Probably Not

#. November 28, 2021

— Athens, Georgia, USA

— University of Georgia

— Vandiver Hall, Room 607

If you find a legitimate reason to doubt your lover, and it keeps gnawing at you from that moment on, then nine times out of ten, something really did happen.

The day after we blew Georgia Tech to pieces and came home in high spirits, I heard the story from Hannah.

“Damn! That’s actually true?”

“Yup.”

“That fucking bitch!”

“Yo, man. And you’re just sitting here playing games?”

“What else would I do?”

Fly out to L.A. and confront her about it? Work up a rage and get dragged into a pointless argument? Over a woman—that’s not my style.

It wouldn’t be worth it.

After wiping out the enemy four-stack and waiting through the heal-and-buff window, I picked the conversation back up with the guys.

Peter asked carefully. The rest of them were all O-linemen too.

“So that day was it, then?”

“What do you mean?”

“The day you got invited out to 21 Savage’s and hit the club—your girlfriend was at a party in L.A. that same night. Or was it a club? Whatever. Point is, she’s been acting off ever since, right?”

“Yeah—that was the day.”

That was the night Hannah supposedly came home drunk and passed out. In reality, she’d been with some businessman in Los Angeles.

The man’s name was Chris Donaldson. Black, extremely successful, and the owner of a Bel Air mansion worth well over twenty million dollars.

Hannah had fallen for Chris Donaldson in a single beat—the man who’d showered her with flirtation and a bottle of pricey champagne at their very first meeting—and that was how things came to this ending.

An older, wealthy, accomplished businessman.

He’d struck her ideal type dead center.

“Goddamn! Bitch!”

“What does your family say? You saw them in Hawaii, didn’t you?”

“Haven’t told them yet.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah—I’ll be seeing them soon anyway. Figured I’d tell them then.”

My parents’ family trip, which would also be Kala’s very first, was planned around watching the SEC Championship Game in Atlanta.

They’d already reserved a luxury suite at a high-end hotel in Atlanta, and just like last year, they were shutting down the restaurant and bringing everyone along.

They’d arrive on Thursday.

Once I finished my schedule that day, I’d head to Atlanta and have dinner with them—that was when I planned to break the news.

“No dating for a while, then.”

“No women either?”

“Well. We’ll see how it goes.”

“You need to find yourself a better woman.”

“….”

What Peter had just said was something I’d heard plenty of times in my past life, too.

A better woman, huh.

Couldn’t say I really knew what that meant.

We agreed to save the rest of the story for when we met in the small hours of the morning, and for a while after that I just enjoyed the games with my friends.

And then, in the afternoon.

“Hah—!”

Waking from my nap, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes in front of the bathroom mirror, threw on some clothes, grabbed my car keys, and headed out.

Riding the elevator down to the first floor, Jason—the part-time security guard—struck up a conversation. We were close enough to chat all the time.

“Moi! Where you headed?”

“Grabbing takeout for dinner. You eaten?”

“Yep. Just now.”

“Your wife’s lunchbox again today?”

“Gotta save money somehow.”

“Correct answer. I’ll be right back.”

“Hey, hold on a sec.”

“?”

Jason pulled his head back in through the doorway, opened up the security office, came back out, and handed me something.

Candy, it turned out.

Maple syrup candy, to be exact.

“My niece lives up in Canada.”

“Oh, is that right.”

“…Everything okay with you?”

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“Just—your face looked a little dark. Didn’t seem like the guy who wrecked GTU yesterday, is all.”

I love this kind of conversation.

Noticing the small changes in a person. Having someone who sits at that in-between distance care about you, show you that consideration—that’s the moment when gratitude can be expressed in its most honest form.

So I answered with a smile.

“I’m always in top form. You know how it is.”

“Haha. That’s right—you’re our proud quarterback.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Good—drive safe now!”

“Don’t you worry!”

I climbed into the parked car, turned the engine over, and sat with my hands in my pockets, waiting for the interior to warm up.

