Shit shit shit—it was finally game day. Before his ankle was broken Jack had game day all mapped out and under control. Now he just had to show up on time, dressed in team gear. He’d had a shaky feeling in his stomach ever since his conversation with Cedric on Thursday.

He’d choked out an apology to Rochelle later that day, but she’d just looked at him with empty eyes and shook her head. She stayed upstairs except when she went to walk in the park across the street. Her flight home was not until late Sunday, so she was stuck. He’d begged Ceci to get Rochelle to the game—fortunately an early game today—and she’d reluctantly agreed.

It was November in St. Louis, so he had a coat and a hat and sweatpants on. More importantly, he had his plan. He’d talked with Cedric, Cedric had gotten in touch with this young guy he knew, and the whole thing had taken like an hour. Jack still had acid rising in his stomach.

All he was going to do was to take off his coat. How hard could this be? Some people, he supposed, flung themselves gladly onto the pyre for justice. He was filled with trepidation. He wanted to do it. He was more apprehensive of this than trying to take down that running back that hated interviews and never stopped running.

The coach wrapped up the final meeting, Cedric came and gently tapped him on the head. “You’re gonna be great, man. I believe in you.”

The dressed-out players headed to the tunnel for their fancy entrance to the field. Jack crutched along to the bench to wait. Finally, the local celebrity stepped on the field, microphone in hand. Jack took off his coat and pulled himself to standing with his crutches.

“Please join us in singing our NA-tion-AL ANTHEM!” the field announcer said.

* * *

How was she at another fucking NFL game? Well, she wasn’t sure New Orleans would let her back in the Superdome, so maybe it was her last chance for a game. She kinda thought she’d be done with football forever when she got home. It’d taken hours of park walking to come to terms with the fact that life was just going to go on.

Her belly started to turn upside down as the national anthem was announced. The opposing team had some players that had done protest gestures this season so she stood up to watch them. She was surprised when Ceci bumped her.

“Look, sweetie.” Ceci pointed at the giant screen at the end zone. Jack was on it. He was not wearing a coat, and instead of a team shirt, like she would have expected, he was wearing a black shirt with white writing. BLACK LIVES MATTER, it said. And a little bit lower down, it said JONATHAN FOX’S LIFE MATTERS. And in between was an alternating row of fleur de lis and raised fists

It wouldn’t have worked on someone who was smaller, but his frame was big enough to hold the whole message. And then he raised his fist. He wobbled on his crutches but was quickly joined by some teammates who squeezed in on both sides to keep him upright. The singer’s voice faltered for a second but then carried on. The stands went silent.

She cried and laughed and cried again. He’d really done it. She was proud and angry and exultant, and mourning again for her cousin. He’d chosen. He’d chosen her family. He’d chosen her. This act had been incomprehensible to him at summer’s end, but he’d done it—probably not all by himself, but without her asking.

Once again Rochelle was beckoned by an usher. “Go on,” Ceci encouraged. It was almost the end of the third quarter, though she hadn’t been watching the game, except when Ceci told her to watch Cedric. Jack was gone from the on-field bench, and she didn’t know what had happened to him.

“I’ll see you later, I guess.” Rochelle waved at Ceci and the kids and followed the usher to the depths of the stadium.

He was there, again in a little room, maybe looking defiant, sitting straight back, bowed up on the metal folding chair. But when he saw her, his eyes softened and his body slumped.

“Rochelle, you came.” He barely breathed it out. “You know you didn’t have to.”

She crossed the room to stand in front of him. “So it’s not enough that I accidentally half-ruin your career, but now you have to do it all the way?”

“Yeah, I guess? I mean, maybe not. Maybe there’s a woke team out there who’ll take a chance on me next year. I mean, I’m white.”

“But Jack—” She reached out to touch his face lightly, skimming her finger down the side of his nose, “Why?”

“Well, I wanted to do more. And I wanted to do more for you, for your cousin. And Cedric said this would probably be the most powerful. So I don’t know what’s going to happen—if I’ll still have a job after this game, if that cameraman is going to get fired, or any endorsements left—I mean, I’m not even sure about my foundation. But—” He reached out to take her hands. “I know I said sorry, but I want you to know that I mean it. I fell apart because I put too much pressure on myself when I had all these people around me who love me, who can lead me. I was wrong. I took it out on you.”

