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Fuck. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to hearing her say that. I pull her closer until her cheek presses more firmly against my chest. I’ve wanted this with her for so long that actually having it still catches me off guard sometimes, knowing I can tell her how much I love her and hear her give it right back.
I press my mouth to her braids, unable to stop the smile pulling at mine. “I love you too, Pea.”
Epilogue
Jubal
Sullivan catches me around the shoulders the second I cross the sideline, nearly knocking me back onto the field before I get my helmet off.
“That’s the playoffs, Old Man.”
“Get the fuck off me.” I shove at his chest, but there isn’t much behind it, and he knows it. He laughs loudly against my ear as he squeezes harder, jostling the shoulder that got driven into the turf in the third quarter.
Sullivan finally lets me go, but the grin on his face shifts when he gets a better look at me. I point my helmet at him before he can ask whatever question is coming. “I’m fine.”
“You’re thirty-two. You don’t know that.”
“I know I’m about to hit you with this helmet.”
He backs away, laughing, and I turn toward the field in time to see the extra point sail through the uprights. The numbers change, stretching our lead to seventeen with less than three minutes left, and I press my mouth guard between my teeth to keep from grinning like an idiot. The defense runs onto the field while I keep my helmet in my hands, already watching the personnel their offense sends out. If our defense gets us the ball back, I want it.
“Good drive.” Coach steps into my line of sight before I can follow the first snap. “You’re done.”
I look at the clock, searching for an argument, even though I already know there isn’t one. I’m still carrying the last drive with me, the rush of the touchdown tangled up with Sullivan talking shit in the huddle and our linemen knocking shoulder pads as we crowded together for the call. I just didn’t know when I walked off the field that I wouldn’t get another one.
I wanted one more with them before the clock ran out, even if all we did was take a knee and let this stadium lose its fucking mind around us. I still feel ready to put the helmet back on and follow the team onto the field, which makes standing here while the seconds disappear harder than it has any right to be when we just got exactly what we came here for.
“You could’ve at least let me pretend I had a choice.”
Coach’s mouth twitches as he reaches out to tap the front of my shoulder pads. “You would’ve argued.”
I shake my head, but I’m fighting a smile when he turns back toward the field and disappears into whatever is coming through his headset. Things between us still aren’t quite what they were before Thanksgiving, but neither of us has stopped trying to find our way back there. I’ve spent so much of this season refusing to reach for anything that wasn’t already in front of me that having something waiting for us feels almost impossible to hold. There’s another game after this one, and nobody can take these three minutes and turn them into a question about whether I’ll still be here when it starts.
JJ is beside me, keeping his attention on the field, but I’ve watched him wait for his chance all season.
He catches me looking before I can turn away. “What?”
“You’re staring at Coach like you’re trying to make him put you in with your mind.”
“Is it working?”
Coach lifts one hand from his play sheet and points at him.
“Apparently.”
His whole face changes as he reaches for his helmet, and I expect the familiar knot in my chest when he slides it on and starts toward the field. It never comes. I still want those snaps badly enough that my fingers tighten around my own helmet, but there’s nothing else underneath it this time.
“Watch fifty-two if they give you that same front. He’s been ignoring the cutback as soon as he sees the motion.”
His attention shifts immediately, excitement giving way to the focus I’ve watched him build all season as he looks across the field. “Got it.”
“And don’t get cute.”
JJ laughs, but he’s already looking toward the huddle. I stay at the white stripe, tracking the defense with him while they break personnel and line up across from ours. Fifty-two settles exactly where I expect him to, and when Sullivan goes into motion, the linebacker starts cheating toward him before the ball is even snapped.
JJ sees it immediately, turning to get the ball into our back’s stomach, and the cutback opens the second fifty-two commits to Sullivan. Our back slips through the space he leaves behind before the defense drags him down several yards later with the clock still moving. JJ finds me on the sideline, and I point at the play clock before he can celebrate the run. His grin disappears as he turns back to the huddle, but mine stays.
He took the read I gave him and trusted it. I’m standing on the wrong side of the white stripe, but I don’t feel shut out of what’s happening on the field. For the first time in my career, I’m watching another quarterback lead my offense without wondering if he’s also taking it away from me.
