Page 35 of Hate the Game
A quiet tension filled the call and I regretted mentioning the game immediately. More guilt added to what I was already feeling.
“I’m starting today.” Cash’s face was tight. “Coach and Dr. Davenport are keeping Hayes out this week.”
Hayes’ voice was barely more than a growl in the background. “My season is already fucking over. My arm isn’t back to what it was and the team can’t wait for me to heal. I’ll be joining Weston on the bench.”
“Oh, Hayes. I’m so sorry.” I watched Cash look away and knew him well enough to know that he was struggling with his own guilt. Out of the three of them he was the least interested in playing football and did it because it was expected. “Are y’all okay?”
Weston took the phone from Cash and turned the video off. I heard him mutter something to Cash or Hayes before speaking to me. “We’ve got to head out soon, Vannah. We love you. Call us tomorrow.”
He hung up before I could even say goodbye. I turned my phone face down and buried my face in my hands. I’d messed up. More than a little.
I had to fix it. I had to make things better for my brothers. They didn’t deserve the path they’d been shoved onto and I could see it killing them.
If I needed another reminder to get my shit together, I had an email come through at that moment. It was from Marla Knight and she wasn’t happy with my progress. She seemed especially angry about an article that had been written aboutCoach Carrington being the most eligible bachelor amongst all the college level coaches. According to her, he was a pig and deserved to stub his toe every day, all day, for the rest of his life. She’d even clarified that eventually his toes would all fall off and he’d have to wobble around, unbalanced. She’d thought it through. And made very clear that if I got in the way of her revenge she’d wish the same on me.
I blew out a big breath and looked down at my toes. I didn’t really like feet but I generally enjoyed my toes being on my feet.
“Fuck.”
***Savannah***
I’d never rewatched the Texas USC game. I’d watched it in person and after hearing the hits and seeing the outcome, the thought of rewatching it made me sick. It was time, though. I was getting lost and distracted. I needed to remember why I was doing what I was doing and remind myself who these guys were.
I pulled up a full video of the game and sat there, computer on my lap, breathing to settle my nerves. I knew the exact play and moment the injuries happened so I clicked ahead to the last few minutes of the video. I remembered it so clearly that I could still hear the crowd around me as the clock ticked down. The score was tied. USC had the ball on the five-yard line.
I was so confident in Texas’ defensive line because both Hayes and Weston were rock stars and, despite a long and grueling game, they were still in top shape. Just before USC snapped my dad leaned over and harshly whispered that they’d put in a defensive lineman, number sixty-three, most likely to perform a trick play. I rarely sat with him during games because when he did show up, he was negative the entire time, so I’d just brushed him off and leaned forward.
The ball snapped. The crowd hushed as the USC quarterback, Jax, fell back. It was pandemonium. It looked like he’d passed to sixty-three and sixty-three powered into the defensive line like a train. When I realized Jax still had the ball I shot up, my hand going to my mouth as I held my breath. There was a moment of pause when our defense realized what I had. I watched Weston change directions and go after Jax. I’d been watching my brother, thrilled as I waited for the sack. Instead, I watched as sixty-three came out of nowhere and took him down. The hit from the side had caught Weston by surprise and the sound had been so loud I could practically feel it.
My eyes snapped to Hayes, expecting to find him moving into the trenches. Jax threw the ball and I held my breath as I lost track of my brothers and watched the ball rocket with deadly precision into the hands of one of his receivers. Still at the one-yard line, there was hope. I found Hayes powering straight at the guy and clutched both my hands to my head.
Cole, on the field as a receiver, saw Hayes going for the tackle and went for him. At the same time another of their offensive lineme n spotted Hayes and both of them hit Hayes from different angles. When I heard Dad stand up with a vicious swear, I knew it was bad.
The receiver with the ball threw himself into the endzone and USC’s fans went wild. I remembered that it sounded like a stampede and it felt like that, like a hundred cows were standing on my chest as I waited for the pile-up to clear. I wasn’t even processing the loss yet. Before I could see anything, Dad was charging down to the field.
In the matter of seconds everything changed. It’d felt like I’d blinked and the play happened. In so few seconds, though, my brothers’ lives had been changed. The Texas players circled around on the field and my breath caught in my throat. Cashran onto the field and I watched his body tense as he saw what I couldn’t.
Medical personnel ran out and then called for more people. Golf carts full of supplies went out. Silence fell over the stadium when it became obvious that someone was hurt. I was frozen where I stood, shaking, tears swelling. When I saw two stretchers going out my legs went weak and I collapsed back into my seat. It took only a few minutes for the first stretcher to be driven out.
I saw Hayes grimacing with his knee stabilized on the cart. People cheered for him, seeing that he was okay enough to be sitting up but he didn’t react. He just glanced over his shoulder and… I knew him well enough to know that Weston wasn’t okay. I could feel it in my gut.
It took longer for them to get Weston on his own cart. When I saw him I let out a pained cry. My big brother, my strong, massive, stronger than anything bad in life brother was strapped to a stretcher , fully immobilized. The cervical collar scared me the most. I had visions of my brother being paralyzed and openly sobbed as I finally found the strength to get up and stumble down to the field.
I found Dad standing at the tunnel entrance where they were taking Weston, his fist pressed to his mouth. He’d felt real for the next couple hours as we waited to find out the full damage. He’d held me like a real father while I fell apart. The whole time he did, though, he cursed USC and The Apex Three. While the waiting room filled with my brothers’ teammates Cash stood alone in the corner, his face twisted with anger.
“They fucking wanted this. They wanted to hurt my boys. They could never win if your brothers were in the game, Savannah. Those bastards did this on purpose!” Dad’s raised voice had carried through the waiting room and I’d watched through tear-filled eyes as everyone nodded and agreed with him, silent but approving.
“They’ll fucking pay for this.” Cash’s voice was unrecognizable and the promise in it cracked through the air like lightning. He meant it.
When Dad had enough of my tears he moved away and then I was hugged by so many of my brothers’ teammates. Each of them had their own words of comfort but the overall theme was USC played dirty.
We found out Hayes had a complete ACL tear and needed surgery. He was okay, though. It took us longer to find out that Weston had two herniated discs in his spine and was in incredible amounts of pain but would be able to walk just fine. Once everyone could breathe the anger grew. The others’ silent acceptance became loud belligerence.
“They should have their teeth kicked in.”
“Those dirty fuckers. We should find them and let them see how it feels.”
“Break their backs!”
