Words failed to describe the heartbreak that spread throughout the stadium. Ty's wail echoed in the chasm of silence. All had gone dark and quiet around him, as if the black hole had truly sucked away everything.
Pain was all he was. Such burning, all-encompassing pain, there was no room for anger, even if he wanted to be angry at the world, Kentavious, but mostly himself. Yet even with all that pain, he was still so empty. To get so close, and to fall in such a horrible, unrecoverable way… it was too much to bear.
The screams finally quietened as exhaustion took hold.
Coach Long and the Dons surrounded Ty, though none moved him. They looked on in shock, unsure what to do or say; what could they do? All they did was part as the medics finally arrived on a cart with a stretcher. They loaded Ty on, strapping him down. He was unconscious for the moment, so he didn't hear the standing ovation given to him as he was carted off the field… he would've hated every moment of it anyway.
Coach Hoang left the field, trailing after Ty and the cart, following the medics through the twisting tunnels of the stadium.
Above, Ty's family—with Megan leading the way—rushed from the room, finding the nearest staff member, demanding to be taken to wherever Ty was going. It was a sorrowful, sombre march to an elevator, and a quiet, nerve-racking ride into the stadium's depths.
Across the nation, folks were tuning out of the broadcast. What else was there to see? The game was done, the Longhorns and Kentavious had won. Most who stayed tuned were simply waiting to hear more about Tyrese's injury, and just how grievous it was. Jackson and his dad were two such spectators, even if Mr Woods initially suggested turning it off. Jackson had to know.
Back on the field, play eventually resumed, though it barely held the fans' interests. They knew the game was already over, even if there was still a little over a minute left on the clock.
The Longhorns' extra point was successful after Kentavious's touchdown, putting the game out of reach with a score of 51–37.
Yet even with this insurmountable deficit before them, the Dons couldn't give up. Coach Long had stayed with his team, and he reminded the boys that Tyrese wouldn't want them to quit. Tyrese would want them to finish the game strong, like true Dons, and win this game because nothing was impossible if you had your family.
The sentiment was sweet, and the boys tried to carry it with them.
Chris went first, his fire stoked but flickering. He took the kickoff and charged out of the end-zone. Though even when fighting like Ty's life depended on him getting a touchdown on this return, his heart wasn't fully in it. There was a piece of him missing. He was dragged down at the 26-yard line, and then came on the rest of the offence.
There was no further rousing speech, no burst of energy as they rushed onto the field. They went, almost reluctantly. It was more like they were stepping into a funeral.
With no time to waste, they went for a Hail Mary on first down, but the Longhorns—specifically Jimmy London—saw it coming from a mile away. He picked it off easily, and while Stephen shut down his potential return, he fouled Jimmy in the process, yanking him down by his face-mask, giving the Longhorns an extra 15 yards after the interception.
There was little reaction from the crowd. Yet the Longhorns were the only ones whose energy remained. Coach Bourne kept them diligent and focused. The game wasn't done, and it would be disrespectful to take their foot off the gas at this late juncture. They had to FINISH the Dons, and it was with that message close to their hearts, the Longhorns offence took to the field for the final time… all but Kentavious.
He didn't move from the bench. He'd been the last member of the Longhorns' offence to leave the field after Ty's fall. For a long time he'd stood there, staring, even as he was left on the outside and Ty's broken body was shielded from his view by the swarm of Dons that had surrounded and supported him. Kentavious was struggling to process what had happened, though he too felt the same sort of emptiness as most in the stadium were feeling. Such a great thing, ruined in an instant… how could it happen? This was supposed to be the biggest day of their lives, the greatest spectacle high school football had ever seen… how could it all become so meaningless?
Kentavious was unresponsive to Coach Bourne's attempts to get him back on the field, so the offence continued without him. It didn't matter; the Dons were done. Even with only a minute left, the Longhorns didn't let up, and the Dons—without their heart—were powerless to stop them. Before the game was through, Sebastian caught another touchdown, and, with an extra point, pushed the final score out to 58–37.
