Safety Net (11 page)

“You ask me, I think your sister’s
pretty cool. Beautiful, smart...”

Lowell said in a low voice, “That’s
my baby sister you’re talking about. Choose your next words very carefully.”

He was serious. Erick, taken aback,
waved it off with a laugh and a “Bro, I’ve got a girlfriend, remember?”

Because he wasn’t at all interested
in Kaylee. Didn’t see her in that way. But there was a thought next to that
one, a thought Erick studiously avoided seeing as he pushed it to one side,
hoping it would simply disappear.

-----

They went into the Notre Dame game
knowing, as the whole country did, that Notre Dame’s biggest threat was Randy
Wilkerson, their star running back. What they learned on the field was that
controlling Wilkerson was easier than expected, and Notre Dame’s real threat
was their defense.

Crocker’s first scoring drive
slogged along and had to go to field goal. Coach Bowman sent in Boylan, their
sophomore kicker. He was consistently good in practice, and their starting
kicker was injured.

Erick watched from the side. Boylan
looked like a kid out there, not even a high school player but junior high,
maybe. Boylan didn’t miss. He kicked an absolutely perfect field goal that
arced high and dropped past the goal slightly off-center. It was a thing of
beauty.

Everyone on the team seemed to feel
the same way. Boylan was mobbed when he came off the field. They were only six
minutes into the first quarter, and Crocker only had three points on the board,
but something had shifted in their mood. Their little kicker’s perfect first
kick, and Crocker were now intent on dominating.

It wasn’t smooth sailing. In their
next drive, Dale collided hard with one of the Irish and had to leave the
field. Notre Dame’s defense shut them down again, forcing another field goal
out of Boylan. And in the second quarter, Crocker’s long drive that should have
ended with Wotoa scoring a touchdown collapsed in an interception. Erick had
spotted Wotoa right where he had to be, and it was an easy twenty-one yard pass.
He aimed high for Wotoa’s six feet eight inches and watched sickly as Wotoa
went down and an Irish swooped up and caught the ball with both hands. Notre
Dame failed to score off that one, but at the half, they were leading by eight
points.

Even so, Erick knew they could take
this one. Notre Dame were sloppy, and Crocker just hadn’t taken advantage of it
yet. He was confident that Crocker’s D guys could stay on top of poor Randy
Wilkerson, and Notre Dame’s offense wasn’t the worry. Erick had to get through
their defense.

He thought he could, and the
coaches thought he could, too. Coach Bowman sat down with him and said, “They
think they have your number, so you have to do something they’re not expecting.
I’ll call it like I see it, but if you spot something I’m not seeing, signal.”

Erick was surprised and flattered,
but he understood the significance of it. Coach Bowman was putting his trust in
Erick’s judgment. Erick didn’t think he’d earned that trust yet.

Coach Bowman read the field
perfectly. And the hole in the Irish’s D was so obvious, it was almost too good
to be true. The Irish were focused on Wotoa and McIlvaine, the junior who replaced
Dale, and leaving Crocker’s tight ends too much room. Erick exploited their
shortsightedness and threw a thirty-five yard bullet to Breitenstein, who could
have walked it into the end zone, the field was so open. It was Erick’s best
pass since coming to Crocker, possibly his best pass ever. Erick recognized his
arm strength not only coming back but getting better. And God, did he love
this. It wasn’t even about scoring, not really. It was simply football.

The Irish got a little smarter by
the middle of the fourth quarter. Crocker was still trailing, 13-14, and
recovered the ball off a Notre Dame fumble. Coach Bowman told him to run the
ball for a first down then go to field goal. Notre Dame had time to score after
that, but so did Crocker, and the extra three could make the difference.

“Time management,” Coach Miller was
always telling him during practice. “In the fourth, it’s all about time
management.”

