Filthy Storm

APOLLO

HIS FEET ATE UP the empty field as he ran at full speed to one opposite end and back again. Sticky sweat and dirt coated his skin, a permanent scowl written on his face as he halted in the middle. Catching his breath, with the overhead lights as his only company, he let out a frustrated scream.

Apollo Storm was a name of dichotomy.

Some described him as a blazing fire on the field. His undeniable speed never seemed to get matched by anyone. When the ball was in his hands, it was already predicted that it would only be out of them for a touchdown.

Some also defined him as a storm. Quiet. Intense. Unpredictable. His presence was dark and cold. No one knew what he would do next. But he would deliver, and his opponents would surely be left in ruins when he was done with them.

Apollo thought he was neither.

He had been a slacker since their last game against the Seahawks in Washington and it was three games ago. His hometown had sparked memories he kept buried alive, like a god-stricken virus inside his system, invading his thoughts and every move he made.

Neither the God of the Sun nor The Storm wouldn’t let these mundane things affect his play and would persevere in doing what must be done.

“Storm!” Apollo turned to his left to see their head coach, Spencer Oakley, walking from the tunnel. His tanned skin looking so immaculate in comparison to his filthy, sticky ones. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Apollo yelled back. “Just blowing off some steam.”

Coach Oakley tipped his chin. “Want to come to my office? I need a word with you.”

A cursed whisper escaped him. “Sure. Be there in ten.”

After a cold shower, Apollo went to his locker to retrieve some of his things before deciding it was time to meet his coach. The door to Coach Oakley’s office was halfway opened, lights peeking out to the poorly lit hallway.

So ominous. How fitting it was with his current mood.

He was dreading this conversation since Coach Oakley was called up by the board of directors after they came on a surprise visit and watched them training one day. Deep down, Apollo knew it was about his substandard performance lately, but he was quick to squash down the idea, knowing they wouldn’t kick him out anyway. Not when they were already close to securing a spot in the playoffs.

“What’s up?” he greeted as he took a seat before his desk.

Coach Oakley tilted his head. “I was about to ask the same of you.” Apollo clenched his jaw as he looked away, the way the phrase was said already confirming his suspicion. “They are watching you, the world is watching you and they are also asking the same thing. What’s up, Storm?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.”

A scoff. “Doesn’t sound like nothing to me. Tell me,” Coach Oakley began, waiting for his full attention, his graying eyebrow arching. “Is it your ex-wife?”

The two men clashed into a stare-off as Coach Oakley waited for his reply. The mere mention of the woman who caused only trouble in his life was nothing but evoked burning hatred inside him. “Irrelevant. She’s irrelevant.”

“Yeah? Then how are you going to explain that lackluster performance out there? Every time we pass by Seattle, your focus fucking goes bye-bye.”

Apollo’s fist curled in slight annoyance as he looked away. “I’ll do better next game.”

It was not much of an empty promise. He was doing more workout and practice than usual. Made it a point to never engage himself with a potential distraction.

Yet somehow, it wasn’t enough.

From the past couple of years that it happened, he knew he just needed to trust the process. But the numbness was overwhelming him and the fact that he couldn’t feel anything was distracting enough.

A pregnant pause ensued as he waited for Coach Oakley’s reply. When Coach remained silent, he turned back to check on him, “Is that all?”

The old man searched his eyes before he nodded slowly, as if unconvinced. “Make sure of it or you’ll be out of the roster next season.”

“Heard it every goddamn year for the last three years and I’m still here. Come up with something new, will you, Coach.”

He chuckled darkly as Coach Oakley cursed at him with a shake of his head, “Asshole.”

No lies there. No fucking lies.