Divisions (Dev and Lee) (28 page)

“Okay. Thanks for lunch, and, uh.” His smile turns a little embarrassed, which is actually adorable. “For talking.”

“Don’t stress about it,” I say. “And it’ll go away.” I hope I know what I’m talking about.

His joke about the players’ wives working with charities stung initially, because Dev and I can’t actually get married, but it stuck with me for another reason. When he’s gone, I take out my phone and find Gena’s number. I have it from way back and I never even thought to call her when I moved here. If I wanted a friend, I could have done worse, and it wasn’t that I thought she’d be busy with a recovering Fisher. I just never even thought of it.

I lean with my ears back against the brick of a storefront and call. She seems surprised to hear my voice, and even after I say, “It’s Dev’s Lee,” she’s a little distracted.

“Oh. Right. I’m sorry. How are you?”

“Good. I’m in town—I moved down here to Chevali. How are things with Fisher?”

“Oh,” she says. “He’s…he’s impatient. He wants to get back on the field. Next week he gets to go back to the facility and practice.”

“That’s good,” I say, and she’s quiet, so I follow up. “Isn’t it?”

“I suppose. Anyway, I don’t mean to go on. It’s nice to hear from you. How are you liking Chevali?”

“Well.” I look around at the Christmas lights as the cool breeze ruffles my ears. Nobody’s even wearing a coat, much less a scarf or anything to keep cold off their ears. There is, of course, no snow on the ground, no nip in the air, no tingle of cold on my nose or the tips of my ears. My winter coat feels warm, on the edge of uncomfortable. “It doesn’t feel like Christmas. The decorations are nice, but the cacti kind of ruin it.”

She laughs. “We do our best down here. Not what you’re used to, I’m sure. How is Devlin? We get reports from the team, but…well, not as much now that Fisher isn’t playing.”

“He’s good. The team’s good. Bad game at Yerba, but they’ll get over it.”

“We watched. Well, I did. Fisher went into the garage halfway through the third.”

“Otherwise things are okay. I have a couple leads on jobs.” It seems polite at this point to ask, so I say, “Would you two have time free for dinner sometime? Maybe after Dev gets back from Kerina…although then Christmas is Wednesday, and then there’s the Hellentown game. Maybe after that, though?”

“We’d love to, and yes, probably it wouldn’t be until after Christmas, at this point. Unless we see you at Christmas.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to intrude on your family. My father’s coming down, anyway.”

“It’s not our family. Gerrard and Angela had Christmas at their place last year for some of the team. I imagine you’ll be invited.”

“Oh. Dev didn’t tell me.” I start to wonder if he’s hiding it from me again, but fortunately Gena corrects me immediately.

“He probably doesn’t know. I don’t think they’ve sent out the invitations yet. Angela has those two cubs to keep track of, and they’re winding up school. They aren’t the best at planning ahead, you might have noticed.”

“Yes.” I grin. “Coyotes.”

“Well, species aside. She has a lot to keep track of.”

“I’m sure.” I remember the two cubs, how energetic they were. Probably at least the younger one is still at an age where Christmas is magical to him. Which would be neat to see. I never had a younger brother or sister to share Christmas with, so for the last ten years or so it’s always been a sedate family affair, more and more strained. “Well, if we’re invited, I guess we’ll see you there.”

“I’m sure you’re invited.” I hear a deep voice in the background. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go get lunch.”

“Go take care of it. And Merry Christmas, just in case.”

“You too.”

I hang up. Well, it’s good that I’m downtown. It looks like I do have a bit more Christmas shopping to do.

Kerina’s overwhelming from the air, a sprawing metropolis around three clusters of skyscrapers. Even Aventira, which is a bigger city, had only one big downtown. I know Crystal City is bigger, but I wasn’t looking out the window when we landed there. There’s no ocean or lake, just a huge expanse of tan semi-desert broken up by spots of green and clusters of black machinery surrounding the city. Lots of oil money here.

The airport is crowded and busy, the city no better. The team gets into a bus to go to the hotel, and the air feels hazy and dirty. Ty, sitting behind me, complains about the smell. “Crystal City’s supposed to have shitty air,” he says, “but this is worse. Rotten eggs.”

“Smells more like sewage treatment,” Gerrard says from the seat in front of me.

Charm, beside me, rubs his nose. “Just smells like shit to me. Hope the hotel isn’t near the dump.”

“Come on,” I say. “Couple of the girls who live by the dump? That’s a good time.”

He laughs. “They give better blow jobs,” he says. “Know why?” He opens his mouth and points. “No teeth.”

I laugh, and so does Ty. Then from behind us, Strike’s voice says, “You don’t want to do that. There’s always a risk of disease.”

“Not from a blow job,” Vonni says.

“Not if you’re gettin’ it,” Zillo shoots back.

Strike goes on. “Really, this air is doing damage to our lungs with every breath.”

