Divisions (Dev and Lee) (40 page)

They grin; we don’t feel like smiling. But it’s worth remembering that we beat them a couple months ago, in Hellentown, no less.

“Next week’ll be different,” Gerrard mutters as we head back to the locker room. But those are the only words he says, at least in my hearing, all the way back into the room itself.

“Damn right.” And then I go to see how Charm is doing, because I didn’t see him at all at the end of the game.

He’s sitting in front of his locker, holding his helmet. Everyone’s going by him on their way to the trainers’ room, patting him on the shoulder, saying kind words. I plop myself down next to him.

“So,” I say. “Y’know, if I’d made that interception in the first quarter, we don’t even need those last few points.”

“I make that kick nine out of ten times,” he says. “Fucking rabbit, jumping around on the line.”

“So make the kick next week and the week after,” I say. I flex my paws. “We’re in the playoffs. Isn’t that what counts?”

“Sure,” he says. “Sure.”

I kick the side of his massive leg. “Hey. We still gotta go out and play a game. We’re in the playoffs.”

It doesn’t feel like it, from the attitude in the room. Gerrard’s ears are still flat and he’s undressing slowly. Some guys are staring into space. About half the team, though, is still joking with each other, undressing like it was just another game, what’s the big deal, heading to the trainer for meds and bandaging, we’ll do this again next week.

The only guy more pissed than Gerrard is Strike. He comes in and throws his helmet into his locker with a crash that makes everyone look up for a second. Then he strips, fast, and gets to the shower before anyone else.

“Just glad he’s not talking,” Vonni mutters nearby as he and I watch the cheetah disappear.

A minute later, Coach comes in and gathers everyone for his speech, even Strike, some soap still in his wet fur, not even bothering to reach for a towel. Which distracts people a little, because he’s got these intricate dye markings of flames and wings around his chest and stomach, and he’s got a sunburst dyed in bright yellow around his sheath. So I’m not the only one staring at him. Then Coach starts talking, and we give him our full attention.

“We’re in the playoffs. So we have to go play a few road games. This team has never shied away from a challenge, and we’re not going to give up now. The game turns on a few plays, and some days they go your way. Today, most of the breaks went to them. Next week, that’s not going to be the case. So keep playing hard, because I can tell you from experience that when teams give the kind of effort you gave today, good things happen. We’ve got three games left and we’re not going to be back here, so let’s stay focused, stay hungry, and stay positive. We are the Firebirds and we are going to win a championship!”

That gets a little cheer out of us, and makes me feel a little better. But still, by the time I’ve gone to the trainer to check out my ribs—still sore, but doing okay—I wish I didn’t have to fly to Hellentown next week.

It’s hard not to be deflated after a close loss, especially when the game is important. The thing to keep in mind is that it doesn’t end the season. But I’m sure Dev’s heard that over and over again, so I don’t text it to him. I just write,
Good game. You deserved to win.

And then Hal and I sit and wait for the crowd to disperse. We already talked about the game while it was going on, and I told him I didn’t want to talk about my personal issues during the game. I don’t want to start that conversation, if we’re going to have it, while people are leaving all around us, so I say, “Going to Hellentown for the game next week?”

“Probably.” He turns, looks at me. “You?”

“Probably.” I sniff my beer. It’s warm and a little flat. I set it back in the holder. “Going to bring your girl with you?”

“Don’t think so.” He got his beer the same time I got mine, but he drinks it anyway. “Don’t know if she’d be interested.”

“If she doesn’t like football…”

“You know…” He looks down onto the field where the players are milling about. “Football’s not really my number one sport either.”

“Oh?” I flick an ear.

“It’s not bad, but I like basketball more.” He sets his beer down and mimes taking a shot. “Buzzer beater from the corner.”

I point down to the field. “Long field goal as time expires?”

“Yeah, but…that’s the kicker. He doesn’t do anything else. It’s not the guys who got ‘em there.”

“He’s part of the team, too.”

“Too specialized.” Hal leans down, as though examining the teams on the sidelines more closely. “Kickers barely feel it when they leave the game. Maybe blow out a knee or foot.”

I flop back in my seat and stretch my arms over the backs, keeping my right arm behind his seat so he doesn’t think I’m trying to come on to him or something. “Again with the injuries. It doesn’t happen to everyone.”

“Happens to some. Then they make it worse, taking drugs to get back in the game.”

“Dev’s never mentioned drugs,” I say. “You can print that. Anyway, you’re in the wrong sport. Baseball’s the one with the drugs.”

“Baseball players take drugs to get an edge,” Hal says. “Individual performance means a lot more. Football players take drugs just to make their body shut up when it’s tellin’ them they should take a break. You tellin’ me Dev never got cortisone before a game? Never saw a teammate get a shot to be able to play on Sunday?”

“They’re pretty stubborn,” I say. “It’s a tough game and it means a lot to them. They’ll do anything just to stay in it.”

“Don’t know what’s good for ‘em.”

Fisher’s desperation stands out clearly in my mind. “Better to be part of it, even if it’s hurting you, than go without it.”

