Chapter 12

Monday, things were peaceful for most of the day. Sure, there were dirty looks from Elijah, but that had become almost standard by now. The only thing missing was Jamal. He’d been in a splint on Friday after that bad hit he took at the game, but he’d said his parents were taking him to Midland this morning to the hospital to get it looked at further. Apparently, the doctor was worried about ligament damage, and they’d need to run additional tests with the equipment they had there.

I hoped that wasn’t it. A break he could recover from. Yeah, he’d maybe miss this year, but he’d still have three more years to play and develop, which was enough to get recruited into a college program. Tearing a ligament or tendon would mean surgeries and maybe the end of his football career, which would make it a lot harder to get into a good school.

That was the reality for a lot of people who lived here. Unless you owned oil leases, which were mostly owned by big companies these days, there wasn’t a lot of money in West Texas, and college was expensive. A lot of guys needed that full ride, or even a partial one, to get their college degree.

I know I did. There was no way Dad could afford to send me to anything other than community college or a trade school on his salary. So yeah, a break was the best-case scenario for Jamal. I couldn’t help feeling guilty about it. I’d decided to break from Elijah and started this feud, and Jamal got caught in the middle of it. It really wasn’t fair, and it was kind of my fault.

We got our answer about his testing that afternoon just after we got to the locker room and suited up. There was a commotion by the doors and we were all surprised to see Jamal hobbling in, getting greeted by the team. He was on crutches and in a cast, which at least suggested it wasn’t as bad as we all feared. That and he looked in high spirits.

I’m not sure I’d make it to the next practice or look quite as cheerful if I’d ruined my football career.

“How bad is it, man?” Miguel asked when he got over to us.

“Hairline fracture. They said I probably strained the tendons, but they couldn’t find any evidence of tearing or ripping,” Jamal said, easing himself onto the bench. “Doc says it should heal up alright, but I’ve got to take it easy for a while to let the bone and tendons mend.”

“Man, that is good news,” Tyrell said, slapping him on the back. “Damn, we were all so worried.”

“Yeah, me too,” Jamal said, laughing.

“So, how long do they say you need to be in that thing?” I asked.

“Month and a half, maybe two.” Jamal shrugged.

He was taking it well, but I could see he was still a little disappointed. Two months and the season would be over for him.

“So, your season’s done.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Damn, that sucks,” Connor said.

We all got a little quiet at that. We felt bad for our friend, and it always hurt to lose someone like him from the team.

“Maybe next time you’ll learn to keep your head on a swivel, Washington,” Elijah said, laughing as he, Aidan, and Hunter walked past. “Or maybe you should take up dance. Put on some tap shoes. It’s what you people are better at.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I said, hopping up and getting in his stupid face.

“It means your girlfriend should be doing anything but playing football. He sucks, you suck, and none of you should be on the team. Or isn’t that clear enough, faggot.”

I could feel my face getting red and the edges of my vision blurring a bit. Everything I had in me wanted to choke the life out of him.

“Shut the fuck up, or he won’t be the only one in a cast!”

Elijah stepped right up to me, his chest bumping against mine. “Try it, Sims. I dare you.”

“Elijah,” Aidan said warningly, nodding toward the entrances to the locker room where Coach Wilson had just walked in.

Elijah’s eyes narrowed.

“Your time’s coming,” he said quietly before backing away toward his locker.

“Come on,” Miguel said, tugging at my arm. “He’s not worth it.”

I let Miguel pull me back to our side of the room but kept watching Elijah.

“Man, I thought it was us redheads who were supposed to be the hotheads, Blake,” Connor said with a smile. “Should we start collecting for your bail now, ya think?”

The other three looked at me, I guess afraid of what my reaction would be. I really didn’t think of myself as a hothead, but goddamn, Elijah got under my skin.

“Like any of you could afford to bail me out,” I said with a small laugh to let them know it was okay.

The moment passed and the tension went out of everyone.

“I’m just saying, maybe we should get you some anger management classes before you do something stupid,” Connor said, grinning.

“Speaking of doing stupid things,” Tyrell chimed in, turning to Jamal, “I know you hate conditioning, but there are easier ways to get out of it. Hell, if you wanted out that bad, you could’ve asked me, I would have hurt you just enough to miss a few classes without missing the season.”

“Yeah, but this way, I get to skip for months. Work smarter, not harder.”

