Vegas Aces: The Wide Receiver Complete Series

CHAPTER 36 TRISTAN

I ran my ass off, but it wasn’t enough.

I’ve always been fast, but today it didn’t get the job done. It’s a team sport, of course. I realize this. But as I stand on the sideline watching the defense as they try to stop the Titans, I know it’s a losing battle at this point.

It’s heartbreaking to watch all the hard work we put in over the course of the season come to a screeching halt. I thought we had another game left. We were the favorites to win, and yet…we’re going to lose. As the other team’s quarterback tosses the ball down field, we collectively hold our breath on our side. When the ball lands in a receiver’s arms and he carries it enough yards to secure the first down, that collective breath is exhaled in disappointment and frustration.

It wasn’t enough.

They wanted it more.

We didn’t play as hard as we should have.

That’s the criticism we’ll hear over the next couple weeks, and then it’ll quiet as the Titans play some other team in the Super Bowl.

The competitor in me would like to see the Titans win. At least that way we were beat by the best.

The bitter part of me hopes the other team wins.

There’s a timeout and then the quarterback takes a knee. It’s over.

We move onto the field to congratulate the victors. It should’ve been us. We should be pulling our AFC Champion shirts over our heads with smiles on our faces. Instead we’ll face a quiet locker room and an even quieter flight home as we individually review the mistakes we made that could’ve changed the course of the game, as we consider the things we could’ve done differently that would’ve led to a completely different atmosphere on the ride home.

I wish it had been a home game. Even with a loss, to be in our own locker room would be so much more meaningful in this moment.

Coach says a few words, ending it with, “There’s always next year,” but that’s the thing.

There isn’t next year for some of the guys in here, and that’s the one thing that sticks out to me most. This is the last time this locker room will look this exact way.

Players will retire.

Others will be traded.

We’ll acquire new guys.

Things will change, and I’m grateful for the dynamic we have in this locker room right now—even though this dynamic wasn’t good enough to make it all the way this year.

It’s still been a hell of a season, and it feels so strange that it’s over. We’ll start fresh in a few months, and for now, we can enjoy life outside of the game. Unofficial workouts start in April, but for the next two months, I’m free. This is when some players spend time with their families or take vacations or party it up.

I’m just ready to get the hell out of town. My hamstring is fine, but I’m declining the Pro Bowl.

I don’t want to be around the woman who drains every ounce of energy from me any longer.

I think about just getting a hotel room for the night so I don’t have to be in the same house as her, but I don’t.

Another mistake.

She’s waiting up for me even though it’s late when I walk in the door after our flight from Tennessee.

“If you would’ve caught that ball at the end of the third quarter, the Aces would have won,” she says in greeting.

“Why are you such a terrible person?” I ask rather than responding to her accusation. Does she really think I haven’t been over that play thirty-five thousand times in my own head?

If I would’ve caught that ball, I had an opening to run it in to score.

But if Josh Nolan would’ve caught the ball that was intercepted in the first quarter, that would’ve changed the game, too. If Jack Dalton hadn’t been sacked because Patrick Harris didn’t miss the block, the game would’ve changed again.

We all made mistakes.

The Titans came out stronger. The Aces will sit until next season, when we can try it all over again.

I head upstairs to my bedroom and sleep.

Morning comes too early, but today is clean out and exit meetings at the Complex before we’re released for break.

I pull into the parking lot just behind Ben Olson, our star tight end and resident party guy who recently settled down, and we both nod a hello before we head inside together.

“Heard your girl is having your kids soon,” I say, referring to the twins expected to arrive via C-section any day now.

He nods, and he looks a little nervous. “Three more days.”

“Good luck, man. That’s exciting.” I don’t mention how it feels like it’s everything I want, too. I want a woman I love, not a woman like Savannah. I want to be planning a future with her as we think about kids and building a family and making memories. Instead it feels like I’m stuck in quicksand with no way out.

“Thanks. You got any big plans for the off-season?” he asks.

I shrug. “Not like you do. I’ll be pushing hard to legally separate from Savannah. I’m going to duck out of town a while, I think. Go back home, stay with my parents…” I think about mentioning why I’m going back home, about my dad, about Tessa, but I decide to keep it to myself.

“Where’s home?” he asks.

We walk down the hallway toward the locker room. “A tiny town in Iowa.”

“Midwestern boy?”

I chuckle and nod. “Born on corn and bred for football. Lifting haybales from the time I was nine.”

He laughs. “So what will you do at your parents’ place aside from lifting haybales?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I just dream of escaping the media and everything Savannah’s doing to make my life miserable.”

“I’m sorry man. The right girl is out there, and it ain’t Savannah. Believe me, I never thought I’d be the old man giving out that advice.” He shakes his head, and I can’t help but agree. This is the dude known for throwing the biggest parties out of anyone in the league, and he just fell into settling down. Meanwhile, those of us who want that can’t seem to find it in the right place.

“I know she is.” I exhale loudly. “But I blew it with her a long time ago.” It’s minimizing what really happened between us, but I don’t want to get into it on a day like today.

“Her?” he asks, his tone friendly rather than prodding.

