YES. The answer is yes, no matter what.
I don’t think there’s any way I can turn this down. I would be pissed at myself for a very, very long time.
RAWLEY: Challenge accepted.
My phone goes silent, and now I don’t give a fuck about cleaning up my area. Because I want to get out on that field, stat.
Thankfully, I don’t have to wait long for the captains to get us organized. When we run out, the stands are only sparsely filled—typical for preseason games. They will be packed once the regular season starts.
But that makes it easier to identify everyone here. I locate Grace quickly as I scan the family section, and then there’s only one other person I want to see.
I run out to the center of the thirty-yard line and let my eyes wander along the sideline seats, close to the field. I assume that’s where she would be, if only because the security is better there.
My vision creeps along, and then I find her. The tall black hair beauty sitting two rows up at the forty-five-yard mark, on the far side of the field.
She came to the game.
The air knocks right the fuck out of my chest.
She came.
“Hey, Rawley, get over here,” Coach Allen shouts, several yards onto the field.
Coach’s words fall around me unanswered, because at that moment, Avery sees me too. Our eyes connect, and even with the serious distance between us, it feels like we’re linked. Like there’s nowhere else eventolook.
Her mouth curves into a smile, and she gives me a small wave.
I’m confused, but I return the gesture, since as far as the public knows, we’re still dating.
“Number eighty-two, get your ass here,” the coach says with more irritation.
This time I will myself to comply.Focus on football, Battle.
I have a touchdown to make, anyway.
Running back to where the offensive players are gathered, I try to avoid glancing in Avery’s direction for the next few minutes while we go through standard pre-game rituals.
It’s hard to ignore her once the station’s cameras appear, however. I’m surprised it took them as long as it did. They cluster around her, presumably wanting to set up for reaction shots during the game. Hopefully she’s okay with the barrage of attention.
I tilt my head to try to see through the black metal of their equipment, and yeah, she’s smiling. Fake or not, she doesn’t look stressed.
Good.
Seven minutes later, it’s time for us to start the first offensive drive. The kickoff by the opponent had left us at our thirty-five-yard line.
“Let’s do this,” Tony says in our first huddle.
Normally, I wouldn’t worry about scoring a touchdown in a preseason game, as long as I’m making catches and contributing in other ways. These games aren’t about stats, but about gelling as a team and figuring out who the final fifty-three will be on the roster.
But now there’s more at stake. My time to get a touchdown may be limited too, as they’ll likely pull me and the other second team players at some point in the second quarter.
“Okay, first play…” And then Tony gives the call.
Only it’s a running one. No chance for me, I block the defender I’m supposed to cover, and we gain three yards.
The next play call comes in and—hallelujah—it’s a pass play.
“Hut,” Tony calls, and the center snaps him the ball.
