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JAY
It was cold enough to see my breath on the wind. Tomorrow would be good weather for crushing Buckeyes, or so we’d been told during a post-practice speech. I’d gotten two seconds to check my phone after dinner—only enough to see I had voicemails from Kayla, but not long enough to listen to them.
The president of the boosters finished his speech at the main microphone, and the crowd ate it up, cheering loudly as he turned his attention to the far side of the stage. “And now it’s time for something new. These are your ‘Superfan’ contest winners!”
Students filed onto the stage. It was mostly guys. Some looked hammered, others just high on excitement. The group was wearing jerseys or blue shirts, all except for a girl near the front, who was wearing . . . shorts?
What. The. Shit?
Darius’ elbow dug into my side. “Is that your girl? What’s she doing?”
No idea. I stared at Kayla, wordlessly demanding she look at me, but her gaze was locked onto the crowd. This had to be her worst nightmare realized.
The booster president gestured to the group of Superfans. “Each student has a question for the team. I’m going to turn the microphone over to our first winner, Shreevidia Sangupta.”
A woman wearing a headset gave Kayla a nudge toward the mic stand.
This couldn’t be happening. I stood there dumbfounded as she put one foot in front of the other and stepped up.
“Uh—” Kayla’s voice echoed through the speakers. She was shuddering, probably from both the cold and the stress. I needed to do something, but what? The crowd must have thought she was suffering from stage fright and began to offer encouragement, shouting out questions.
“What’s the final score going to be?”
“Ask them why OSU’s a bunch of pussies!” someone else yelled.
I was behind her on the stage, so I couldn’t see her face, but I pictured the fire in her eyes. It jolted her back to life.
“My question is for number eighty-eight.”
I pushed through my teammates and came to the front. Amos stared at her with suspicion. Did he recognize her? It was probably okay. He wouldn’t call us out on stage, and Darius and I could deal with him later. I went to stand beside her and gazed down.
She’d come to bail me out. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold and her eyes were chaotic, but she looked so fucking beautiful I wanted to kiss her.
She leaned into the microphone but kept her gaze fixed on me. “I wanted to know . . . if you’ve heard the good word about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?”
A needle dragged across a record, and her question pushed the mute button on the crowd. I expected to hear crickets at any moment, and I stared at her. Seriously, what are you doing?
“Everything you need to be saved,” she said, “is right here in this book.”
A green binder was thrust into my chest and, holy shit, my playbook was inside. I took it, beyond grateful. Her sacrifice was amazing, and I was going to need to start thinking of all the ways I was going to make it up to her. “Thank you. There must be an angel watching out for me.”
God, her smile tore me up. It was dazzling, but then she turned back to the microphone. The massive crowd had gone so still, you could hear a pin drop.
“Um . . .” she choked out. “Go blue?”
The roar of approval from the fans was ear-splitting.
The rally lasted for-fucking-ever. When we were dismissed, I sprinted down the stage stairs and dug my phone out of the pocket of my warmups, bypassing media people who wanted to speak with me. There was only one person I wanted to talk to right now.
“You owe me gas money,” Kayla said as a greeting.
“I owe you a hell of a lot more than that.” I weighed each word. “Thank you.” It still blew my mind that she’d shown up, especially after I’d hung up on her earlier.
“I’m going to have to burn this shirt.” She sounded tired, and in the background I could hear the radio playing. She was in her car—well, someone’s car—heading home. As soon as the Superfans were done and led off stage, “Sangupta” had disappeared into the crowd.
She had to be so fucking sick of the drive.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m sorry you had to come here, and I’m sorry about the way I was to you earlier. It’s not an excuse, but the stress,” I took a deep breath, willing to admit it after what she’d done, “it’s getting to me.” I tried so hard to keep my shit under control, but everything came down to tomorrow. I’d be lucky if I slept four hours tonight. “I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“I know. I get it.” Her tone said my side of our conversation was forgiven, but not yet forgotten, and I couldn’t blame her. She’d made a huge sacrifice to save my ass.
“What’s about cheerleading?” I asked. “Are you in trouble for missing the parade?”
“I don’t know. I texted my coach I had an emergency and wasn’t going to be there. I haven’t heard back. But I’m sure Lisa’s plotting the takeover as we speak.”
Darius was a shadow I couldn’t shake. “Not right now,” I barked at him. “The only reason you’re still breathing is because my girlfriend’s a saint.”
“I thought I was an angel,” she said.
Darius’ expression was pained. “Tell her I’m sorry.”
“Darius wants to know,” I said into the phone, while keeping my gaze locked on him, “what he can do to make it up to you.”
“Lose tomorrow?” She was joking, although it had an edge. Like maybe she wasn’t joking.
I went with the first idea that popped into my head. “She wants to hear you scream ‘Go Buckeyes.’”
Darius nodded eagerly. “Go Buckeyes!”
Some of our teammates were nearby and threw us ‘what the fuck?’ looks. The reporters in the media area peered at us, curious.
Nope, not good enough. “Not now, dipshit. At the game.”
Darius scowled and skulked away. He’d do it, though. He knew he owed her.
I continued to move away from the media, ignoring the girls who lingered on my route back to the dorm, looking like they’d been camped out just to get a shot at striking up a conversation. I pressed my phone against my ear and tried not to make eye contact. Hopefully they got the signal I didn’t want to be disturbed.
“What about me?” I asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. Unless you know how to defeat the Antichrist of cheerleading.”
I felt awful for her, and did my best to stay positive. “It’s going to work out. You know what Chuck would say.”
“Stop eating all my ramen?”
“Close enough. If you’re not able to go with your squad, do you want me to see if my parents can get you a ticket?” Which would be a tall fucking order, but I’d try. The tickets for The Game were notoriously expensive and hard to get.
“Sorry, pass.” She sighed. “Cold day in hell when I cheer for Michigan.”
I stopped moving, and the icy wind cut right through my warmups. “And me too?”
Her pause was epic. “I’m still thawing from my stage performance and I’m crabby. I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
Of course she didn’t; she’d been avoiding it since the night she’d walked into Biff’s. But how could we put it off any longer? “Kayla, everything’s going to change tomorrow.”
“I know,” she groaned. “But I told you, I don’t want to talk about it.”
So, when were we supposed to? Kickoff was in less than twenty-four hours. It was the biggest game of my life, and I cared about her so damn much. I wanted her in my corner.
The day had been exhausting, both physically and emotionally. I was so tired, and the question rolled out of my mouth before I could stop myself. “You can’t get past this stupid rivalry?”
“Are you serious right now?” she snapped. “I just gave up my squad, the night before The Game, for you. How is that not good enough?”
I needed to dial this back. “I’m sorry. I was just hoping you’d be rooting for me to have a good game.”
Her pause was shorter this time, but it was way worse. “You know what? I’m upset, Jay, and I’ve got a long drive home. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Wait, I’m sorry—” There was only silence. I pulled the phone away and looked at the screen.
She’d hung up on me.