“The only girl I ever really loved.” I turn toward Ben. “The girl next door. Literally.”

“Ah. So that’s why you’re heading home for the off-season,” he says as if he cracked my code.

“Maybe.” I lift a shoulder. “She’s not there anymore. I keep telling myself it’s all the other stuff, but I think just going back to Iowa a while will give me that sense of home I’ve been missing.”

He claps me on the shoulder as we arrive at the locker room. “Good luck to you, man. I hope everything goes well with the divorce, and I hope you get what you need back home.”

“Thanks.” I offer a small smile. “And I’m still expecting a rager the minute I get my finalized divorce papers. I know you’re about to have two kids and you’ll be busy, but you can help a brother out, right?”

“You got it man,” he says, and we both chuckle quietly as we walk into the somber locker room to begin today’s tasks. We head our separate ways, and I find Travis already cleaning out his locker. We’re given a ton of gear throughout the season, and we’re welcome to keep whatever we want. I hold onto a few of my favorite shirts, shorts, and shoes and put the rest into the donation bin. It’s not a difficult task to accomplish, but it’s also not the mood any of us were expecting in here on clean out day. We were expecting a victory. We were expecting triumphant joy.

Instead, we choked one game too early.

And every man in this locker room blames himself in one way or another. It was a team loss, but we’re all thinking the same thing: what could I have done differently that might’ve led us to a W?

I’m lucky enough to have a wife who already pointed out my flaws.

But none of it matters.

Maybe the most depressing thought of all of this is that none of this really matters.

If I sat out a season, would that give me more time to spend with my dad?

Because that matters.

Or would he rather watch me play my heart out every week knowing he’s the man who gave me the hunger for competition and the healthy work ethic we share?

Which would cure his disease and wipe away the anxiety I feel now that I might lose him at any moment?

Neither option, I guess.

Life is short, and it’s best spent living rather than regretting.

I head into my exit meeting with Coach Jeff first. “You take care of that wife of yours yet?” he begins our meeting.

I huff out a laugh. “No, sir.” I think about confessing the truth about what she’s been doing to me, but I keep my mouth shut. The Aces have to decide by the beginning of May if they want to keep me for a fifth year, and that’s when I might start seeing some real money. The terms of my rookie contract were good for a rookie since I was drafted in the first round, but what comes next could be fucking incredible.

But if I’m in trouble or in a position where I’m making the team look bad, they may decide against keeping me for a fifth year. I don’t want to go into free agency. I want to keep playing for the Aces.

“Maybe in the off-season,” he suggests. “And hopefully bright things coming for you in May, kid.”

“Yeah,” I mutter. “I love it here, barring my wife, of course, and I love this team.” I shrug as I hold up both hands. Staying married to her seems to be my only option, at least until the statute of limitations runs out on the test results she’s holding onto.

We review my performance this season, he asks about my dad’s surgery, which went well, and then I meet with Coach Thompson and the team owner, Calvin Bennett. And that’s that on that. I head home in the late afternoon.

I shoot off an email to my landlord explaining that I won’t be renewing my lease in April. I pack up what I want to take with me to Fallon Ridge for the next two months, and I figure I’ll hire a moving company to pack up the rest once I figure out where I want to settle. Maybe Travis and I can get a place together, a nice bachelor pad.

In the morning, I pack up my truck and head out without so much as a goodbye to my wife.

She doesn’t need to know where I’m going, but something tells me she already knows. I wouldn’t put it past her to outfit my truck with a tracking device. She’s just crazy enough that it seems right up her alley.

Which is why I’m not surprised when I’m nearly to Denver, where I’ll be spending the night, and my phone starts ringing.

I pick up against my better judgment. “What the fuck do you want?”

“What are you doing in Denver?” she demands.

“Are you serious right now?” I ask. “Why are you tracking me? Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I love you, baby. You know that.”

I roll my eyes even though she can’t see me. “You’re delusional.”

“Come on. You know we were happy once. We could find that again.”

“We were happy for about eleven seconds before I knew the real you, Savannah.” I’m so tired of this game she’s playing, and my fatigued tone conveys that sentiment.

“I’ve always been the same person. You were just…let’s say blinded by love at the beginning. Look, Tris.” She knows I fucking hate it when she calls me that. “Believe what you want, but I’m still on your side. These things I’m doing…I’m doing them for you. I’m looking out for you.”

“Bullshit.” My foot presses a little more aggressively down on the gas pedal. I should hang up before she causes an accident. “Just give it a rest already. You don’t do anything for anyone but yourself. Ever.”

“That’s not true. I looked into your ex’s history for you.” Her tone holds a desperate plea to it, like she’s trying just a little too hard to sell it.

I snort. “Oh, come off it. You did that to make sure she isn’t your competitor.”

“Potato, po-tah-toe,” she says, as if we’re saying the same thing in two different ways. Except…we’re not. Not even close. In her delusions, I think maybe she really believes what she’s saying.

So how do you untangle yourself from that sort of web? She’s got her claws in deep, and I’m afraid escaping to Iowa won’t give me the space I need.

When it comes to Savannah, I’m not sure anything will ever give me the space I need.