The Longhorns' celebrations were muted, and died out soon after they'd begun. No-one else was cheering with them. Though the final whistle had blown, nobody in the stands or opposite sideline had been snapped out of the depressed stupor they'd been in since Ty went down.
Despite the heartache they were all dealing with, Coach Long forced the Dons to line up and shake the Longhorns' hands. It'd been a good game up until Ty's injury. Even then, they'd pushed the Dons to their limits… and beyond their breaking point.
The Longhorns were respectful in victory, and the Dons were gracious, if quiet, in defeat… until Stephen and Kentavious crossed paths. Stephen knew it wasn't anybody's fault, but his emotions got the best of him as he latched onto Kentavious's hand. It was all so unfair, such bullshit, and Ty least of all deserved such a thing. He lashed out, shoving Kentavious to the ground.
'It's your fault you stupid fucking… fuck!' Stephen shouted.
Before it could come to further blows, or any Longhorns could retaliate, JJ and Deshaun pulled Stephen back, the lines separating as Longhorns came to Kentavious's defence. Yet he sat there a while longer, ignoring the several hands thrust before him to help him up. Maybe it was his fault. He'd never meant for it to end like this. He looked up, and around, scanning the various skyboxes until his eyes settled on one. He couldn't make out any distinct features, but he knew Senior stood there, watching all. Was this what Senior had wanted?
Kentavious stood then, but the Dons were already leaving the field, Coach Long apologising profusely.
There was a trophy ceremony then, as the Longhorns were awarded a gigantic trophy as tall as most of them. On golden struts, there was a precipice, and standing atop it was a single athlete, decked out in pads and helmet, holding aloft a football. It took three boys to lift it, as the players and staff crowded together for a commemorative photo.
Kentavious was awarded the MVP of the game. Thankfully, the trophy was smaller, though still a foot tall. It was silver, with a series of arms and hands reaching up for the ball. One stretched further amongst the sea, raising above them all, to claim sole possession of the ball.
Both trophies were the ugliest Kentavious had seen, yet he knew the one he personally held would be the centrepiece of his trophy cabinet for a long time.
Once the brief award ceremony was over and the pictures were taken, Kentavious still couldn't leave the field. Cameras and microphones were shoved in his face, asking him about the game and how he felt about being the MVP. In truth, he felt like he was going to throw up.
###
The Dons' locker room was full of tears. Bella wept so awfully she had to flee the room. Coach Long, with tears streaming down his face wanted to go after her, but he had a greater responsibility with all the remaining boys in the room. Only a few cried openly, like Donte and JJ, hugging each other, knowing they'd never share the same uniform again. Most, like Deshaun and Stephen, tried squashing their tears before they could fully form, roughly grinding the heels of their palms against their eyes. But they all cried not just for Tyrese, though he was the biggest source of their pain, but for themselves as well. It was his horrific injury that had flipped the occasion on its head from something to be celebration, to something to be mourned. And mourn they would, because the Dons were dead.
It would be a long, awkward night at the hotel, and an even longer flight back home, neither of which, anyone looked forward to.
Yet was that not better, than the night in the hospital that awaited Tyrese?
###
After the journalistic vultures had been dismissed, unsatisfied by Kentavious's one-word answers, though unsuccessful in getting anything further out of him, there was the team's personal celebrations to deal with.
Kentavious remained quiet and withdrawn, showering and changing quickly in the locker room. He thought about leaving early, but Coach Bourne was addressing the seniors who wouldn't be coming back next year; who had played their final games for the school, and had gone out as champions of the world. He stayed, wishing he could give away his ugly trophy to all of them.
His father was waiting for him once it was all over, meeting him in the tunnel just outside of the locker room.
There was no hug, not even a handshake or pat on the back, no congratulating of any kind. Senior hardly even smiled at his son. They said nothing as they left the stadium together. Even as they drove away, both sitting in the back of Senior's Rolls Royce, the silence was still heavy over them.
The drive back home was going to be long, and it gave Junior plenty of time to stew in the mess of emotions within himself. How could his greatest achievement, be one of his worst moments? The answer was simpler than he expected, though came in the form of another question. He stared down at the trophy of grasping, greedy hands vying for a ball only one could claim.