Erick attempted a fake, but badly,
and the Irish didn’t fall for it, but he zigzagged around their heavy linemen
and literally tripped over the mass of tackles in front of him, digging his
fingers into the ball as he fell, stretching his arms out as far as possible
for the first down. Weight after weight pounded down over him, but he gritted
his teeth, silently telling them all to go screw themselves, he was still
holding the ball.

They got the first down. By now,
Boylan’s perfect kicks were no surprise, though because he looked like such a
little kid, Crocker couldn’t resist mobbing him. The game was now 16-14 with a
little over six minutes to go. Erick knew exactly what’d he do if he were Notre
Dame -- he knew where Crocker’s defense would be weakest and how he’d get the
ball to Wilkerson. He watched their quarterback fail to see what to Erick’s
eyes was obvious, and make the same mistake he’d been making all game. The
Notre Dame scoring drive plodded down the field, running the clock down
dangerously. Erick spat in frustration. If they lost this one because they’d
let Notre Dame slow the quarter, not giving them enough time to score...

Then all hell broke lose. Crocker’s
freshman cornerback, Jamal Jenkins, intercepted what would’ve been the scoring
pass and flew down the field. Ninety-eight yards for a touchdown, and for the
last forty yards or so, he’d been completely alone. Everyone mobbed him, and
the Irish stared helplessly before mustering up enough spirit to get into
formation.

Time management. There wasn’t
enough time on the board for Notre Dame. Crocker won 23-14.

Erick wasn’t immediately swept up
by the win. He was still in game analysis mode, thinking of the ways he should
have used Notre Dame’s defense against them in the first half and remembering
the interception to Wotoa. It was Jenkins’ star moment, anyway; Jenkins was
rightly being tossed about by the team in their exuberance. And as good as it
was to win, it wasn’t a conference win.

Then Lowell, Kryzinski, Giordano,
MacAdam, and Wotoa swarmed around him. MacAdam lifted him off his feet, and
Lowell grabbed his shoulders and yelled in his face, “Your first win!” and
Erick dropped out of analysis mode and into the unbelievable high of winning.
He coasted on that high with the rest of the team until they got back to the
hotel, when the adrenaline rush finally ebbed and he collapsed on the bed. He
called Candace, who was happy for him, and he felt warm and contented until
Dale came in holding a hand over his chest.

“Fucking cracked rib in the first
quarter. What the fuck,” Dale snarled, stretching out on his bed. He glanced
over and smiled. “But, homie. We won.”

Erick grinned, buzzed again. “Seriously?
Jenkins. That was unbelievable.”

Dale propped up on his elbows,
winced, and gave Erick a look. “It was, yeah, but hello? Your pass to
Breitenstein? Your first down?”

“It’s not all down to me. It was the
team’s win.”

Dale blew out his breath in
frustration. “That’s my point, shithead. You’re part of the team, too, you know.”

-----

They got back to California on
Sunday, and it felt like it had been a month, not a week, that they’d been
away. The campus was in full swing again as the fall quarter began, and Erick’s
life became all about practice and classes. His classes were more interesting
this year, but truthfully, all he could think about was training drills and
improving his arm.

Their next game was Oregon, in
Eugene. Their first conference match of the season. Erick relived last season’s
Oregon match in his head constantly, and again felt keen regret that Terrence
Duran hadn’t had the support he’d needed to make a difference.

The change in Oregon this season
was their new quarterback, a fellow sophomore Erick knew from a junior high
football camp years ago. They had remained long distance, casual friends. He
was a good quarterback, but Erick wouldn’t rank him above himself. What made
Oregon such a nightmare was their speed and their skill at taking control of
the game. They were coming off of two easy wins, and on home turf.

Afterwards, Erick couldn’t say why
things worked out the way they did. Oregon gave up thirty yards in penalties in
the first quarter, but that by itself shouldn’t have been enough to cost them
the game. It was a wild scoring game, both teams completing consistently in the
red zone. At the half, Crocker led, 35-28.