And a thought came to me.

Had Hannah even thought about it at all?

About how this weekend was the SEC Championship.

When she made up her mind to deliver a breakup that bordered on one-sided, right before a game of this magnitude, did it cross her mind—even for a second—to put it off a week or so?

Probably not.

Because none of it had ever been important to her.

I’d known from the start that she was impulsive, the kind of girl swept along by whatever she felt in the moment. Still, it left a slightly bitter taste in my mouth.

“Hoo—”

Damn it.

Why was she the one on my mind, even now?

Once again today, I found myself thinking of the beach at Kahuku.

“What can I get for you?”

“Let’s see—two extra double cheeseburgers, a large order of waffle fries, the six-piece chicken and the four-piece hot wings, a large coleslaw, and a bottle of Coca-Cola for me, please.”

Today, I was going to eat something properly indulgent.

#. November 30, 2021

— Athens, Georgia, USA

— University of Georgia

Being famous is, on the whole, far more good than bad—but a handful of the bad parts can really get under your skin.

Day two since the breakup.

The rumor had spread.

“Look at that little temptress over there.”

“…Just ignore her.”

“She is absolutely doing this to get your attention.”

“Probably, yeah.”

I’d offered to buy ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠coffee for the team’s O-linemen, so I’d finished placing the order and was waiting at a table.

Then Alexi walked in as if it were all pure coincidence, dressed a bit too flashy for a Monday, took a seat a little ways off, and flashed a victor’s smile.

The look on her face said, Don’t you regret breaking up with me? — and I sincerely wished she would get a grip.

It had already been over a year since we split, and after running into her a few times around campus, whatever good feelings remained had dried up completely.

Just leave me alone and go live your own life.

She was wasting her energy on all the wrong things.

“Here you go. Thirty cups total. You can carry all that?”

“Of course. Why else would I have brought them with me?”

“Haha. Have a good one.”

“You too.”

After trading pleasantries with the barista, I turned to leave—and Alexi’s eyes had narrowed into thin, slitted glares.

Enough already.

From what I’d heard, Alexi hadn’t managed a proper relationship since me—there had been rumors of a fling or two, but as far as I could tell she was still single.

It’s not easy to move on to other men after being with me.

Hannah, after all, had wanted something entirely different.

I pushed the passenger seat forward, set all thirty coffees down on the rear floorboard, and Amarius and Dylan climbed in one after the other.

Tap.

“By the way—did you see that interview??”

“Hm? Which one?”

“Alabama’s kid went and talked some serious trash?”

“Oh yeah? Show me.”

“One sec.”

Alabama’s quarterback this year was Bryce Young.

The nation’s No. 2 overall recruit last year.

ESPN and 247 had each rated him a 101-point, 5-Star quarterback—the kind of prospect collecting scholarship offers as far back as middle school, a young man with the world at his feet.

He’d first announced he was headed to USC, but after taking a call from Nick Saban before National Signing Day, he’d changed course.

Last year he rode the bench as Mac Jones’s backup, but this season his talent had erupted and he was putting together an excellent year.

“Look at this part right here.”

Taking the phone Amarius handed over, I read the line he was pointing at out loud.

“The only reason Georgia’s roster looks so impressive is that they haven’t faced us yet. Georgia’s offense is wildly overhyped, and their defense doesn’t even know it’s full of holes. Damn—the guy’s got a serious case of main-character syndrome.”

“That’s a straight-up provocation.”

“Where did he even give this interview?”

“Their local radio.”

A local radio show, huh.

Could’ve been swept up in the moment and let it fly.

But Bryce Young almost certainly didn’t know one thing: when a starting quarterback at a school the size of Alabama opens his mouth, even words spoken at some backwater newspaper serving a town of thirty people end up on ESPN the very next day.

The article’s upload time was 1:37 PM.

Every one of our defensive guys had read it by now.

They must be absolutely seething.

