Page 77 of Chasing the Rush
“It was just a dick-swinging contest,” I croak out. “He talked some playground smack about me, you know, about the Defective Maguire thing, and I lost my cool like a rookie idiot.”
It’s a death blow to Coach. It’s written all over his face. He was hoping for something more understandable. Something he could forgive. But what he got only makes me look like an even bigger loose-cannon idiot than before.
With a sigh, Coach bows his head and keeps it there while speaking his next words. “You’re not defective, Luca. If they taunted you for having pink hair, would you have snapped? No. Because you don’t have pink hair. Reacting like that only proves you believe you’re defective, too. You realize that, right? It was a fucking admission.”
My heart squeezes. “Yes, sir.” When he’s right, he’s right. There’s no point in denying it.
“Goddammit, Luca,” he huffs out. “You acted like a newborn calf out there! I didn’t even recognize you.”
I take a deep breath to stuff down the emotion his pained look is provoking inside me. No matter how out of line Moriarty was, the fact that he could so easily get me off my game like that is the real issue. At the end of the day, no matter what Moriarty said, the only person I’ve got to blame for my actions is myself. And so that’s what I tell Coach Parker, in no uncertain terms, and he agrees with my assessment completely.
“It was the worst fuckup of my career,” I mumble, feeling like my heart is physically cracking against my sternum. “But I promise I won’t do anything like that ever again if you give me another chance, because I never want to feel this kind of shame again. I vow to use this horrible feeling as fuel, Coach, if you give me one more chance to prove myself to you.”
Coach presses his lips together, making it clear that’s not going to happen. “If we’d made our final roster after last week’sgame,” he says soberly, “your name would have been on it. But now …” He shakes his head ruefully. “I can’t do it.”
My lungs expel every ounce of air they’ve been holding. “I understand.”
“I could have overlooked you getting duped on the fake-out. It happens. You’re human. But the stunt you pulled with Moriarty is a deal-breaker, because it showed me you’re still a loose cannon without impulse control, every bit as much as you were when you scaled those fucking uprights on day fucking one.”
I shake my head. “That’s not true, Coach.”
“Yes, it is. You’ve managed to bottle up your wild ways for a while, mostly thanks to Chelsea and Raul keeping you in line. But last night made it clear all those same impulses are still alive and well inside you. When you could no longer get the attention and adrenaline rush you needed so much from performing dangerous stunts, you switched to getting those things another way, even if it cost you everything.”
“That’s not it, Coach. I didn’t do anything for attention last night.”
“You doeverythingfor attention, Luca. Don’t you see?” He exhales. “Look, I’m sympathetic to the heavy weight you’ve always had to carry around, okay? I’m sure it’s a mindfuck being Roman Maguire’s little brother who doesn’t measure up. That’s a lot of pressure to deal with. But sympathy aside, your actions have consequences.”
“I know they do.”
Coach stares me down. “Let me guess: You figured out early on you didn’t have anything close to Roman’s cannon of an arm, so you decided not to play at the quarterback position like him so that nobody could ever compare you directly and figure out you weren’t up to snuff. Am I warm?”
Holy shit. Is he psychic?
“In fact, I’m betting you wanted to get yourself so farremoved from any conceivable comparisons to your big brother, you decided to play on the other side of the damned ball, even though you had Roman Maguire right there in your own goddamned home to coach and guide you. But even so, those comparisons kept coming, so you turned yourself into a clown, since Roman’s known for being focused and serious.” He leans forward toward my stunned face. “Does any of this ring a bell for you, son?”
I can’t respond. Can’t even breathe. It doesn’t ringabell for me. It’s ringing a sled’s worth of jingle bells.
“Well, Luca, I’m sorry to inform you there’s only one way to outrun the baggage of your big name and shut the haters up, once and for all: You put your nose down, work that much harder, and prove you’re worthy of your damned name through what you do on the playing field. Period, end of story.”
It’s a watershed moment for me. Not only in relation to football, but in relation to life. Suddenly, every choice I’ve ever made, from all the bizarre haircuts I always wanted as a kid to my switch to a defensive position to my ultimate choice to attend Nebraska instead of Michigan, even though Roman said he could pull some strings and get them to change their minds about me and my suck-ass grades, flash through my head like a ticker tape.
Coach is right.About all of it.
Rendered speechless and emotional by my epiphany, I hang my head and inhale deeply to keep my eyes from tearing up.
“You’ve tied my hands, Luca. Moriarty’s not going anywhere. At least for the duration of his new contract. And last night, you made it very clear to me and everyone else you can’t be his teammate.”
I can’t believe I’ve messed up this badly. I look up and meet his blue eyes, and it’s clear this is the end of the road for me. His mind is made up, even though he’s sad about it. And youknow what? He’s making the right call. Actions have consequences, and this is mine. After all the time I’ve spent in this great man’s presence, it’s no wonder his daughter turned out to be the badass she is. This man is a towering figure to me, and he always will be, despite how badly I’ve screwed up and lost his respect. “I understand, Coach. Thank you for turning on the light bulb inside my head before showing me the door. You didn’t have to do that, and I’m grateful for it.” I stand, feeling genuinely grateful to him, even though I’m gutted. “It’s been an honor and a privilege to play for the legendary Coach Parker, if only briefly. You’re one of the greats, Coach, and I’ll always be rooting for you and your team from afar.”
I extend my hand, but Coach doesn’t take it.
“‘Yourteam?’” he echoes. “‘From afar’? Luca, it’s your team, too.”
I stare at him blankly. Is he being metaphorical? As in, he’ll always consider me an honorary Mastodon?
Coach grins. “You’ve made the practice squad, Luca. By the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin.”
I reflexively grab my chin as it hangs in shock.He’s not cutting me?I mean, yes, he is, in that I didn’t make the active roster. But he’s keeping me alive, albeit on life support.