“Even if it hurts you the rest of your life?”

I study the intensity of his expression. “I think I liked you better when you didn’t have a girlfriend and were just interested in a gay football player.”

He turns and grins, and elbows me in the side. “An’ I liked you better when you were a pretty lady. Can’t all get what we want.”

“Ow.” I laugh. “Fair enough.” The crowd is thinning, so I gesture. “Time to go?”

“Sure. You got somewhere to be?”

“Supposed to be a playoff celebration dinner tonight for the team. Don’t think spouses or boyfriends are invited.” I stand and stretch, and Hal stands, too.

“Not sure how much of a celebration it’ll be anyway,” he says, and looks toward the end of the stadium, to where the big flag of the States hangs. “No banner goin’ up there.”

I follow him along the row, my fingers trailing along the backs of the seats. “Unless they win the championship.” The Firebirds are already almost all in their locker room. I saw Dev talking to the other team’s linebackers; it looked civil. There was a little jawing during the game, but that’s to be expected with division rivals.

“Least it was an exciting game,” Hal says when we get into the stadium concourse, since I’ve been silent all that time.

“Yeah.” I think about the miscues, the things that didn’t go Chevali’s way. “I hope they learn from that. There’s no reason this team couldn’t go to the championship this year.”

“We got to beat Hellentown first.”

“They did it earlier. Maybe being back there will be a lift.”

The same conversations are going on all around us, all the people leaving the game in their red and gold talking about the playoffs. Hellentown primarily, but also looking ahead to Boliat and even Crystal City.

“Boxers are tough this year. Great shutdown defense, same offense that’s kept them in the playoffs for years.”

I hold the door for Hal. “Thought you weren’t a football guy.”

He walks through and holds the next door for me, his tail swishing. “Go ahead, ask me who’s going to win the FBA title this year.”

“Easy. The Bikers, right?”

“Nah. Keep an eye on the Mayors.”

I laugh. “All right. Once the football season’s over.”

“Maybe I’ll take you to a Whips game sometime.”

“Take your girlfriend.”

He nods, but looks down at the pavement. Outside, the air is warmer than in the wind-swirled stadium. A light breeze still kicks hot dog wrappers along the gutter, and tickets lie flat on the sidewalk. Ahead of us, an ermine couple—male and female—chat animatedly about the game, the boyfriend claiming the Firebirds suck while his girlfriend says, just as adamantly, that they were robbed. She’s wearing a red and gold scarf; he’s got on a Firebirds windbreaker.

“Things going okay with the girl?” I nudge Hal.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine.”

That’s a very final “fine,” so I leave it be and turn my thoughts to Dev. He hasn’t lost an important game in a long time—he hasn’t played an important game in a long time, for that matter. Last one was the Division II quarterfinal that I went to see, and he was pretty down afterwards. I don’t think he’ll be as bad tonight. I mean, he’s closer to this team, for one thing. For another, it’s not like he’s graduating and it’s the last game he’ll ever play with these guys. And for a third, they’re still in the playoffs. They need to suck it up and go play Hellentown again next week.

“So I guess we’re in for a week of ‘these teams know each other well’ and ‘this division rivalry has taken center stage’ from your colleagues, right?” I ask Hal, who’s still brooding about his girl.

“Oh, probably. I’d take the angle of ‘these two teams have played a close game every time they’ve met, so this week’s is sure to be a thriller.’ Makes people excited about the game without actually predicting anything.”

“Don’t ever want to commit, do you guys?”

He shakes his head, whiskers twitching. “Not like anyone remembers when we do. We write stupid predictions at the beginning of the season, you’ll see a bunch of predictions for the playoffs, and nobody keeps track.”

“You got predictions for the playoffs?”

He scratches his ear. “I think you might see Peco at Boliat for the championship. Peco had a down year, but they had some injuries and they played well the last few games once they got everyone back. And the Boxers are the Boxers. Got to be the favorites ‘til they’re not, right?”

“No hometown love?”

“I got plenty of hometown love. But I’m realistic, too. These boys never been to the playoffs before.”

“Fisher has. Dev was in the Division II playoffs.”

Hal laughs. “You got Kingston, you got Strike, and lemme see, Marvell mighta been a rookie in the last playoff year. That’s what you get for bein’ a career Firebird. It’s a young team and they got a bright future, but this ain’t the year.”

“Says you.”

“You think they can go all the way?”

I run down the teams in my head. I know the way you can talk yourself into things. If they exploit this matchup, if they run the ball like they can, if Dev and Gerrard and the secondary can clamp down on the line…while over there in Hellentown, their fans are thinking the same thing: if we can force turnovers, if we can get better field position…

The fact that I’ve met Gerrard and a lot of the players, that I know Dev, maybe skews my thinking. I don’t know the guys on the other side of the ball. It’s easy to imagine Dev and Gerrard getting psyched up for it. But those wolves and the jaguar will be psyched too; it’s hard to imagine Buck being anything but fired up to prove he’s better than he played in this game. But I don’t know him. Maybe he gets depressed like Dev.

