I just want to talk to her.”
He jerks out of my grasp. “You think I fucking care about playing football more than I care about my sister’s wellbeing? Fuck you, Masters.”
As he stomps away, I rub a hand through my hair. That didn’t go as I had planned. Jack might be someone I need to address later, after all the pieces are in place.
I stake out the apartment and follow Riley to class on Wednesday morning instead of Ellie. “Riles, Ellie’s phone is disconnected.”
“Are you following me? Because stalking is deemed a violation of the honor code. An honor code violation would mean you can’t play on Saturday, and gosh, wouldn’t that be terrible?” The expression on her face says that me being suspended would make her day.
“I just want to talk to Ellie,” I coax.
“Has your number changed?” she asks.
Confused, I reply, “No.”
“Then if she wants to talk to you, she can call you, can’t she?”
Perhaps Riley doesn’t know about the ban, but before I can clarify things for her, she slips into her class.
What had I said to Matty about not getting down in the face of defeat? Once again my words come back to slap me in the face. On Thursday I go back to Jack who ignores me as much as possible. Given that we play on opposite sides of the ball, watch different film, have different specialty coaches, it’s actually pretty easy for him to pretend I don’t exist.
That is, it would be easy if I wasn’t constantly up in his business.
“What do you want Masters?” he finally relents on Friday when I sit on the porch of his house and refuse to leave. Ace probably made him come out.
“I want you to give me a chance to explain.”
“Fine,” he says curtly. He jerks his chin upright to indicate I should start talking.
“I screwed up, both on the field and off of it. I love her. I want to make this right with her.” Even after I confess this, he remains grim-faced and unforgiving. I don’t need his forgiveness, only his cooperation. I continue, “Ellie’s an adult. She needs to be given the chance to make her own decisions. You know she’d be pissed as hell if she thought you were making them for her.”
Annoyance flickers in his face when I register that hit. “If she wanted to call you, she would.” He repeats the same excuse he gave me earlier that week.