“Is Honey coming tonight?” my dad asks as if he could hear my thoughts.
Really, Dad? You're going to just call me out like that?
Everyone around us goes quiet, silently watching for my reaction.
“Tom.” My mom hisses, elbowing him in the side. “You weren’t supposed to mention her.”
Always feels great knowing that my friends and family are so concerned about me they won't even mention the girl I'm texting constantly but am not allowed to see.
My dad clears his throat. “I’m sorry, I meant to ask: are any more of your friends coming to your final home game of the season? Mike? Olivia?”
Nice save.
“Olivia and Mike aren't coming. They're too busy with Harris.”
“Right. Right.” He nods, not making eye contact with me. “Well, big crowd, regardless.”
“Sold out,” I say, a little surprised that the home crowd are still showing up. “They want to show support after—” I flick my hand, not wanting to explain things about Coach Masters since they already know. “—everything.”
“Good,” he says before reaching over to clap my shoulder. “You deserve the support. You've been doing a great job here even if the stats aren't showing it.”
“Appreciate it,” I say slightly clipped, not wanting to keep talking about it right before a game. It gets me in the wrong headspace.
The locker room door swings open, and Coach Smith, our interim head coach, walks through. He’s got a couple of the other coaches behind him as he claps to get our attention.
“Families,” he says. “Thank you for coming and showing your support for our final home game of the season. Our boys need it after such an awful start, but we’re going to try to send them home with a preview of what we’re going to be like next season. Team, two more road games after this, but tonight’s the one for the city. Let’s make them proud.”
The locker room hollers in support.
“Alright. We're heading out in twenty, and I need everyone dressed and ready to go.”
There's a quiet ripple of movement as guys start saying their goodbyes. Coach gives the room one more sweep, nods once, and heads back out.
Before anyone else can get to me, Dad pulls me in for a hug. “Good luck, Zach. You’ll make me proud whatever happens out there.”
“Thanks,” I say, closing my eyes.
The moment starts to sink in. The final home game of my first NFL season. Getting here is what we've been working toward since I was eight years old, and yeah, it hasn't gone as I expected, but I need to be proud of how far I've come.
Mom steps in and wraps both of her arms around me. I wrap my arms around her and let her hold on for as long as she needs because I need it too.
“Go be brilliant,” she says as she pulls back. Then she puts one hand on my jaw for a second. “You always are.”
I manage a small smile.
Tiff is last, holding her arms wide open, and wrapping them around my neck. She has to tilt up slightly now since her bump has changed the geometry of our hug, but I’ll take what I can get.
“I know this season hasn't gone the way you planned,” she whispers so only I can hear. “But I am so incredibly proud of you, and not because of any of this.” She gestures at the locker room where everyone is now saying goodbye to their families. “Just of who you are. Okay?”
I nod, looking at her.
“Thanks, sis. I love you.”
She backs away and presses her lips together.
“Don't,” she says. “The pregnancy hormones have made me extra emotional, and I can't cry in here.”
I chuckle. “I mean, you could.”
