Damn him!He may have won this round, but I will have the last laugh today.
Chapter Fifty-Five
WYATT
I’ve been to plenty of weddings, but I’ve never beenina wedding. Much less the best man. Much less for my big brother. I can’t fuck anything up today. I couldn’t bear the look in Hazel’s eyes if I ruined their photos or their ceremony or their dinner.
When I arrive at the wedding venue, a huge building with a brick-walled groom’s suite and farm chic reception area upstairs, I hang my suit up and someone immediately puts a beer in my hand. It’s been an hour and I’m still nursing that beer. Not only can I not lose any of my wits until I do my speech, but I can’t disappoint Nash. She’s obviously got an idea in her head of how tonight will go, and whatever she wants, I plan on giving it to her, goddamn it.
I hold a pool stick in one hand and my half-drunk beer in the other as Grant circles the table looking for his next shot. It doesn’t really matter, though; we’re all shit at pool.
Our phones all collectively go off with the ESPN app notification chime and we dig through the pockets of ourshorts. It’s an hour and a half until go time, and none of us are even dressed yet.
Henry is the first one to read it. “Holy shit.”
The other two groomsmen and I are too slow to see the headline before he says, “Jared Clark is gone.”
“He’s dead?” Brad, the third groomsman, asks, baffled.
“No, idiot. He’s going to the Jets.” Henry runs his hand through his hair. “We’re never going to win a Super Bowl now.”
I put my hands up in an effort to calm him. “Dude, chill out.”
“I kinda never liked the guy,” Henry adds. And the room starts spinning around me.
“It’s embarrassing as a Butchers fan when he’s on the big screen pouting. Like putting a towel over his face hides anything,” Grant agrees. I’ve only had half a beer, but all of a sudden, my feet don’t feel steady on the ground, like I’m already twelve deep. I stare at my brother and his two friends in kind. My eyes physically look at them, but don’t really see them. Instead, I’m seeing my first day as a Butcher when I met Clark and was immediately dismissed by my high school hero. I play defense, what reason did he have to talk to me? My last day as a Butcher, emptying out my locker at the end of the season for the last time, a huge hole in my heart knowing that I’ve already peaked in my life. I made my dreams come true at twenty-three and they came crashing down around me at the ripe old age of twenty-six. What do you do with the rest of your life when you’ve already shot for the stars and fallen depressingly, embarrassingly, back to earth with nothing to show for it? I stall on that moment, on those feelings I had as I took my name plate off the locker. If I think really hard and digall the way down to my toes, there’s a tiny hint of excitement. There’s hope the size of my pinky fingernail. And that hope is Nash. That if I came to Houston like Coach was telling me I was going to, she might be there. We’d be together again. The one person who always understood me.
I break out of my reverie and pull my shoulders back from where they’ve slumped since the other night at dinner when my dad said he didn’t understand my leaving—just in time to hear Henry say, “Well, he’s their problem now.”
I look at Henry. “You didn’t like Clark?”
“He was great in the early years, but we all know he’s gone downhill lately. Old school football is out. All the new guys coming out of college are playing with lots of motion. Sometimes I’d see him play and think ‘he just can’t keep up’.”
I’m not sure whether it’s a relief to hear him say this or it’s terrifying to know how fast your fandom can flip on you. Did the people of Wisconsin do the same for me when I left? Would Houston do the same?
“I never liked him either,” I blurt.
There.
I said it.
Six eyes turn to look at me, but Henry is the first to speak. “You didn’t?” he asks. “But you played there for four years.”
I shrug. “Yeah, and I left. And he was the main reason why.”
“What did he do?”
“Everything you’ve ever seen him do on TV, but one-hundred times worse.” I finish my beer. Finally, I’ve said it out loud. And the sky didn’t fall, and I didn’t spontaneously combust for daring to speak out against King Clark in his own territory. A wave of relief washes through me as I look back to my brother and his friends.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Henry’s face shows he’s a little hurt by my lack of trust.
I gesture to Brad who is literally wearing a Butchers t-shirt and hat. It’s not even football season. “How could I when you all love him so much? The entire state does.”
“I don’t love anyone more than I love my brother,” Henry says, and Grant pipes in, “Except Hazel.” Henry points at him. “Right.”
I look at my shoes, the right lace is a little loose. “Sometimes that’s hard to know when the fans are so loud.”
Henry steps in front of me and puts both of his hands on my shoulders. “That’s my fault, little brother. I should have never let you feel like a football team was more important than you.” He pauses. “It’s not. Just so you know that. From right now until we die. I’m your number one fan. No one else’s.”