“We should return the favor properly, don’t you think?”

“Shall we set the mood, then?”

“This is going to be fun. Let’s do it.”

A game we could not afford to lose.

And now someone had gone and poured a generous amount of gasoline on it.

All it would take was a single spark for the whole thing to go up in roaring flames—and to keep that fire burning all the way to Saturday, someone would have to diligently keep feeding it fuel.

Walking back into Butts-Mehre with thirty coffees in hand, I found the defensive guys hanging somewhere between irritation and fury, shouting from every corner of the building about how they were going to demolish Alabama.

There was no need for me to lift a finger—the entire team was already engulfed in one massive blaze.

“Shouldn’t we do the chant again this year?”

“Which one?”

“Bryce Young Who?”

“Ah—that one?”

Now that would be genuinely entertaining.

I liked Georgia’s idea very, very much.

#. December 1, 2021

— Athens, Georgia, USA

— University of Georgia

— Butts-Mehre Heritage Hall

— Quarterback Room

Florida.

Texas A&M.

LSU.

Arkansas.

Auburn.

Alabama had played single-possession games against these five schools and come out 4-1.

Setting aside their Week 8 blowout of Tennessee—a 52:24 rout—these were also the games where they’d surrendered the most points all season.

Which was why, starting Wednesday morning as serious game preparation kicked off, we were breaking down exactly how Alabama had conceded those points, hunting for ways to crack them open.

First, we had to account for the key defenders who’d left Alabama after last season—and one name stood out immediately.

The best cornerback in the NCAA.

Patrick Surtain II.

That spot was now held by senior Josh Jobe, who was, without question, a clear step below Pat Surtain.

With the man who’d been plugging up one corner gone, the entire secondary had grown unsteady. The safeties now had to cover far more ground than before, and the linebackers were forced to take far greater risks when they sent the blitz.

So how did we make Alabama suffer?

I had a few plans lined up in my head.

“They don’t feel dominant so much by numbers.”

“But the front four is strong.”

“Yes. 98 is definitely a good player. But it’s manageable. I think we should raise the share of snaps under center.”

“Hmm—I’ll consider it.”

“Yes, Sir.”

There was one reason I wanted a heavier dose of under center in the upcoming SEC Championship Game.

Alabama was currently compensating for its lack of secondary talent with the play of its excellent D-linemen and the combined brilliance of two defensive masterminds: Nick Saban and Pete Golding.

Their meticulously engineered pass rush was the proof of it—any team whose quarterback or offensive coordinator couldn’t match that level of sophistication had no choice but to get ground into dust by it.

In fact, this year Alabama had allowed the nation’s second-fewest YPC (yards per carry) to teams below .500.

The top spot, of course, belonged to us.

“There has to be a rule that creates the gap.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Hold on—could you rewind it for me?”

“….”

“Yes. There. Right there.”

Click.

“8 and 31 keep trading hand signals back and forth. They do it every single time, right after they check the hips of the D-linemen up front or read the backer’s set. Could you play the next clip, the part I haven’t seen yet? …You see it now? 10 pumps both fists twice. When he does that, it’s a blitz.”

Click.

The paused footage resumed, and just as I’d said, Alabama’s 31 shot through the gap the D-line had opened up.

Likewise, Alabama currently ranked second in the nation in both TFLs and sacks, squeezing every drop of talent out of four linebackers who could walk into the NFL tomorrow.

The D-line’s pass rush crushed the edges first, and from there the design was aimed at forcing the O-line to scatter left and right.

“We’ll need to make more use of the fullback, then.”

“Yes. Preferably on the side where 8 or 10 lines up.”

“Both of them are small. Good judgment.”

People said this year’s squad wasn’t what last year’s was—but Alabama was, without a doubt, the strongest team we’d faced all season.

Counting on a blowout margin of thirty-plus would be asking too much. This once, the defense would have to do their job properly too, or we’d never seize control of the game from the opening whistle.

