Page 44 of Tumbling the Cornerback

I snorted wetly. "Tea." As nice as getting myself drowsy-drunk and just sleeping until everything seemed less awful sounded nice, I knew that would only make things worse. Hangovers never made the morning brighter, and drinking didn't solve anything, just made it less present until I sobered up. Nodding approvingly, Liz popped back into the kitchen.

I sank on the sofa and let them whirl around in controlled chaos, closing my eyes and trying not to cry.

"Hey," Tori said quietly. "Listen, it's bullshit, okay? We all know it's bullshit. And we're gonna try to help fix this. But it's okay for it to be awful right now."

"That's kind of what I told Cooper earlier," I sighed, opening one eye to look at her beside me. "But Tori, I'm never gonna be let back on the squad. Even if Jameson came out tomorrow morning and announced he screwed me over, that I never tried to manipulate him, I'd still be found in breach of my contract. They'll have someone new in the lineup before next Friday. And I'll be at the studio, with Lynda and Mom telling me they told me so and how right they were and how I've wasted my life."

She toed my ankle. "Hey. Look at me, Lucas. Shhh. Look at me. Now listen." Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice so Marisol and Liz couldn't hear and chime in. "So what?"

"Uh. That's not what I was expecting?"

"So what?" she insisted. "You knew when you tried out that this isn't a long-term job. Not the cheering end of things anyway. You can love something infinitely, but it doesn't make it right for you."

"Your pep talks suck," I muttered.

She laughed, pushing her braids back over her shoulder and leaning in to give me a sideways hug. "But I'm right. And now we're going to have tamales from Marisol's mom. We're going to drink sweet tea, and we're going to watch some trashy reality TV. Then we're going to let you talk."

Liz appeared, setting glasses down in front of us, followed by Marisol with plates. "And when you're done talking," Liz said, "we're going to help."

"But—"

"But nothing," Marisol scolded gently. "You're gonna steer this ship, okay? We'll figure this out together because that's what ride-or-die besties do."

My poor heart had been dragged from one extreme to the other today, and I didn't know how to feel just then. Happy I had support, distraught because I had to lean on them... angry at Creel, frustrated at myself for being young and making foolish choices. For being older and making the same choice.

Liz waved her fork at me. "What did Cass have to say?"

I shrugged. "She texted earlier, said to keep my mouth shut basically, and she'd let me know how management wants this presented. She's pushing for an official statement tomorrow since Jameson's making this everyone's business." Though delicious, the tamale felt heavy when I swallowed, choking on the words already in my throat. "If this was just me dating Cooper, I'd be let go, and it'd barely be a ripple," I sighed. "But because Jameson decided to make this his lore, now I'm dragged out in the middle of everything, and my reputation is shot to hell. Fuck!" I dropped my plate on the coffee table with a clatter, making them all jump in their seats. "Sorry! Just... I'm going to have to tell Liesel I appreciate her insisting I stay on, but this will screw them over."

Marisol set her own plate down far more delicately, dabbing at her lips with one of Renata's everyday cloth napkins. "Not necessarily."

She told me about her brother's offer to start legal proceedings to make Jameson shut the fuck up, including his pro bono offer. "Unless it becomes a huge thing. Then he'll take his fee out of your compensation because Nito don't play. He'll have Jameson wrung dry before that asshole has a chance to even blink in court."

Before I could stop myself, a small huff of laughter escaped. "Nito's very confident," I said dryly.

"Because he knows he's good." She picked her plate back up and took a defiant bite of the tamale.

"Right. First thing we’re doing. Eating and catching up with the Kardashians," Liz said loudly. "Where's the remote? Enough about Nito's briefs."

"Oh, ew, Liz." Marisol flicked a bit of masa at her.

"Ah! Renata will kill me! Save the food fights for the kitchen. Everything in there can be wiped down!"

Tori grabbed the remote from the side table. Within seconds, we were watching overly wealthy people complain about how hard life was. Which, to be fair, maybe it was. Money didn't fix everything. It sure didn't hurt, though, I thought glumly, glancing around the apartment. There went moving out in the next year or two, unless something miraculous happened soon and I not only got my job back but a huge raise.

While the episodes played and the tamales dwindled down to nothing, I drifted. Marisol went to the kitchen and came back with cookies since her mother heard heartbreak, and that word activated Southern moms like sleeper agents, triggering an outpouring of food.

"Have you given any more thought to grad school?" Liz asked after another episode wrapped up. "I know you mentioned it before..."

"Maybe," I grumbled. "Now I don't know if I can, though. Money aside, I was going to parlay working with Queering Sports into a platform for my master’s degree one day. I might be able to get into a good nonprofit management program but at this point..."

"Hon." Tori turned off the TV and leaned forward, grabbing both of my hands in hers. "You're not that special."

Offense quickly morphing into surprised laughter, I sputtered, "What?"

"People in grad school—hell, in every facet of life—have either fucked up royal or been dragged through the mud, or both. And you know what? They're doing okay. Some of them better than okay. And if a graduate program refuses you because some no-neck dipshit with a five-head and all the personality of a wet wad of toilet paper talked trash about you, then that program doesn't deserve your name on their roster."

"It's more complicated than that," I started, but Tori gently pinched my lips together. "Mmph?"

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