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“I was picking them up. I could have just left them all on the floor, but I was trying to be a nice guy.”
She snorts in disgust. “A nice guy,” she argues, making air quotes. “A nice guy doesn’t comment on another person’s panties!”
Blair taps me on the back with her knee, as we all give the bickering couple our complete attention. Of course, they’re not a couple in the traditional sense, merely acting like an old, bickering married couple every time they’re together.
“All I said was you had a lot of granny panties,” Logan says innocently, but we can all see the mirth in his eyes.
Hallie gives him her back, turning to face the field in front of her. “I hope you choke on a hot dog, Logan Johnson.”
We all bust up laughing, hating to find such joy in their apparent hatred for each other. Of course, none of us really think they hate each other. It’s more like foreplay. One of these days, those two will just erupt and the result will be explosive.
Hopefully on an orgasmic level and without any carnage.
“I am hungry for a hot dog. You want one, Gabe? Blair? Ellie?”
“No, I’m good,” I reply, trying to hide my smile as he gets up.
“You want one, Hallie Hallie Bo Ballie?”
“I hope a football hits you in the head and gives you amnesia,” she states bluntly, keeping her attention in front of her.
“Technically, I don’t think a football could do that. Not enough force. It’s unlikely to have enough power in a basic throw to cause any serious damage besides a mild concussion.”
Hallie slowly turns around and narrows her eyes at Gabe. “Could you not be a doctor for, like, five seconds?” she asks bitterly.
He just gives her a wide grin. “Of course.”
With a huff, she keeps her gaze forward as the players line up on the twenty-yard line with their hands over their hearts. We all stand as the high school band plays the national anthem, moving quickly into position for the school song. Once they begin the familiar beat, the crowd starts to cheer, the cheerleaders begin their routine, and the players slide their helmets onto their heads. Then, they run through the tunnel created by the cheerleaders and break through the banner donning the school name.
My heart is hammering as I watch my boy fire up his team, leading them in a chant. I’m so dang proud of him, of the player and teammate he’s become since joining his freshman year. It’s hard to believe this is the final season I get to watch him play the game he loves. When TD joins them, he says a few things to get them even more fired up, and they all break apart in unison.
“Last first game of the season,” Hallie whispers, as if somehow reading my mind.
I swallow over the lump in my throat. “Yeah.”
We take the field, preparing for kickoff, and I watch as Brody goes deep to receive. TD hollers something to him, and Brody nods in understanding. The whistle blows and the ball is in the air, sailing toward my son. He catches it easily and takes off running.
“Go, Brody!” Hallie hollers.
We’re all still on our feet, eyes glued to my kid as he dodges one defender and then another. An opponent gets their hands on him, but he spins enough to break the contact and send the player to the ground. Brody stumbles a little but regains his footing and runs another ten yards before finally being brought down at the fifty.
“Great run,” Gabe hollers.
The crowd takes a seat and watches the game. Our running back makes a few good plays, getting us near their thirty-yard line. When I see TD say something to Brody and slap him on the butt, he takes off into the game with determination.
“It’s going to be a pass for Brode,” I say softly, almost to myself.
Holding my breath, I watch as they line up. Dorian looks out at Brody and nods, and that’s all the confirmation I need. The ball is snapped, and the players move. Dorian turns to Brody, who’s running downfield, before firing it into the air. The ball spirals beautifully over the heads of the defenders and is snatched from the air by my son. He runs the remaining few yards for the touchdown without so much as being touched by the opposing team.
“Touchdown Panthers!” the announcer bellows over the loudspeakers.
I’m jumping up and down, cheering my heart out for my son and his teammates. High fives are given to my friends, as well as a few fans sitting near us. I watch as his teammates congratulate him on scoring points as they all jog off the field toward the sidelines. TD is right there, holding out his hand for a high five in celebration. Then, he slaps him on the shoulder pads twice and taps the top of his helmet. All I can do is smile, grateful for the relationships he’s formed with his teammates and coaches.
Especially TD.
As if sensing where my thoughts are, the head coach turns to the stands and our eyes meet. He gives me a wide smile that makes my heart leap in my chest. I can’t help but grin back, holding up my hand and giving him a thumbs-up. He winks before returning his attention back to the game in front of him.
We end up winning our season opener twenty-seven to seven, and even though Brody didn’t score again, he had some great catches. It was thrilling to watch him, both on the field and on the sidelines, where he cheered on his teammates and celebrated every little victory. At the end of the game, TD leads them to the end zone, while the bleachers start to clear out.