His fingers tightened around hers. “The other day, Ro, at the cathedral, I really—I really thought we were about to have a moment, some time to talk about everything that’s happened this season. And then that fan came and then Ceci came back and it just didn’t happen. But I never would’ve asked to walk alongside you without joining you in the fight. I know I can’t know the full cost, and it seems foolish to hope for a lot of happy but Rochelle, I want to do this together with you.” He let go of her to grab his crutches and fumble around for a moment.

“Fuck. Rochelle, if it weren’t for these damn crutches and damn ankle I’d be down on my knees. I am humbled before you. I hurt you, I have hurt you, I’ll probably hurt you again. But I want to do better, and I want to do it with you.”

Rochelle was stunned. She opened and closed her mouth, her hands went in her hair, blood flooded her cheeks, her heartbeat pounded in her ears. For a second she couldn’t breathe. And then her breath came in a whoosh and her brain started working again and her heart exploded.

She put her hands back into his. “Jack. Are you serious?”

His head jerked back, his eyes wide. “I want more, Rochelle.”

“More?”

“More…anything, everything. More than texts. More than football banter. I want time with you. Plans with you. Minecraft with your students. Beignets with you. Protesting injustice by any means necessary.” He pulled her to him. “And God, can I please kiss you, Rochelle?”

She teetered next to him. “If I sit on this leg will it hurt?”

“I don’t care.” Suddenly she discovered what it was like to be hugged passionately by a NFL player. Maybe she needed to suit up for it next time.

“Hey, gotta breathe,” she pounded on his chest.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry.”

“Let’s try this instead.”

He wasn’t even ready, but she kissed him anyway. The soft sounds, the tightness of his grip on her side, ah, finally. Her body was singing. Finally she was close to him.

She had both hands on his face, trying to get deeper, more, when she realized his response had lessened…and that she had braced her feet on his booted ankle. She looked at him, her eyes wide with apology, trying to transition from lust to concern.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” His hands were trembling on her hips as he gently moved her from sitting on his lap to standing. “You better be glad I love you, Rochelle.”

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

He shook his head and laughed at her. “It’s okay, Ro. It’s okay, but fuck. Let’s go find my pain meds. Or maybe I can get a shot if the trainers are still here.”

“So, point of clarification?” She bit at her thumbnail before speaking again. “You just said you loved me.”

He heaved up onto his crutches. “Yep. I did. But since you jolted me out of my lovemaking by standing on my ankle we’re not going to be consummating our love in that room.”

“Oh, we were going to? People do that?”

“Listen, I’ve seen Cedric and Ceci coming out of rooms like this all the time. How do you think they have all those kids?”

“They have a very nice bedroom at their house!”

“Yeah, but you count back from their kids’ birthdays? Cedric’s got a W every time.”

“Well, that’s none of our business.”

“I’m just saying there are shenanigans to be got up to in this sports arena.” He was actually beaming. She hadn’t seen him like this ever.

“Well, let’s save the shenanigans for after your ankle isn’t hurting, okay?”

He turned back to look at her, his hands clenched tight on the grips of his crutches. “So yeah, Rochelle?”

“Yeah, I love you Jack, and yeah, I’ll take down the system with you. And I hurt you all the time too, so we’ll just get really good at forgiveness.” While he was on his crutches she couldn’t get to his mouth, so she patted his pec and kissed his forearm.

“God, I can’t wait to get you alone somewhere. Can’t wait for my damn ankle to heal up.”

“Let’s get the meds, that’s a good first step.”

They ran into Ceci and Cedric both of whom were glowing. “We won, then?” Jack asked them with a wink.

“Game ending interception here, baby,” Ceci exulted, pounding on Cedric’s chest.

Cedric took the time to look at both of them closely. Rochelle was sure he could see the pain lines on Jack’s face, and she knew she looked rumpled.

“Y’all good, sis?” Cedric’s voice was loaded with meanings, and she didn’t even try to untangle them.

Yeah. They might not always have happy, but they would have good. Jack reached out through his crutch and slid his left hand over her hair and down her neck. He dropped the crutch to pull her against him and held her close. She could feel the warmth where their bodies touched, the heat a promise for the future. Mourning, laughing, joy, love, the work: they would have it all, together.

She looked up into Jack’s eyes, compelled to smile by his ardent expression. “Yeah, we’re good.”