Epilogue — Marissa
I watch Ben line up on the field with his new team, the Atlanta Blazers, and smile a little to myself. It's strange seeing him in the blue and yellow when I'm so used to seeing him in red and white—but it's not a bad color combination for him. And although I can clearly see that he's not 100% meshing with his new teammates yet, things are looking very promising.
Even as I watch the team’s practice, he hurls a pass down half the field, and one of his receivers manages, somehow, to get open to catch the thing, sprinting towards the endzone. There are whoops and hollers, and even from the opposite sidelines, I can tell that Coach Sheffield is pleased. That bodes well.
It's been difficult, moving to Atlanta—especially when Ben and I have only officially been dating for a few months. In fact, it's less than six months since the whole sex scandal that cost me my job. But it feels as though I've known him forever, and without my job with the Kings, it's not as though there was anything really tying me to Chicago anyway.
Besides, there are a few of Ben's former teammates who also currently play for the Blazers, and they've been great about taking us in and showing us around town. We all hang out in the evenings frequently, drinking beers and talking about everything.
Ben jogs over to his new coach so that they can draw out another play on the whiteboards, and I wish I were over there to see just what it is that they're discussing. I'm no longer working in the sports field, but that doesn't mean that I don't catch every game that Ben is playing in.
At the moment, I'm taking some time off and going back to school for physical therapy. After spending time helping Ben out during his injury and going with him from doctor’s appointment to doctor’s appointment, I kind of wonder why I never got into this before. It fascinates me, and I feel like I could really help people—rather than just being yet another sports broadcaster or sports journalist. Maybe one day, I'll be able to work for a football team again; we'll see!
For now…
I watch as Ben circles back to the field, turning and finding my eyes as I watch from the sidelines. He points to me with both hands, his signal that he's about to run a play just for me. I roll my eyes a little but can't help grinning. Now that he's beginning to hit his stride again, he's being a bit of a showoff around practices, but I know that everyone's pretty pleased to see that out of him, especially with this much time left before the season actually begins.
They hike the ball, and Ben ends up with it. Somehow, they create an amazing field setup where Ben gets a huge gap in front of him. He runs pell-mell up the field—something that's been challenging for him given the ankle injury. But today, he's faster than he's been in a while, and he managed to run all the way down the field and into the end zone.
That's showing off, if I'm sure of anything. It's not like anyone was going to dare tackle him once he got in the clear anyway; he could have just called the play “dead” there.
But he wanted to make that touchdown for me, just like he always did, and I am just as flattered to see the display as I am excited to see how well he is healing.
Coach Sheffield blows his whistle, signaling that it's time for the guys to take a short break, and Ben continues his jog straight around the field, coming down the sidelines towards me.
I hold out a Gatorade to him, watching as he downs most of it in one go.
“Man is it hot down here,” he complains.
“And just think, it's only spring!” I reply. The heat and the humidity are something that we're still struggling to get used to. Of course, we have heat and humidity back in Chicago, but it's rarely anything like this, and especially not this early in the year!
“I'm going to actually die this summer,” Ben says, but he's grinning at me. “Maybe I'll defect to a different team.”
I snort. “Well, if you sleep with one of the Blazers' employees, I'm definitely not moving with you to the next city,” I tell him.
Ben doesn't treat that like the joke that I meant it as, though. Instead, he bends down and cups my cheek in his palm, kissing me gently. “I would never,” he tells me, as though I didn't already know that. “I love you, Marissa.”
“I love you too,” I tell him, smiling up at him. Maybe we were moving a little too fast, but when he had proposed to me on the six-month anniversary of our move to Atlanta, I had had no desire to say no to him, and today, I wore his engagement ring proudly on my finger.
“One of these days, I'm going to have to teach you to play football,” Ben tells me. It's something that he's been threatening for a while now, and every time he says it, I roll my eyes.
“Why would I ever need to know how to play football?” I ask him. “I like to watch it, but I'd rather play volleyball than get roughed up by a bunch of sweaty, gross-”
“Hey!” Ben says, sounding mock offended and clutching at his heart as though I've wounded him. I can't help but giggle a little, but Ben's expression turns serious again. “Well, how else are you supposed to teach Ben Jr. how to throw a decent spiral?” he asks.
I laugh again at that one. “There is no way in hell that we are naming our kid Ben Jr.”
Ben raises his eyebrows at me. “Oh really?” he says, even though this isn't the first time that we've had this conversation—and I doubt that it'll be the last time, either.
“The kid is going to have his own life, and I want him to have his own name,” I say sternly. “He shouldn't have to follow in the footsteps of The Great Ben Price.”
“Those would be some difficult shoes to fill,” Ben admits, never without his pride in his game.
I laughed a little and push at his shoulder. Just then, Coach Sheffield blows his whistle, and Ben gives me an apologetic look. “Guess I have to get back on the field,” he tells me. “But don't worry—we'll be done soon. There's only so much more of this heat that anyone, even Coach Sheffield, can take.”
“Why don't I get a head start going home and get dinner started?” I suggest. “I bet you'll be famished by the time you get done here, and I've got a few new recipes that I wanted to try out.” I've been experimenting a lot in the kitchen, something I never really felt like I had time for before. But with Ben's strict diet, I have to be creative or else we'll be drinking protein shakes for every meal.
“That would be so great,” Ben says honestly. He bends down to peck me on the lips once more and then jogs out to join his teammates, who all catcall him good-naturedly as he gives me one final wave.
Despite saying I'd head home early and get a head start on dinner, I linger there on the sidelines, watching another couple plays go off. Ben doesn't always connect with his receivers, sure, but he's far from the only person making mistakes playing at this game.
The same can be said about life, I guess. Ben may have made some mistakes early on in knowing him, but that was only natural. And now…
I rubbed my stomach, even though it was still a bit early for the baby bump to show. This baby—who would not be named Ben Price Jr., if I had anything to say about it!—was definitely not one of Ben's mistakes.
As I watched the baby's father out there on the field, launching successful pass after successful pass, whooping and hollering with the rest of his teammates, I couldn't help smiling. Despite my insistence that the kid be brought up playing volleyball, I had no doubt that we would see him or her out there on the football field as well, just like its father.
THE END