The flight homeis smooth and uneventful. Every man on the plane is quietly grateful for both.
We land at Teterboro just before noon and bus back to MSG. The bus is quiet; most of the guys are sleeping or scrolling their phones, the adrenaline of the last two days finally wearing off.
Coach Mercer stands up at the front of the bus as we pull into the arena parking lot. He's not a speeches guy. He givesinstructions, corrections, and tactical adjustments. He doesn't do inspirational.
Today is different.
“Listen up,” he says, and the bus goes quiet. “I'm not going to stand here and give you a motivational talk because you don't need one. What happened on that plane was real and it was serious and every man on this bus knows it.
“We got lucky. We got another chance.” He pauses and looks down the aisle and makes eye contact with every player one by one. “Don't waste it. Play every game like it matters because it does. Call your families tonight. Tell the people you love that you love them. And show up Monday ready to work because we've got a season to finish.”
The bus rolls to a stop and the doors open and the guys file out into the cold New York afternoon.
I grab my bag from the luggage compartment and walk to my car in the players' lot. I toss the bag in the back seat, sit behind the wheel, and pull out my phone.
I just landed. I'm coming to you.
Jasmine: Door's open.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot. I'm halfway down Eighth Avenue before it hits me. I have no idea where she lives. She said West Village at the End Zone, but that's a neighborhood, not an address.
I've been so focused on getting to her that I skipped the part where I figure out where I'm actually going.
I text her at a red light.I don't know where you live.
Her reply comes with a laughing emoji and a pin of her address. Then a second text.
We skipped that detail somewhere between the emergency landing and the love confessions.
I type back:Minor oversight.
Jasmine: Just get here, Shaw.
The drive to the West Village takes twenty-five minutes, and I make it in twenty. I find parking on her street, and I don't bother grabbing my bag from the back seat.
I walk into her building and take the elevator to the fourth floor. The hallway is quiet, and her door is at the end.
I knock.
The door opens seconds later, and she's standing there in a cream sweater and leggings with her hair down around her shoulders and no makeup and her feet bare on the hardwood floor.
She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.
She just looks at me, and I can’t tear my eyes off her, my heart going a million miles a minute, and neither of us speaks.
Then she steps forward, wraps her arms around me and presses her face into my chest. I pull her against me and hold her so tight her feet leave the ground.
We stand in her doorway holding each other. Her heart hammers against my chest, and mine is hammering back. The whole world narrows to the woman in my arms, the smell of her hair, and the warmth of her body against mine.
I pull back just enough to see her face. Her eyes are wet, and she's looking at me with ten years of walls crumbled to nothing.
I kiss her.
My mouth covers hers, and her hands grip the back of my neck. She pulls me inside the apartment and I kick the door shut behind us. I press her against the wall of her hallway and kiss her like I'm drowning and she's the first breath of air.
Her mouth is warm, and she tastes like coffee and mint. Her tongue slides against mine, and I groan against her lips. Her fingers rake through my hair, and her body arches against me, and I grip her waist with both hands and pull her hips flush against mine.
“I’ve missed this,” I confess against her lips, breathless.