In the second half, Erick kept
waiting for Oregon’s D to terrorize them the way they had last year. It
mysteriously didn’t happen; his guys were always there first. Oregon edged up
at the end of the third, 42-49, and in the fourth, it all came down to
possession. Crocker got more time with the ball. Final score: 56-49, and
Crocker’s win.

Their hotel must hate them, Erick
thought. The guys were uncontrollable. Their first conference win, it was
understandable. When they started tossing guys into the hotel pool, he snuck
off to call Candace, not noticing the time. He woke her up and felt bad for
that, but he couldn’t contain his excitement.            

“We won. We beat Oregon!”

“Oh, I’m so glad, babe,” she said
sleepily. “You’re back home?”

Erick, wedged into a corner with a
vending machine, absently traced a finger over the Pepsi logo. “We’re in
Oregon. We’re heading back tomorrow. But we
won
.” He paused. “Pumpkin,
it’s our first conference win.
My
first conference win.”

“Babe, that’s great.” She sounded
more enthusiastic now. “I’m so happy for you.”

“I couldn’t believe it,” he gushed.
“I threw for some insane number of yards, it was touchdown after touchdown on
both sides, it was just crazy out there. And it was
Oregon
. I mean. I
still can’t believe it. We beat Oregon.”

“Are they that good?” she asked.

Erick rapped his knuckles against
the vending machine. “Um, they were in the Rose Bowl last year. That’s, um,
yeah. They’re that good.”

“Did they win?”

Erick fought off a surge of
impatient frustration; it wasn’t Candace’s fault, exactly, that she was born
and bred on the East Coast. “Well, no, but they were the PWAC champions last
year. We just beat last year’s PWAC champions.” As he said it, he marveled
again. It was real. It had actually happened.

“Oh, wow, that is so awesome,
Erick. I am so happy for you. I wish I could see you right now. You must be
bouncing.” She chuckled, and the richness of her voice made him long to hold
her. “I bet you’re grinning ear-to-ear. Must be so cute right now.”

Erick turned around, hiding against
the vending machine. “Yeah, I’m pretty buzzed right now. I wish you were here.
I miss you.”

“I know. Me too.”

There was a long pause.

“Do you know about Thanksgiving
week yet? The Hammer Game, at least. It’s a whole thing here, the whole campus
gets into it. You don’t wanna miss that. Then, if you can, we’re playing Oregon
State the Saturday after Thanksgiving. It’s not far to get to Corvallis, and I
talked to Dale, and he’s okay with sleeping on Menacker’s floor so you can
sneak into my room after bed check.”

Candace responded slowly, “My
parents are getting on my case about missing Thanksgiving. My grandmother’s not
doing too well. But I’m gonna try. I miss you so much. I think I can fly out
for the first one, the Hammer Game? But the second one, I’m not sure I can stay
for that... Wait. Didn’t you just play them? Isn’t that who you just beat?”

Erick flattened his palm against
the vending machine and inwardly sighed. “No, pumpkin. We just beat Oregon. The
game after Thanksgiving is Oregon State.”

Washington State was having a
terrible season, plagued with injuries. Crocker beat them in the officially
earthquake-safe Mendel Family Stadium, 52-10, but didn’t get too obnoxious
about celebrating. A lot of the guys on the team had friends at WSU, and they’d
had a killer season last year.

Crocker’s next win was over San
Jose State, non-conference and pretty much a repeat of the previous year’s easy
win. Four wins in a row might have made them cocky; that was what Erick feared
contributed to their poor performance against UCLA, who were rebuilding their
football program under a new head coach. Erick got sacked five times in the
UCLA game, and though he secretly wore his sacks as a badge of pride -- it wasn’t
football until you had a couple of three hundred pound guys smashing you into
the grass -- he blamed himself for being too easy a target. UCLA broke Crocker’s
four-game winning streak, 38-9, and Arizona State continued the humbling trend
before Crocker rebounded with a tooth-and-nail win over Arizona.