“Sure,” Charm says, “but what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?”

I elbow him. “You know Nietzsche?”

He frowns. “Was that the fox gal from Hellentown?”

Strike, behind us, says, “That’s a fallacy. It might not kill us, but it can weaken us. We need to be on top of our game.”

“Jesus, lighten up,” Ty says. “It’s the fucking Knights. We only need to be about halfway up our game.”

General laughter and agreement greets this, but Strike says, “Never let off the pedal. Never stop playing your best.”

That kind of kills the laughter. In front of us, Gerrard says, “Least he has his head in the game.”

“When it’s not up his ass,” Carson murmurs.

Behind me, I hear someone—not sure who it is—say, “Not like we couldn’t play better,” and someone responds, “You including yourself in that?” and then “Hell yeah, and you too.” Then silence.

Ty leans forward between me and Charm and points his muzzle at Gerrard’s ears. He says, loudly, “It’s a game. We’re supposed to have fun.”

That gets a few “Amen!” responses. Then Gerrard feels compelled to turn around and say, “It’s a job, and we oughta take it seriously,” which also gets some positive responses and some yells of “Siddown, Coach.”

Samuelson stands up at that point and says, “Calm down, fellas. We got a game to get ready for.” That simmers people down, at least for a little. But there’s still some grumbling around Strike, and, unusually, around Gerrard too.

Fortunately, the hotel is not far from the airport. We get out and look at Knight Field, the old historic stadium, and then the brand new stadium being built next to it. A huge sign says, “Future Home of TFC Bank Arena.”

“Jeez,” Ty says to me as we walk away. “Glad I get a chance to play in Knight Stadium.”

The hotel front shines as brightly as the clean white stone running around the base of the new construction across the street, and inside it’s all gleaming efficiency, clean floors and fresh-smelling white carpeting with regular black patterns, and badger bellboys in stark white uniforms. Seriously, all the bellboys are badgers, and the desk clerks are all skunks. I check the name again to see if there’s some kind of black-and-white theme to the hotel, but no, it’s just the “Royal Metro.”

The training facilities at the stadium, by contrast, are old and worn. Even I can detect all kinds of old scents on the benches, and some of the weight plates have initials scratched into them. Zillo and I try to decipher some of them and decide that one is at least ten years old, because the most famous guy with those initials was a wolverine running back who retired then. And honestly, ten years was kind of the low end of my guesses as to how old this equipment all was.

It doesn’t matter that much, though Strike complains about it every time I’m near him. Halfway through Thursday, he finds some antibacterial soap, and after that he smells of it every time he comes over to put his arm around my shoulders. He wants to talk about the commercial, but he doesn’t have a whole lot to say, and after a little while I notice that he mostly comes over to me before and after practices, when there are reporters taking pictures.

I’m not sure why he wants to be seen with me, and it’s a little bit unsettling. When I’d just come out to the team, and Gerrard and Carson and Charm and Fisher all made a point to hang out with me, it was supportive. But the guys are mostly okay with me now, so for Strike to come over and single me out just reminds everyone why I’m different, and why he’s different, and associating the two of us, and I don’t really want that. So whenever he comes over and puts his arm around my shoulder, I pretend to get a call on my phone, or hear someone calling me, and I spin away from the attention.

The linebacking drills, fortunately, exclude Strike from being present, because he has to go practice with the receiving corps. And with him gone, I can focus pretty well on what we’re doing. All the linebackers and most of the defense find it easy to ignore Strike, except that we bring up how lucky we are not to have to deal with him in just about every conversation. I’m kind of annoyed at him, but when the other guys gush over that touchdown, how he just ran past everyone, that makes it easier for me to admire the player, even if I’m not a big fan of the person. Norton gets all quiet when we do that, so we try not to do it too often, but damn. Vonni, of course, gets in his jibes at the cheetah cornerback—“When you said cheetahs were fast, well, now I know what you mean!” and Norton is comfortable enough to respond to him with a crack back about foxes—but the rest of us try to stay calm about Strike when he’s around.

As Lee guessed, some of the patterns we’re putting in are practice for Hellentown, though the coaches don’t say that specifically. Zillo and I talk after practice with Pace and Vonni, all of us wondering why we’re being made to learn a lot of long pass patterns. Vonni points out that he’s going to be running farther in practice than on any play in Sunday’s actual game. Kerina’s longest pass play of the year is forty yards, and that was with a ten-yard run after the catch. They have a rookie quarterback, and their best wideout is a deer more famous for his many dropped passes than for any caught ones.

Hellentown, though, they’ve got that lion, Andy Buck, and he can sling it. Broke the league record for touchdowns two years ago. We know we’re preparing for him, but we don’t say anything to the coaches because they obviously have reasons for doing it. I don’t say anything to Gerrard because I’m sure he’s figured it out. We do grouse a bit—“what do they think we are, stupid?” Vonni says, but he’s a fox and so naturally hates it when people try to trick him.