'What if I wasn't the strongest?'
'What?' Senior turned to him; the whisper had been as loud as a gunshot in that quiet car.
'What if I don't deserve this? What if the person who really deserves this, is in the back of an ambulance right now?'
'Don't be ridiculous. There's no such thing as deserving anything. You EARNED that, and the proof is that its in YOUR hands. You won, Junior. If that wild boy "deserved" it, it'd be in his hands, and perhaps you'd be in the back of that very ambulance.'
Senior sighed heavily, shaking his head.
'Honestly I don't understand you, Junior. How can you be so upset? You just won the National Championship, a prize that no other high-schooler has ever laid claim to. You're on the fast track to be the greatest of all time.' He reached out, grasping his son's shoulder roughly. 'Not JUST for Wide Receivers, but for all of football! That trophy you're holding—that you EARNED—is proof you're the greatest player alive in all of high school.'
Junior stared at the trophy. Even in the darkness of the car's backseat, he could see a shadow of his reflection in the gleaming silver of the ball so many hands were trying so hard to hold. He didn't see the greatest, not even a winner, just a hollow, empty shell.
'I want to see mother,' he said.
'Junior it is the middle of the night.'
'I'll jump out of this car and run there if I have to.'
Senior laughed. 'Such madness. And impudence too! After all I've done for you, you still have the gall to make such demands of me? Fine, you stupid boy. Sheamus, take us to the graveyard.'
Sheamus, their driver, merely said: 'As you wish, sir.'
They made a detour, turning off the highway. Their destination was still a hill, though this one was beyond a small forest, and full of flowers, gardens, and gravestones instead of hedges and manors. Though it was the dead of night, they pulled up before the gate, and while Senior was forced to convince the groundskeeper to open it, assuring them who they were, Junior slipped inside.
He slowly walked past the many graves, heading deeper into the centre of the yard. Clouds covered the moon and stars, bathing everything in shadows almost as deep and dark as Ty's eyes. Kentavious Junior was as alone as ever. The graves around him were those of the players he'd vanquished. For a moment, when he saw the tall monument at the peak of the hill, with its angelic wings spread wide as if to welcome all other souls into its embrace, he took it for Ty's grave instead of his mother's.
'I'm so confused,' he said. He turned, sitting with his back against the grave, frowning. Once upon a time he might've sat upon her lap like this, though he found little comfort in mimicking the motion now, even if it was natural.
'Shouldn't I be happy? I did it. Every bit of training—every early morning, or late night, every disgusting protein shake, and stupid interview—it was all for this moment. Everything in the last five years… everything since you've been gone… it's all been for this. So why aren't I happy? I finally achieved what I—what WE'VE—been dreaming about. I'm the best…'
He stared down at the trophy. He'd forgotten its existence to the point he'd forgotten it was still in his hand. 'It's official… so why am I so empty inside?'
Thunder rumbled overhead, as storm clouds Kentavious hadn't noticed, finally broke. A smattering of rain fell upon the hill, just in time to wash away the tears dripping down Kentavious's face.
'I thought I'd at least be happy after getting so far. When I finally got my hands on a national championship, and was recognised as the greatest, I thought that'd be enough. But it's not. I don't think it'll ever be enough. Even if I win this same stupid thing three more times, and win it again in college. Where does it end? Where does my happiness begin? If I make it to the NFL, will I be happy then? What if I win MVP? A Super Bowl? Two? Three? If I make the Hall of Fame will that be enough? Or even if I become the undisputed goat, will it not matter, because you're not here with me?'
He laid his head back against the cold, unresponsive stone, and stared up at the marble angel towering over him. A flash of lightning illuminated its face, which was weeping with tears of rain.
'I just… I don't know, Mom. I wish you were here. You always knew what to do; what to say. You'd know just what to say.'
'JUNIOR!'
Of course, it wasn't his mother calling his name from beyond the grave, no matter how desperately he wished to hear her voice then. His father stood at the foot of the hill. Sheamus was beside him, holding up an umbrella for them both.
'It's time to leave, Junior!' Kentavious Senior called again.