Their next opponents were USC, and
the rest of the season was all PWAC: after USC, it was Washington, CU
Rockridge, and Oregon State. Every Crocker player remembered last year’s
bloodshed at the hands of USC and wanted revenge, but it wasn’t looking good:
USC were undefeated. Next in PWAC rankings were Rockridge, who were having a
fantastic season. Oregon had slipped after losing to Crocker. Washington and
Oregon State hovered just under UCLA, leaving Crocker near the bottom with
Arizona, Arizona State, and Washington State.

-----

TrojanThom: Did that just happen?

ducksfan78: yep

NFLbacktoLAnow: Yes.

BruinsGrrrl: I am so sorry.

Mrizing: What the $#@! was that?!

Comment deleted for not complying with this site’s terms of
acceptable content.

ducksfan78: USC has to get rid of Daniels. now. He can’t
control the field anymore. 5 interceptions LOLOLOL.

TrojanThom: USC are 8-1 PWAC. This was bad, I agree, but
look at the bigger picture.

BruinsGrrrl: Will this affect Crocker’s standing?

TrojanThom: @BruinsGrrl It may bump them up over Wash and
OSU but I think your Bruins are safe. :)

NFLbacktoLAnow: That West kid lookin good.

BruinsGrrrl: West’s not bad but so was Duran his first year
and look what happened there.

NFLbacktoLAnow: I recall the West kid lookin good up in
Eugene a few weeks ago.

ducksfan78: don’t remind me.

CrimsonTideYoMama: HAHAHA, the BEST!!!! the looks on those
USC pansies faces when Crocker went for the 2-point conversion! HAHAHA.

ducksfan78: you’re in the wrong board, Crimson.

CrimsonTideYoMama: I’m in the right board for LAUGHING at
USC pansies sorry a$s!!

TrojanThom: BruinsGrrl, I’m not worried about West after
this. He’s nothing special. He’s had an okay year off teams with problems. I
don’t think he has the arm strength for longevity. His best passes tonight were
all short on yardage.

NFLbacktoLAnow: to TrojanThom- That was deliberite. Duh,
didn’t you see what Crocker was doing? SC set up to defend against a
long-passing game, so Crocker went short. I would of thought it was obvios.

ducksfan78: not obvious and not deliberate. Crocker bungled
their way thru. I agree with Thom dat West doesn’t have the arm strength. but
at least he didn’t throw 5 interceptions.

Mrizing: its not that. Trojans didn’t intercept 5 of his
passes! Were they all snoozing out there.

TrojanThom: @ducksfan78 I don’t think it was deliberate.
Crocker is smart, but not that smart. This is a sophomore team. Their juniors
and seniors aren’t stars. Sophomores aren’t that smart.

CrimsonTideYoMama: SNORE. No wonder PWAC sux!!

-----

“And before we go to
College
SportsCentral
, let’s wrap up our PWAC coverage with this scene from Crocker
University’s Mendel Family Stadium, where California University Rockridge have
regained the Hammer, 42 to 41, after an exciting close game. The Rockridge fans
have swarmed the field and are singing the school song. There’s the last of the
Crocker team leaving the field. Crocker’s going to be a somber campus tonight.”

“Brian, many will say it was that
last pass that cost Crocker the game, and of course if Lowell Menacker had
caught it, it would be a different story. But what do you think the effect on
Crocker was after Tomasovich’s personal foul in the second quarter?”

“Well, Dave, I think it’s no
question that played its part. During the halftime, I heard from Coach Bowman
and several of the players, ‘Crocker is not that kind of team.’ Let’s look at
the replay, and I think it’s clear that it wasn’t intentional, but the
officials made a good call according to the rule book.”

“Do you think it sapped their
morale?”

“If you look at how they came back
in the third, no. We can’t underestimate what a tremendous game the Mountain
Lions put on tonight. It really all came down to this last play by Crocker, and
West’s pass to tight end Menacker. That’s a pass they’ll be remembering for a
long time.”

“In Rockridge, they will, Brian. I
don’t think anyone at Crocker wants to remember that pass, especially Erick
West. And coming up after the break,
College SportsCentral
.”