“You know that’s against Tyrell’s religious beliefs,” Miguel said, which earned him a playful slug from Tyrell. “Plus, you get a sweet new accessory. Very fashion-forward.”

“Oh, yeah. All the ladies love a man in need of help. Going to do wonders for my social life,” Jamal said, pulling a black Sharpie from his pocket. “Speaking of which, y’all need to sign this thing. Make it look proper.”

He held out the marker, and Miguel grabbed it first, scribbling something in Spanish that made Jamal raise his eyebrows.

“Man, I hope that’s not dirty,” Jamal said. “You know my dad knows Spanish, right?”

“Well, I guess you’ll have to wait till you get home to find out,” Miguel said, grinning.

Jamal’s parents were very religious and had a tendency to go a little overboard when it came to being ‘proper.’

The marker made its way around our little group, each guy adding their signature and maybe a few words. I didn’t join in right away, still a little out of sorts from the run-in with Elijah.

“Five minutes!” Coach Romero called out, sticking his head into the locker room.

The guys gave Jamal a few slaps on the back and said a few more things, and then hurried to get into their gear.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quiet enough for the rest of them not to hear.

Jamal looked up from examining Connor’s terrible attempt at drawing a football, a little confused, and said, “For what?”

“This is my fault. Jake and them, they’re out to get me, and you got caught in the middle because I was trying to get one over on them.”

“Man, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard today. Did you forget how this started? They had their sights set on me and the other guys from the jump. You stepped in and killed your friendship with them to protect us.”

“I shouldn’t have been friends with them in the first place.”

“Probably not, but standing up to them put a target on your back. You did that for us. You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Still...”

“Look,” Jamal cut me off, “they might’ve done this one way or another. Me and the guys, we appreciate what you did. Standing up for us wasn’t the easy choice. You want to feel guilty or whatever, that’s on you, but don’t do it on my account.”

“Okay. Well, I’m still sorry your leg got broken.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Jamal said, holding out the Sharpie. “Now sign my damn cast so we can get to practice.”

I took the marker, considering what to write. Finally, I scrawled: ‘Get better soon. We need our running back back.’

“Real original.”

“Stick with the classics,” I said.

As we headed out to the field, walking slow enough so that he didn’t have to push himself, I glared back at Elijah and the rest, who were always the last ones out of the locker room, I guess to try and show how important they were.

Jamal might be right, but this was now between me and Elijah, and I was going to get even with him for it.

Practice itself was brutal. Coach had run us hard on Friday after the loss, but it seemed like after having the weekend to think about how the game went, he was even more pissed, and he took it out on us on the practice field.

At one point, I even saw Coach Plummer go to talk to him, and Coach Heidemann yelled something, sending him back to running the defensive players through the tires. I’d been busting my ass with up-downs at that moment and the rush of blood in my ears made it impossible to hear what he said, but whatever it was, it was serious because Coach Plumber was pissed.

Coach ran us ragged until people were throwing up in trash cans. Strangely, Elijah and the other four kept throwing me dirty looks like it was my fault, and not theirs for literally throwing the game. I think part of it was that the rest of the team that was not part of their little clique was pissed at Hunter, and Elijah by proxy.

Instead of their little plan of getting the whole team against me, their plan had backfired, and they’d gotten the team against them instead.

Jamal, the lucky son-of-a-bitch, got to sit on the bleachers, reading playbooks and watching us get our asses run off. I walked back into the locker room with him, since it was hard to carry a play binder and use crutches at the same time, making us the last two in off the field.

“Blake! In my office!” Coach yelled as soon as we came into the field house.

Jamal looked at me like I was on death row heading to the chair, taking the binder and tossing it to Miguel to put in his locker. I gave him a shrug and headed to the coach’s office.

As I followed Coach Heidemann into the office, he dropped the clipboard on his desk, letting out an exasperated puff of air.

“Close the door and sit.”

I did as he instructed and sat across from his desk while he circled around and dropped into his chair. I was trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. Not that I needed to do anything wrong myself for this to be my fault. He’d named me captain of the team, which meant what happened on the field was my responsibility.

Yes, I’d warned him about Elijah and his crew and told him this was going to happen, and he’d mostly ignored me, but that didn’t absolve me of the responsibility for the loss. I’d gone with the running play he’d called, even though we really only had Hunter to run it. I hadn’t called an audible, I hadn’t changed it up. When I put the ball into Hunter’s hands, that was ultimately on me.