Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 34 TRISTAN

We have light practice on Christmas Day not because of the holiday but because Saturdays are always light ahead of the game on Sunday. When I get home from practice, we celebrate Christmas…sort of.

We open presents, and my mom cooks a big meal but I stick to my chicken, rice, and veggies diet so I’m game ready. I don’t drink any of the traditional eggnog my dad spikes with bourbon, and the three of us act like nothing’s wrong.

We don’t talk about the elephant in the room, and I pretend like I’m not trying to memorize every moment that we’re sharing because it might be the last Christmas I share with my dad.

I try not to think that way, but I can’t help it when those thoughts creep in anyway.

I got my dad some sweaters, a new winter coat, and a new putter.

If I would’ve known when I was shopping that this could be our last Christmas together, I would’ve put in more effort.

We don’t need more things.

We need more time.

These are the thoughts swirling in my head as I take the field on Sunday, and I proceed to play like absolute dog shit.

I miss catches that literally hit me in the hands.

My parents are in the stands cheering me on, and I can’t catch a single fucking ball out on this field today.

It’s so bad that Coach benches me at the start of the second half. We go on to win, but not because of any of my contributions.

It’s downright embarrassing.

“What happened out there, man?” Travis asks me once the locker room starts to clear out after the game. His locker is right beside mine, which is part of the reason why we’ve gotten close.

I blow out a breath. “My head wasn’t in it.”

“Where was it?”

“My dad told me earlier this week he’s sick.”

“Oh, man. I’m sorry, dude,” Travis says, slapping me on the back. “That’s rough.” He knows how close we are.

I clear my throat. “He’s here today. I should’ve played my ass off for him, and instead I couldn’t catch a fucking cold out there.”

“We all have shit games,” he concedes. “You’ll pick up the slack in the next one.”

“Easy to say since we won. But if we would’ve lost…” I trail off as we both consider that. Neither of us mentions the fact that he got more playing time since I was riding the pine. He may be one of my best friends, but we’re still pitted against each other every single time we take that field.

Playing this game is such a weird dynamic at times. I don’t want to feel like I’m up against my closest allies, especially since we rely on each other to win the game. We’re team players. We’re brothers.

But we’re also fighting each other for the chance to play every week.

“Yeah, I get it. Anything else going on with you?” he asks.

I sit on the bench in my locker, and he sits in his, too.

“There’s this girl,” I begin, and I think twice about how much to say here.

“Someone from Coax?” he whispers, and I shake my head.

“A girl aside from your wife?” he teases. He knows I can’t stand Savannah. He knows I can’t get rid of her, too, but he doesn’t exactly know why.

I grunt out a chuckle. “Yeah, aside from her. A girl I used to love. We broke up toward the end of senior year of high school, and I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately.”

“She still back home?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nah. She moved to Chicago senior year and stayed there. Her father passed away a few months ago and I went to the funeral. I only saw her for thirty seconds, but there was still something there.” I lean forward on my knees and clasp my hands in front of me.

“Then get in touch with her. What girl wouldn’t want an NFL star ringing her bell?” he asks, and his tone tells me he’s only partially teasing with his total lack of modesty.

I laugh. “Her, I guess. I slipped her my number and she never used it.”

“Life gets complicated, you know? You ever think about calling her?” He pulls on a fresh pair of socks.

“I don’t know how to get in touch.” I stare down at my hands.

“Sounds like a pretty shitty excuse considering you’re from the same small town,” he points out.

I know he’s right, and they’re the same thoughts that I’ve had myself. Yet something stops me every time—namely, the fact that I gave her my number and she didn’t use it. If she wanted to get in touch, she had the opportunity. She didn’t take it.

She’s moved on.

I’m stuck in the past.

He stands and packs his duffel bag. I do the same.

“Look, we’ve got two more regular season games then playoffs,” he says, pulling his bag onto his shoulder with a wince. He took a hard fall during the game, but it’s just a bruise. “Whatever happens, we have a tiny bit of freedom after that. Go home. Heal. Rest. Spend time with your dad while you can. See if you can get that girl’s digits. Get out of here. Get away from Savannah and the house you share with her and get your head on right. Get some perspective. Figure out how to get out of your marriage and come back ready to play next season.”