-----

Lowell opened the door to his suite
and stood aside to let Dale in. Dale glanced at the empty common room, eyebrows
raised in question.

“He’s in there, talking to Candace,”
Lowell said, nodding to his bedroom door.

“Kryzinski?”

“He’s out with his frat friends.” Lowell
knocked softly on the door. “Erick? Dale’s here.”

“Yeah, it’s okay,” Erick said.

Dale opened the door. Erick was
sitting on the floor, reading his phone’s screen. Dale sat down next to him and
Lowell, closing the door, sat on Josh’s bed.

“Candace says hi,” Erick told them,
eyes on the phone.

“Is she still up?” Lowell asked,
looking at the clock. “It’s late back there, and my mom said the best thing for
strep is lots of rest.”

Erick shook his head. “No. She
texted me earlier. She got online to check the score.”

“Then who are you read--” Lowell
started as Dale grabbed the phone from Erick’s hands.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Erick. The
ESPN PWAC blog?” Dale thumbed through the screens. “Well. They’re strictly
amateurs in trashing Erick West. No one can do it as well as you can do it to
yourself.” With a sigh he dropped the phone in Erick’s lap.

Lowell said yet again, “If I’d just
jumped another four inches... And I can do it. That’s a
nothing
jump in
hoops.”

Erick rubbed his face. “Lowell.
Stop saying that. I overthrew. Period. I cost us the Hammer.” He paused, adding
bitterly, “After our guys worked their asses off to get it back, I lost it a
year later.”

“We’ll get it back next year,” Dale
said confidently. In the ensuing silence, he looked from Erick to Lowell and
back again. “Yes? You with me? Good God, you two. Get over it already.”

And Lowell, who was still reliving
the agonizing milliseconds back on the field when he saw the ball soaring above
him as his jump fell short, lashed out, “Do you even want to get it back, Dale?
Aren’t you happy it’s back in Rockridge with your boyfriend?”

Dale’s gaze drilled a hole through
him before Dale muttered, “Fuck you, Menacker.” He patted Erick’s back. “Come
over later if you need to. Betsy’s at her parents, and Jule won’t care.” He
stood up to go, tossing another lethal glare at Lowell.

Erick looked up. “Aren’t you...?
Isn’t your...?”

Dale’s eyes flicked daggers at
Lowell briefly. “No. I did not set up a date with my Rockridge boyfriend on the
night of the Hammer Game. Homeboy, don’t even.”

He left, and Lowell’s anger
immediately evaporated. “Fuck. That was a douche thing of me to say.”

Erick glanced up at him,
half-smiling. “Yeah, it was.”

Lowell waved it off. “I’ll call him
later.” His eyes met Erick’s, and he knew they were both thinking about the
same thing, the same terrible moment with nine seconds on the clock. Lowell
picked up his roommate’s pillow and yelled into it, pure frustration, then set
it back neatly.

“That work?” Erick asked, eyebrows
raised.

“Not really.” Lowell squirmed on
the bed, tapping his foot against the floor and rubbing his hands over his
hair. “Dude. You know what’d work? What I really want right now? To get laid. I
wanna get laid so bad. Not even funny.”

Something shifted in Erick’s
expression, and Lowell figured he was thinking of Candace. Erick had been so
revved for Candace to come out and so crushed when she’d had to cancel.

“Seriously,” Erick said, not quite
a question. He picked up his phone again. “Why don’t you?”

Lowell drummed his fingers on his
knees. “No girlfriend, bro. I broke up with Kelsey after Arizona State, remember?”

“You need a girlfriend for that?” Erick
asked, reading his phone. And something in the way he said it... It took Lowell
a moment to realize Erick meant, why not go hook up with someone. Lowell said, “Y’know,
I did that last year, and it was kinda, um.” He rubbed the back of his neck,
not understanding why he wasn’t finding this the best idea ever. Erick was
right: why not hook up with someone? Plenty of parties on campus, even in
defeat. And he totally wanted to get laid.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.
Josh said to come on over to the frat any time. You in?” Lowell got up and
opened the door.

