“How has the team reacted to this news?”
I smiled broadly. “Coach Cal was happy for us. All our teammates were.”
“What about the general public?”
“Don’t know,” I told her honestly. “I don’t read the comments on anything about me. That is a dangerous habit, and for the sake of my mental health, I’d rather not know. Anything people say about me on the internet, hidden behind their screen, is just not my business.”
“I agree with Milo on that one.”
Y/N laughed. They asked a few more questions about our relationship before moving onto questions about the season and our upcoming games. “Finally, I have to ask the question that’s on everyone’s mind: What names will be on your jerseys during Monday’s game in DC?”
“We’re keeping our last names,” Rowan told the reporter. “The jerseys for the team announcement were just for show. I’m extremely attached to the Rangecroft name, and Milo is attached to his.”
“Well, we look forward to seeing if the Scorpions can continue their winning streak against the Devils. Maybe we’ll see you in the playoffs this year.”
I hadn’t realized just how close we were to the precipice.
On Monday, we beat the DC Devils on their home field. On the bus ride back to the hotel, Coach Cal stood up and announced the news we were all waiting for: the Tucson Scorpions were going to the playoffs for the first time in five years.
It had been the best week of my life.
19
Notes
We’re almost at the end. I’ve already got the last chapter written, and I’ll be posting it tomorrow night. Unless something else happens. Knowing my luck, it might not be tomorrow.
Rowan
“Okay, boys,” Coach called out as he entered the locker room of the practice facility.
We had just finished the last practice before playoffs. We’d spent hours on the field, running through every variation of every play anyone in our coaching staff could think of. I was dripping sweat from places I didn’t even know could drip sweat. My heart was pounding against my ribcage, and I hadn’t breathed properly in hours. I understood the reason the coaching staff were pushing everyone so hard. The Scorpions hadn’t made the playoffs in five years.
This was a big deal. I had a feeling Coach Cal was coming in here to stress that to all of us. Again.
But the team gathered around our coach like baby ducks when he clapped his hands and called for us. Milo wedged himself next to me, the side of his body pressed to mine. The smell of his sweat and the underlying apple body wash filled my nostrils and relaxed me. “Let me guess,” he called out. “We’re in for the game of the century but we’vegot this!” Milo managed to capture Coach Cal’s voice perfectly when he saidgot this.
I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Neither could anyone around me. Even Coach Cal looked amused at my husband’s antics, though he managed to hold back his laughter.
“No, while we dogot this, I was going to go over the practicalities,” he told us. He looked down at the tablet he clutched in his hand and then back out at the team. “First, Syracuse is going to be cold.” A groan sounded through the locker room, echoing off the walls. “They are forecasting snow. Some of you have played snow games before. They can be a real bitch because we’re not used to them. That doesn’t mean it’s going to count us out. That said, everyone will need to pack accordingly. I don’t want to deal withanyone,” for some reason, his eyes landed Milo, “claiming that they’re cold because they forgot to pack something.”
Oh, that would be why his eyes landed on Milo. If I had to put money on anyone from this team forgetting crucial gear for a football game, it would be Milo. I made a mental note to remind him when we packed tomorrow.
“We’re going to meet back here on Saturday at eight in the morning. I know it’s earlier than our usual meet ups, but it’s going to be a five-and-a-half-hour flight with a time change. I want everyone to have some time to settle into the hotel, have something to eat, and get a good night’s sleep. Sunday, we will be going to the stadium early for a walkthrough, having a team lunch, and getting ready for kick off at three local time.”
“Local to us or them?” a rookie who only ever played special teams called out.
“To them, Reeds,” Jonesy answered. “When Coach says local time, he always means local to wherever we’re at.”
“Thanks, Jonesy, but I could have answered that myself,” Coach Cal teased before snapping back to the no-nonsense coach we were all used to in moments like this. “As I was saying, kick off will be at three local time. That’s local toSyracusefor everyone who missed Reeds’ question. I want everyone to go to bed early tonight. Eat a good dinner, relax, and for the love ofGod, please pack your cold weather gear. Check. Double check. Then, check again.”
Coach Cal dismissed us. The group dispersed. Conversations began to start between smaller groups, and we all went back to our regularly scheduled post-practice routines.
“I’m nervous,” Milo admitted the next night.
He’d spent the entire day as a manic ball of energy. He’d organized and then reorganized the pantry… again. He’d gone down to the gym twice. He’d attempted to make homemade pretzels that had still been doughy inside after he finished them. (He’d somehow convinced me to try them, and they had looked safe. I should have listened to my gut.) I spent the entire day trying to rein in his manic energy. It had served as a good distraction from my own nerves.
But now, we were in bed. We were supposed to be sleeping. Our alarms were set for six in the morning, and we needed to get to sleep. I had almost been there, comfortable with Milo’s lean body pressed to my chest, holding him like a child would hold a stuffed animal. Unfortunately, the same could not be said for Milo.