I haven’t gotten a text back from Dev yet, speaking of that. So I take out the new phone and shoot him another text:
How you doing?

Hal nods toward the phone. “How’s the new gadget working out?”

“Pretty nice.” I show off the new phone for a few seconds, take a picture of him to show how good the camera is, and take a picture of the late afternoon skyline of Chevali. It’s a pretty town, and home for now. It could be home for a long time, but…that leads me down thoughts of my future. It’s my home for the next month, until the season’s over. I have to make a decision soon, but not right now.

We grab a bus back to the Golden Dunes Mall where everyone parks for games, and both of us keep quiet on the way, Hal absorbed in his thoughts and me in mine. I go back to the same problem over and over again, of whether I should just take the job in Yerba, go back to my old life of football scouting without the pressure of staying closeted, or if I should stay here and really try to make a difference.

I haven’t even been to the gay neighborhood of Chevali yet, haven’t explored the town apart from the places I’ve gone with Dev. I did a little shopping, but just wandering around the shopping district of a town is like getting to know a guy by sniffing his coat. You can only get so much from it. If I am going to stay here, I’m going to have to learn more about the city. Although if Dev does get traded, I’ll move with him to the new city, start looking into the activist scene there. Or I could stay here, like some wives do when they’ve put down roots. I could keep his apartment here and he could stay here in the off-season.

Even as I think about all of this, though, I feel that it’s just delaying a decision I’ve already made. And maybe the reason I’m delaying is that this decision feels like a betrayal of myself. It doesn’t matter that Brian is still an asshole; he reminded me of the old me, the things that I had a passion for before I had a passion for a football player with stripes. Those old passions, they still call, they still burn when I give them room to breathe.

My phone buzzes with a message from Dev.
Doing ok. Hanging with Charm.

Dinner later?

Team only. Sorry.

“Looks like it might be a while,” I say as Hal and I get off the bus and I put the phone away. “Guess I’ll maybe see you in Hellentown?”

“You going to that party?”

I shake my head. “Sounds like they’re just having the team there.”

He jingles his car keys in his paw. “I’m not doing anything, if you want to hang out more.”

I glance over at the mall. “Why, Mister Kinnel—”

“Yes,” he says, “I’m asking you out to a food court dinner. That okay? Do I have to buy you a purse after?”

“Only if you want to.” I laugh. “How about that sports bar on the other side of the mall?”

***

So we sit in the sports bar and watch the recap of the game and listen to the people in the bar grouse about the Firebirds. We talk about next year, and Hal tries to educate me on basketball a little bit. I try to get him to talk about his girl, but he just dodges the questions. I return the favor when he asks about my trip home, just telling him it went badly and I’m still figuring it out.

Over barbecue chicken sandwiches, he brings up the Firebirds job, which he hasn’t been able to find out anything more about. “Talked to anyone about that yet?”

“Not yet. If I decide to stay here, not go to Yerba, then it’d be nice to have real work, to have the weight of a football team behind me. But then what if Dev gets traded or signs somewhere else? What if he doesn’t, and this job only lasts four months?”

“You both work in football, that’s gonna happen.”

I wipe my muzzle with a napkin. “I know that. Just wondering if I’ll get fired for conflict of interest again if I’m talking to the gay community and Dev’s in Port City or Yerba or whatever.”

“Probably not from an outreach job.” Hal leans back in his chair. “But I can’t say for sure. That’d be something to ask them.”

“Or I could just keep working with Equality Now.”

His eyes measure mine. “With Brian.”

I look back, then down at the table. “Uh-huh.”

“Is that something you really want to do? You didn’t care for him that much a couple months ago.”

“We’ve been reliving old times,” I say, curling my tail against my leg. “Remembering why we were such good friends.”

“Uh-huh.” There are toothpicks at the end of the table. He reaches over to take one and picks between his teeth. “Dev’s okay with that?”

“As long as I don’t talk about it.” I sigh. “The problem’s not with Brian. I mean, he’s an ass, but I can handle him. The problem’s with me.”

Hal grins at me, his ears perked up. “
You’re
an ass?”

“Ha ha,” I say, although he is closer to the truth than he probably realizes. “If I want to make a difference, it’s going to conflict with Dev’s football. All Brian is doing is pushing that faster than it would move along anyway.”

“And if Dev was happy going along with these folks, or you could convince ‘em that he’s never going to—if it was resolved one way or the other, that skunk wouldn’t be a problem?”

“Not as much of one.”

He brushes his whiskers flat and lets them spring up again. “You can’t go work with some other group?”

I shake my head. “Sure. But I’ll still be bringing it home, wondering why he’s not more committed. I just won’t have Brian to push against.”

“Takin’ that stress out of the equation might be a good thing.”

My phone chimes. It’s Dev, writing:
Angela and Gena here. Want to come?

Where is it?
“Hey, apparently the team dinner is open to spouses,” I say.

Grantmark Hotel.

“Where’s the Grantmark Hotel?”