Junior hung his head, and slowly pushed himself up with a sigh. He looked back at his mother's grave one last time. 'I love you, Mom.'
###
Senior had not visited the grave, nor had he asked about Junior's little chat with his late wife. The rest of the drive home, thankfully not much longer, was quiet and sad.
When they had eventually returned home, Kentavious wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed and sleep for a year, but he had one stop before he could do so.
Standing in the dark, his trophies taunted him from their gilded cages and podiums. The National MVP joined their ranks in the largest display case, sitting in the heart of it. A monument to his achievements, and how meaningless they all were.
'Meaningless? There's plenty of meaning, here, even if its not one you want to acknowledge.'
Ty's voice, small but unmistakably distinct, came from the MVP trophy. Staring at it, Kentavious saw the sharp smile in the trophy's dark, gleaming surface, and above it were two pits of an even deeper darkness.
'We mean you're a fraud.'
This time the voice came from the first state championship Kentavious had won in middle school; Ty's wicked grin and bottomless eyes were there as well.
'Every accomplishment you've ever had is a testament to nothing more than how good you are at avoiding me. Even your newest one. You think injuries are a part of the game? What about cheating and getting a head start against the competition? Don't you think if I was resting as much as you, and only had to play two worthless games before our meeting, I never would've gotten hurt in the first place? And why'd you get such a long bye, anyway? Because your daddy said so? You KNOW you would've lost if I didn't get hurt. You're not better than me, and you're certainly not valuable. You're a cancer to every team you've been thrust upon. All your teammates hate you, and if you aren't catching touchdowns, you're providing NOTHING!'
'Loser, loser!' the other small trophies chanted, all with Ty's voice, and that same damn smile. 'Nothing, nothing!'
'Shut up.' Kentavious mumbled. He was going crazy, talking to a trophy… why couldn't he have gone mad in front of his mother's grave, at least?
'She doesn't want to talk to you.'
Kentavious's eyes widened and he stared at the MVP trophy. The arms and hands had morphed around the ball, framing it like a face.
'She sees you for what you are. Even deeper than being a simple loser. She knows you're nothing more than a pale imitation of your father, and no matter how far you run, you'll always be stuck in his shadow.'
Kentavious screamed, punching through the case before he even knew what he was doing. His hand closed around the trophy, and he wrenched it free, glass cascading to the floor. Ty's laughter bounced around the room, the black eyes and white grin still taunting him. He slammed the trophy into the ground, and the ball snapped free along with the hand that held it.
Still, the other trophies laughed and laughed. Roaring with anger, he grabbed the display case, wrenching it from the wall, tearing it to the floor, shattering it completely as glass exploded about the room.
When the final shard fell quiet and still, all was quiet, and Kentavious stood alone, panting hard. Blood dripped from his trembling fist, and a throbbing filled his head, stretching down along his neck, and even his heart—he throbbed all over, still burning with anger.
From the darkness, two balls of a black so deep it was like staring into nothing formed and grew. A thin line of white opened beneath them, then stretched into a wide, distorted grin, like looking into a shark's maw right before it bit you in half. Little stars twinkled inside those orbs of darkness. They drew Kentavious in, pulling him close. They drew the darkness in, so soon the whole room was as black as they were, and they wouldn't stop there, not until they'd drawn everything into that gaze; into those twin black holes.
The door swung open, slamming against the wall and nearly bouncing closed if not for the long arm that thrust forward and held it aside. The eyes and grin vanished, leaving only Kentavious—both Junior and Senior—alone in the room and its wreckage.
Senior looked around the room, flicking the light on. His outrage wasn't as explosive as Junior might've expected. Perhaps because the destruction had been kept to solely Junior's trophies Senior didn't care as much. Even if he'd gotten angry enough to lay hands on Junior, Junior didn't care. He saw the light.
Junior didn't know if it would bring him happiness, but he finally saw what he needed to do next—he had to exorcise the demon plaguing him. But for that he'd have to wait. A year at least. But waiting was fine. The championship didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was he beat Tyrese Samuels one-on-one, in an indisputable manner.