As she’s leaving, Bryant opens the door and walks inside. He frowns at her.
“My deepest condolences,” she says. “I was giving Zhanna the same.”
“Thank you,” my husband says and steps back outside to open the door for her.
Once she’s gone, he steps back inside and makes his way to me. “What the fuck did she want?”
“She wants to be your agent.”
He leans down to kiss me, lingers there for a moment, and looks deeply into me. God. There’s so much pain there. I’d do almost anything to make him feel better. “I’ll pass. She caused one of the biggest fights between us we’ve ever had. I’m not the same young, dumb kid anymore.”
“No, you’re not, but she has a point, and she did apologize for it. Charles isn’t doing all he can do for you, not when your star has risen so quickly in the last few years. You’re on the brink of having a ring, and he should be doing more.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, QB, I think if you don’t go with Priscilla, you should go with someone else, perhaps even someone younger—someone more on the edge of what’s hot in the league.”
“You should be my agent.”
I laugh. “I’ll stick to being a physical therapist and your wife. It’s what I’m good at.” Bryant takes the chair next to me and turns it around to face me before he sits in it and leans forward to put his head in my lap. “Talk to me.”
“I just need to be close to you,” my husband whispers.
For the next twenty minutes or so, I run my hands through his long hair. He’ll tie it back before he puts his helmet on, but for now, it flows down his back. He moans here and there, letting me know he’s enjoying this. I love touching him and bringing him comfort. Next I focus on his tense shoulders and begin rubbing knots out of his throwing arm.
“Feels amazing, Z.”
“You have to go soon,” I remind him.
The stadium will soon fill up with fans and industry people, and he’s the man of the hour. He likes a nice quiet place to find his calm before the chaos of a game ensues. Between the media and playing four brutal quarters, he won’t get another minute to himself until we’re in the car headed home after the game. And we won’t have a moment alone until then either.
It’s when he leaves me for the locker room that I begin to get nervous, but today, I’ve been anxious since I rose. It’s a big game, and he just lost his dad. For the first time in probably the entirety of our relationship, I don’t know where his head is at. I’m worried about him. The weight of the world is on his shoulders, and all he likely wants to do is crawl under the covers for a few weeks and cry.
He sits up, pulling himself from my lap, and leans forward to kiss me. “I love you, Zhanna.”
“I love you, too, Quarterback. Go out there and get us a ring, baby.”
His smile is sad and breaks my heart. He’s about to have the chance to win the Super Bowl, but his heart isn’t in it. His heart is bruised and battered by grief. “I’d rather go home and bury myself inside you.”
“If you can manage to stay awake after the game, you can do just that as soon as we get home.”
He kisses me again. “I’m holding you to it.”
THERE’S TWO MINUTES LEFT in the fourth quarter, and the Spartans are only up by three points. There’s enough time for North Carolina to tie it up with a field goal or score a touchdown and take the lead on their current possession. We’d have to score again if they were to tie us or take the lead, but with only four minutes left, North Carolina could eat up the clock and leave us scrambling without enough time to make it back down the field to answer before the clock runs out.
And there’s nothing Bryant can do from the sidelines as he watches the Spartan defensive line push back against the offense and try to hold them down the field. I watch him through the television monitors as the cameras pan to him every so often, and I worry. I don’t know if he can take the crushing blow of not winning this game after losing his dad two weeks ago.
With 42 seconds left on the game clock, North Carolina scores a touchdown and an extra point and takes the lead by four. Now we need a touchdown to win by two, and our field position starts us at the 25-yard line. Bryant and the offensive line take the field against North Carolina’s defense, and then the center hikes the ball to his quarterback on the first play of the drive. Bryant steps back as the men lock against each other like battering rams in a battle for control of the ball. The offensive line spread out to protect Bryant as his wide receivers run down field to catch the throw. He fakes left, then center, then he goes back to his left but his man has double coverage.
I stand up and ball my hands into fists. He’s running out of time. “Throw the ball, baby!”
He quickly looks down the right side of the field and finds his man. He launches the ball just in time to avoid being sacked while still in possession. He goes down when he’s knocked down by a linebacker, but rolls away and jumps to his feet just in time to see the tight end jump in the air and catch the ball, but he’s covered up by the defense as soon as his cleats hit the turf. We make a gain of 20 yards, taking us almost to the halfway mark of the field. Our boys have 35 seconds left to get the ball into the end zone 55 yards away.
Bryant steps behind the line of scrimmage and calls out the next play. The center hikes the ball again and Bryant catches it and dips way back to look down the field, but no one is open. I look at the clock and find 28 seconds there. I look back to Bryant and see the moment he makes the decision to do it. In all the years I’ve seen him play, I’ve never seen him barrel down the field toward the end zone with the football gripped in his large hand. Some quarterbacks will run the ball, most will not in order to prevent injuries. My husband isn’t a runner, or at least he wasn’t until the Super Bowl was on the line.
My heart beats against my chest wall as I watch him dodge football players, jump over fallen men, and gracefully dance down the field like he does it every damn day. The moment he steps across the pylons, I start screaming and jumping up and down.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God! We won the Super Bowl!