“But who will you get fucked up with every night if I leave town?” I joke. I know the truth—he’ll just head to Coax with Jaxon and Cory.

He laughs. “I’ll find somebody, but you know whoever it is won’t replace you.”

We’re ribbing each other, but we both know there’s truth behind the jokes. Somehow he’s become my best friend over the last year. He’s a few years older than me, and he was traded here from Cincinnati last season. We work out together, we practice together, and we’re shoved together pretty much twenty-four-seven in season. But it’s the fact that we continue to hang outside of our prescribed time that tells me this is a lasting friendship. We aren’t just teammates. We’ve bonded beyond that, and he’ll be a brother for life now.

I grab my bag, too. My family is waiting for me just on the other side of the locker room, and since we won today, we’ll have tomorrow off, too. More time to spend with my parents avoiding the topic before they go home Tuesday night.

I slap Travis on the back. “I guess I have some decisions to make, but let’s get fucked up a few times before I head to wherever the off-season is taking me.”

“Deal,” he says, clapping me on the shoulder.

On our way out of the locker room, Coach stops me. “Higgins, can we talk?”

“I’ll wait here,” Travis says, and I follow Coach into his office, feeling an awful lot like I’m about to get my ass handed to me.

“That game was shit,” he begins. “I don’t know what the fuck you were doing out there, but it was ugly, which makes the reason I need to talk to you really strange timing.”

“I’m sorry, Coach. I know I fucked up. I just…my head wasn’t in it. I found out my dad is sick.”

“I’m sorry, kid.” He shakes his head. “You tell me these things before the game. We work together through it. You understand me?”

I nod sullenly.

“Look, I have some good news. It won’t be announced for a few more days, but I got word you were selected for the Pro Bowl.”

My hand moves to my chest. “Me?”

He nods. “It’s an honor, kid. You’ve proven your worth, which means more than likely we’re going to pick up your fifth-year option. You’ll make bank having been selected for two Pro Bowls within your first three years. It’s up to you whether or not you want to play if we don’t make it past the conference championship. We can see how the rest of the season plays out, but with that hamstring giving you issues on and off, I’m hesitant to say you should do it.”

I nod. “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Coach. This is the good news I needed.”

He presses his lips together and nods. “Merry Christmas, kid.”

“Merry Christmas, Coach.”

I return to Travis, who gives me a curious look, but I don’t say anything yet. We exit the locker room. He doesn’t have anybody waiting in the post-game room, so I bring him over to my parents. They’ve met before after other games, and my mom squeezes him before she hands him a medium-sized gift bag.

“What’s this?” he asks.

She just smiles, and he peeks inside. “You didn’t,” he says, and he tosses his arms around her again. “Thanks, Mrs. Higgins.”

She kisses his cheek. “You just keep playing nice with my boy and I’ll keep bringing it for you.”

He laughs as he leans in to give her a hug. “You’re the best.”

My brows dip as I try to peek into the bag, but he pulls it back and cradles it closely to his chest so I can’t see.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a secret between your mom and me,” he says.

My mom giggles and playfully squeezes his arm as she looks at me and winks.

He opens the bag and pulls out a ziplock gallon bag practically bursting open because it’s so stuffed full.

“Puppy chow?” I ask, staring at the bag. I turn and glare a little at my mother. “Did you save me any?” I may be a twenty-five-year-old man, but I would do pretty much anything for the chocolately-peanut buttery-sugary goodness that is puppy chow.

She winks at me. “Do you really think I’d make it for your friend and not you? I made a double batch last night.”

“You’re the best,” I say, repeating Travis’s line from a minute ago. I squeeze her so tightly that she taps my arm in surrender.

She laughs as she catches her breath. “Boy, if a girl is ever looking for the way to either of your hearts, I feel like I hold all the secrets.”

The four of us laugh, but she’s not wrong.