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TATUM
There was a certain energy that filled the locker room the moments before a big game. Maybe it was the sheer exhaustion of the last two weeks. Maybe it was the adrenaline pulsing through the air. Even in the depth of the stadium in Phoenix, surrounded by a maze of concrete hallways, we could hear the sheer pandemonium exploding from the stands.
This wasn’t just any game.
This was the game. The league championship.
In a few hours, we would walk away victors—with championship rings and a big ass trophy—or we’d walk away with nothing.
Gideon looked unshakeable, but beneath the mask of a two-time championship MVP, he was worried about snagging a sponsorship deal that was riding on winning today. It was the kind of money that would set him and Heidi up for life.
Theo did that thing where he counted backward from fifty in all prime numbers.
Seth looked like he was about to throw up. Gone was the cocky rookie of five months ago. The kid who couldn’t stop partying. He had become a true team guy. He cared less about his personal glory and more about being an integral part of a cohesive machine.
And me? I was thinking about Wren.
Thinking about what it would be like if she were in the stands today. The team had gone no-contact for the last three days leading up to the championship game. It kept us focused on the task at hand. It kept us sharp. Kept us from getting in fights with significant others or seeing commentary from sports analysts and the cesspool of Twitter couch coaches.
The only job today was to drive the ball into the end zone. Nothing else mattered.
Before the technology blackout, I had spent a few hours on the phone with Wren. She had gotten back from her trip to Maine a few days prior and was wrapping up the last project on her docket. I had asked her what properties she would work on next, but in true Wren fashion, she evaded the question. I knew she didn’t want me to think about her clearing her Rhode Island projects, packing up her apartment, and moving to New York.
Before I flew out to Phoenix, Wren let it slip that Colette wanted her to be in New York this weekend for a gala and to finalize the office space she wanted. But she dismissed the weight of that and promised to watch the game, wearing my jersey.
I would have killed for a picture right about now. I could imagine Wren and her dad huddled around his lunchbox television, snacks piled high on their TV trays, and a six-pack of beers between them.
Coach Williams had moved on from the technical aspects of his pre-game locker-room talk and was proselytizing the cliché, movie-moment speech.
Sitting to my left, Gideon turned to me. “You good?”
I nodded. “Fuck the noise.” We bumped fists. I turned to the right and nudged Seth. “You good?”
He cracked a smile. “Don’t know why I’m nervous. I’m not gonna go in today.”
“You’re nervous because you care. And if I get my ass handed to me by Tampa Bay, you’ve gotta be on your game.” I gave him a stern look. “You good?”
Seth nodded. “I’m good.” He pounded my fist and turned to Theo, repeating the question.”
Theo looked back down the line at Gideon and me and nodded.
The team exploded into shouts as Coach Williams finished his speech. A copy of Badcock the Rooster had been plastered at the locker-room entrance. We bumped and bumbled against each other as arms craned across bodies to pound the cock.
Phoenix was breezy and warm. We walked onto the field as warriors preparing for battle. Fans exploded as both teams filled the turf—Tampa Bay in black and us in red.
Gideon’s eyes went wild, searching the stands. His mouth was locked in a hard line.
“Dude,” I said, smacking him in the chest. “You good? Where’s your head at?”
“I’m good. Gotta find Heidi.”
“You need to warm up.”
“I’m good. I just need to know where she is. Need to know where to look.” Gideon Carmichael: legendary quarterback and hopeless romantic.
“She in a box?”
“Nah. Stands. Section129, row fifteen.”