Ty and Vonni try to get us to go out again Friday night. Pace and Charm are up for it, but I beg off. Gerrard and Carson are sticking around with the guys from the practice squad, preparing both for Kerina and for Hellentown, and knowing that Lee’s coming in Saturday, I want to get in as much work as I can. Gerrard doesn’t say much about who we’re preparing for, but when Baki says, “Come on, it’s only Kerina,” he stops and glares at the cheetah. I’m prepared to say something about Hellentown, but Gerrard goes in a different direction.

“That’s Knight Field,” Gerrard says. “You seen the 1978 Championship? The 1984 semifinal game? That place is full of history, and I’ve seen guys stare at the championship banners and forget about the game. The banners give a place a sense of history. You can’t be too prepared for a game at Kerina.”

He doesn’t have to point out that we have no banners at our field. But Vonni is unimpressed. “History’s history. They’re not winning any championship banners this year, so what’s the big deal?”

“Yeah,” Ty says. “Things change.”

“They don’t always change much or for long,” Gerrard says. “We grew up watching these guys.”

“You did,” Ty says. “They were good for about two years when I was eight, stunk ever since.”

“You think they forgot their history because they’re two and ten?” Gerrard gets a little more animated, as much as I’ve ever seen him. “They have a lot more stake in that history than you think, a lot of pride, and if you let them, they’ll use it to get your head out of the game.”

“I only get distracted thinking about the championship banners in our future,” Ty says.

“I only get distracted by the cheerleaders,” Charm says. “And practice don’t help with that.”

“C’mon, Zill-o-matic,” Ty says. “We’re takin’ you out.”

The coyote perks up. “Really? Awesome.”

“You think you don’t need practice?” Gerrard’s voice is mild, but we can all hear the steel in it.

Zillo grins at his fellow coyote, then points at me. “Don’t get hurt,” he says. “All right, I’m ready.” And he follows Ty and Charm and the others out the door.

Gerrard takes only a moment staring after them. “All right,” he said. “You people who’re serious about the game, let’s go.”

I take that to heart, and work out until late in the evening, then go home and collapse. On the way up, I pass a female coyote waiting in the lobby, slim and fashionable and so like the one in Yerba that I have to stop and make sure it’s not. But no, the one in Yerba had no jewelry and this one has a gold hoop in her right ear and a stylish necklace with a turquoise pendant, and besides, she’s shorter. I shake the uneasy need to ask who she’s here for, because it’s none of my business, and anyway, I’m exhausted. I’m so out of it that I don’t even hear Charm come in (ten to midnight, according to his story the next day), but he’s there snoring when I get up.

Saturday is a normal Saturday: lighter workouts in the morning, film study and team meetings in the afternoon. We’re dismissed around dinnertime and I skip out on the team dinner. “Goin’ off to eat alone?” Vonni says.

“Nope.” I just grin at him, and he matches my grin a moment later.

“Have a good night, then.”

“Don’t let Strike find out,” Charm yells after me.

“I won’t if you won’t,” I shoot back, and he laughs.

Lee’s hotel is fancy like mine, but different. Instead of stark white marble and black fixtures, badgers and skunks on the staff, his is purple armchairs and red wallpaper, bright modern art paintings, and foxes, jaguars, and okapis in sleek red uniforms. I take the elevator up to his floor, staring at the pattern of solid colored circles painted on the walls, and hesitate at his door. The arguments of the previous week, which we haven’t mentioned on the phone the times we’ve talked, flutter back to my mind. If he starts in with the activist stuff, I tell myself, I’ll just say a firm ‘no,’ and then I will distract him. I know how to do that. I’ve actually been able to get around him pretty well the past couple weeks.

That bothers me when I think of it that way, because I’ve never gotten the better of him for very long, and if it’s happening that much, I start to suspect it’s part of a plan of his. Maybe he wants me to think I can shut him down that quickly. Maybe he’s trying to avoid having a discussion about it with me.

Lion Christ, I can’t waste energy trying to outthink him. I take a breath and knock on his door.

The peephole goes dark as he looks through, and then he opens it, hiding behind it. “I saw a neat dinner place on the way over,” I say as I walk in. The door closes behind me. “Barbecue’s supposed to be the local, uh, special—”

He grins at me. He’s wearing a Kerina Knights t-shirt, ash-grey with the black Knights logo large on his stomach and the word “KNIGHTS” in big block letters above it, across his chest. And below the edge of the shirt, there’s just ivory fur, the bulge of his sheath pushing out the fabric of the shirt, his sac hanging below it. His hips, ivory in front and russet around the side, are just as bare down his thighs to the chocolate brown of his calves and feet. His tail swings enticingly behind him. “I’m not that hungry yet,” he says.