Almost four whole quarters of effort, and it was still all going to shit.
I’d been sacked more times than I liked, and the passes I’d completed had been cobbled together out of nothing more than bullshit and hope.
I was off. My game, my head, my so-called muscle memory—all of it was shit. Apparently, for Quinn Bailey, a broken heart wasn’t a good thing for good football.
By some kind of miracle, and the help of people like Sean, Cam, Sammy, and Oran, we were still within a touchdown of winning the fucking game.
Mouthguard clenched tightly between my teeth, I scanned my eyes across the defense, glanced up to check the play clock, and signaled for Sean to cross back across the field.
The seconds ticked down to five, and I called for the snap, Sammy letting it fly and sending it straight into the palms of my hands. I dropped back, one step, then two, shuffling my feet while I scanned the chaos in front of me. Blocks were holding, but only just barely, and Sean was in double coverage upfield. A quick scan told me a big fucking guy was coming for me fast, so I pumped to check Sean’s position and let fly despite the coverage, hoping he’d give me a miracle.
He got close to producing one, honestly, touching the ball with a finger as he outjumped the two guys on each side of him and made a grab for it.
Unfortunately, that was the end of the good news. Tipped by his almost-touch, the ball bobbled and flopped off the side on a wild jag and straight into the arms of a waiting defensive end. He ran awkwardly, unused to being the man with the ball, but it didn’t matter. The damage was already done as Jeremy Watts, our fullback, tackled him on the forty-yard line.
Frustrated and coming loose at the seams, I jogged to the side of the field with the rest of the team. Sammy gave me a slap to the ass, intended to let me know the guys were behind me despite my mistake, and then went on his way to leave me to my thoughts.
Coach Bennett’s mouth moved wildly, likely with words of an unpleasant nature, but all I could hear was silence.
I was internally reaming myself enough for the both of us.
Jillian weaved her way through the crowd of players, coaches, and technical assistants as I walked to the back bench of the sideline and pulled my helmet off of my head. I watched her make her way as a water bottle was slipped into my hand, paying attention to the sounds of the game as our defense took the field in the background.
The fact that she was on the sideline at all stuck out like a sore thumb, and I wondered who she’d had to sweet-talk in order to make it happen. I braced myself for whatever she’d come to tell me that was important enough that she couldn’t wait until the game was over to say it. My day was obviously already not going as planned, and I imagined whatever she had to say wasn’t going to make it any better.
“Look up at the forty-five-yard line, south side of the stadium, halfway down the fifteenth row. Don’t ask me any questions because I don’t have time to explain, but I promise you won’t be sorry you did.”
And then she was gone. Like some kind of fucking ghost.
Jesus Christ. Sometimes her abilities scared me.
With no form to watch disappear, I did as she asked, looking up into the stands and scanning the crowd. It was thick with people, and I did my best to make out their shapes and separate them into individuals. Even though it was the preseason and no more than an exhibition game, the fans came out in droves. With cheaper tickets and extra events, if you weren’t there for wins and losses, sometimes preseason games were the way to go.
Sure enough, halfway across the row, I found my brother’s smiling face as he waved wildly at the field and me. I smiled and raised my hand to wave back when he started pointing beside him.
I looked into the next seat and felt my breath catch in my throat as Catharine stood up beside him, a blinding smile on her face and the cutest, most awkward little shrug I’d ever seen.
My heart spasmed at the sight of her, here, at my game, smiling at me like she’d done exactly what Winnie had said and taken control.
I was so used to being in control, handling the ball, that I hadn’t realized it was possible to give the control to someone else. Just like the wildcat formation, @WildCommaCat had surprised me with a completely new and exhilarating configuration—with her at the helm.
She watched as my face melted all its hardness and worry and morphed into a smile full of love. With Denver joining in beside her, my kitten jumped up and down then, her excitement fully unleashed as they both chanted, “Bailey! Bailey! Bailey!” together. Her shoulders as her focus, she pointed her two pointer fingers at the Mavericks jersey she was wearing, and then turned around to give me the full view.
She’d gone all out, apparently determined to convince me she was in, all in, and emblazoned there for all to see was my name and number.
To the rest of the crowd, she may have looked like a just another fan.
To me, she looked like mine.