Erick looked up at him, quiet and
something kind of small about him. So fucking morose Lowell wanted to lift him
up in a we-just-beat-Oregon hug and squeeze the moroseness out of him. Erick
said, “No, think I’ll head over to Dale’s. I’m beat.”

He did have giant dark bags under
his eyes, Lowell noticed. Lowell nodded. “Okay, dude.” He paused on his way out
to say, “Hey, and chill about it, okay? Dale’s right. We’ll get it back next
year. My mom says everything happens for a reason.”

Erick smiled without humor. “That
which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger?”

Lowell grinned. “Damn right.”

-----

Emma was exactly what the doctor
ordered: drunk, loud, giggling, busty, and on the prowl. Lowell watched her
flirting outrageously with every guy at the party, zeroing in on the football
players, and recognized her immediately: a football groupie. He never imagined
Crocker even had girls like that.

They’d had them in high school, a
horny teen boy’s dream come true, but like all good deals there was a catch,
and the catch at Lowell’s high school was an epidemic of STDs. He’d been warned
off by the seniors early on. He put himself into Emma’s line of sight,
thinking, well, that’s what condoms were for.

Exactly what the doctor ordered. He
woke up early on Sunday morning -- his body was hardwired for morning practice
even on the mornings they didn’t have any -- with Emma tucked between him and
the wall. Josh’s bed was empty, unslept-in. He got up for a piss and to throw
away the used condom from last night. When he got back to bed Emma woke up and
turned over to curl around him.

Lowell rubbed her shoulder.
Truthfully, he was ready for the encounter to be over, but couldn’t think of a
diplomatic way to ask her to leave. He stared up at the ceiling, watching the
night drain away, and said, “Oh, hey. What’s your major?”

Emma giggled. “Oral sex,” she said,
sliding toward his dick.

Lowell gently placed a restraining
hand and guided her back up. “No, I’m serious. What are you majoring in? I need
to find a major.” He looked at her more closely than he had at any time during
the night and asked, “Are you a freshman? Sophomore?”

Emma’s smile faded. “Junior. I’m
majoring in industrial design.”

“Really? My friend Erick’s majoring
in that. Erick West, our quarter--”

“Oh, I know all about Erick West,” Emma
purred, wrapping one leg around him and resting her hand on his dick. “Sophomore
quarterback from Dallas. Nice arms.” Her hand slipped up and down before
brushing against his balls. She knew what she was doing. “He’s a friend of
yours?”

Lowell swallowed, eyelids
fluttering closed. “Uh, um. Yeah, yeah. We’re good friends.” He opened his eyes
to see her watching him as her hand worked him to a boner. Lowell strained to
remember what he’d been saying. “But he’s in your program. Don’t you know him?”

Emma squeezed with just the right
amount of firmness. “I’ve seen him around the school, but he’s not in any of my
classes. And it’s a big program. It’s hard to meet people. Very, very hard.”

Yes, yes it was, Lowell thought,
pushing against her palm.

“Which is such a shame,” Emma
continued, slowing her hand. “You know why?” Her hand stopped and Lowell
blinked at her.

“Why?”

Emma rose up and straddled his
thighs, moving her hand subtly up and down his cock. “Because I’ve always
wanted to do a threesome with football players. Especially with a quarterback.”

Lowell shut his eyes and groaned. A
threesome... Emma with him and Erick... He couldn’t even imagine it, not
really, despite the tumble of images kaleidoscoping in his brain: he and Erick
taking turns with Emma, watching Erick fuck her, Erick watching while he fucked
her, watching Erick while Emma sucked him off, watching Erick...

Lowell opened his eyes and reached
for the bedside table, fumbling for a condom. As he ripped the packet open,
Emma murmured, “I’m on birth control. You don’t need that.” And she rose higher
to brush her wetness over the tip of his cock.