Page 110 of The Player

He’d been fine answering questions. He’d been fine when they ran his highlights, even with the whole room watching him watch himself. Now his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it through his shirt.

The man at the podium opened the envelope and leaned into the microphone. “And the winner of the 1995 Heisman Memorial Trophy is . . .”

His fingers dug into his thighs. He took a breath.

“Tariq Brackens.”

Well, fuck.

For a second, he kept looking straight ahead. Then the place broke into applause, and he brought his hands together. Tariq had doubled over with his face in his hands. When he looked up, he was laughing, stunned, and people were getting to their feet all around him. Drew stood with them, clapping, and Tariq got to him first.

Drew caught his hand and pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations, bro.”

“Thanks, man.” Tariq gripped him hard with his free arm before they broke apart, shaking his head.

“Go get your trophy.”

Tariq laughed, and Drew squeezed his shoulder and sent him off to his family.

He watched Tariq grab his people, watched somebody cup the back of his head and hold on. He knew exactly how bad the guy had wanted it. They all had. Seeing it on his face made Drew smile, even with his own stomach gone hollow.

When Drew sat back down, he rested his forearms on his knees and watched Tariq try to get through his thank-yous. He listened and clapped when everybody else did, and once, when Tariq had to stop because his voice wouldn’t cooperate, Drew glanced over at his parents.

His mother was crying. His dad caught him looking and gave him a small nod, and Drew turned back to the stage.

He’d known this could happen. There were other guys in that room who’d had monster seasons, and only one of them was walking out with the Heisman. He’d said so himself every time somebody shoved a microphone in his face and asked about his chances. Turned out saying it hadn’t done shit to get him ready for it.

When the broadcast ended, he got through the handshakes and the photographs and thanked everybody who congratulated him. A reporter asked what it had been like hearing the announcement, and he kept it simple.

“Obviously I wanted to win. But Tariq deserves it. I’m happy for him.” He meant it. He just couldn’t be happy for the guy without feeling like shit about himself in the same breath.

When his parents finally got him alone, his mother didn’t bother asking for a smile. She wrapped her arms around him. “Oh, honey.”

“I’m okay, Ma.”

She rubbed his back, and he let himself lean into her for a second before he stepped away.

His dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Proud of you, son.”

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

“For what?”

“I wanted to bring that thing home for you.”

“Hey. You didn’t let anybody down, you hear me? I never got anywhere near a room like this. You were sitting in it.”

His dad hauled him into a hug, and Drew nodded against his shoulder.

Outside, the cold cut right through the open front of his coat. He buttoned it while his dad helped his mother into the car, and then he climbed in after her. Once they pulled away from the curb, he turned toward the window and watched the storefronts and brake lights go by. His mother kept her hand over his for most of the ride, and nobody made him talk.

Back at the hotel, his mother wanted to get something to eat.

“I think I’m just gonna go up to my room,” Drew said.

“You hardly ate,” she said.

“I’ll get something later.”