“That’s it for now. Let’s finish the rest this afternoon.”

“Yes, Sir.”

While the rest of the guys sweated it out in the House of Payne, I stayed inside running video analysis.

Not wanting to walk into the showers with a body that hadn’t shed a single drop of sweat, I went straight to the dining hall and grabbed a tray instead.

I wasn’t particularly hungry, but the habit had dug in that deep, and the food made its way into my mouth all the same.

“Yo! Enjoy playing hooky?”

“Screw off.”

“Hehehe.”

Zamir drifted naturally over to the table where I’d sat down, and Peter and Sedrick claimed the last two seats—the same lineup as any other day.

Brock, who’d crept over trying to sneak in, smacked his lips in disappointment and moved along.

“Brock!”

“?”

“Today and tomorrow—focus hard on blocking drills! Got it?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.”

“Good. Enjoy your meal.”

“You too.”

Coach Monken had made it clear he wanted to expand the use of fullbacks like James Cook and Kenny McIntosh, but Brock’s and Darnell’s contributions mattered every bit as much.

We’d be cutting back on route-running and putting more weight on protecting the pocket—which meant the offense would inevitably have to simplify.

I had a pretty good sense of why Alabama had done the same.

From here on out, we’d have to keep working the problem for solutions.

Thankfully, we had George back after the last game. The guy had only played eleven snaps, but he’d hauled in all three passes thrown his way—proof he was still very much alive and well.

He was babying his body with next year’s draft looming, but when the championship came, he’d pour every last drop onto the field.

Bryce Young Who?

I was waiting for the moment I got to shout it.

#. 9:10 PM

— Vandiver Hall, Room 607

I had a personal principle I called the Law of Conservation of Women, and the moment Hannah and I split, my DMs had flared back to life.

But in my current state—preferring light, easy arrangements where sleeping together came naturally and without ceremony—even answering DMs that demanded at least a round of proper introductions felt like too much hassle.

So I chose a video call with my aunt instead.

—“You broke up?”

“Yeah. That’s how it went.”

Aunt Mel had recently dyed her hair red.

It looked odd at first, but by now it suited her rather well.

“Give me a heads-up beforehand. Otherwise you might end up spending all of tomorrow’s dinner talking about nothing but me.”

—“I will. Are you okay, though?”

“Yup. It’s just a relationship.”

—“You always act like you’re fine.”

“I’m not acting. What about you, Auntie? Anyone special these days?”

When my head got tangled up or my mood turned a shade gloomy, talking with family was always the answer.

Before I knew it, I’d forgotten everything and was laughing through the conversation—and then, a little while later, Dad appeared behind Aunt Mel.

With Kala cradled in his arms.

Oh, my adorable little sister.

“Kala!!”

She stared hard at the screen, then suddenly turned her head away, bashful—and my heart felt like it might just melt on the spot.

No matter how many times I thought it over, Kala was, without question, an angel.

—“Ha~ How do you two say exactly the same things, word for word?”

“Well, that’s because it’s the truth!”

—“I weep for Kala’s future.”

Somewhere along the way, Kala had become the restaurant’s mascot—a local celebrity known by just about everyone in Paia.

According to Aunt Mel, Dad and my grandparents—now visiting Paia far more often than before—had been the biggest contributors to her fame, and if you added me to the mix, it was enough to be downright frightening.

—“Anyway, see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Dad? Good night.”

—“Yes, you too. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Make sure you tell Kala I love her. I’ll head to the restaurant right on time tomorrow. Bye-bye.”

Tap.

I closed the laptop, felt the drowsiness wash over me in a wave, and headed for the bathroom to brush my teeth.

The toothbrush holder.

Hannah’s was still sitting there.

Huh. Still hadn’t thrown this out.

“….”

I picked up the pink toothbrush, lobbed it carelessly into the trash, and started brushing, emptying my mind.

The reunion with my family.

That was all I was letting myself think about right now.

Scrub, scrub, scrub…