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“Good Lord,” I muttered under my breath.
Someone with a mic and a clipboard approached. “Hi. You’re Liam Davies, right?”
“Move,” he barked.
The kid jumped, almost falling backward before Liam ran his ass over. Liam strode back toward the tunnel, Mira waving happily at Charlotte from her safe perch in his arms, and it felt like someone had just spun the whole day sideways.
“We cannot take him anywhere,” I said.
The board president approached. “Well,” she said cautiously, “we have no problem pivoting, if you’re game.” She set her hand on my arm. “But let me apologize. We should have asked his permission first. No one wants their daughter to feel uncomfortable.”
I nodded, throat tight. “What do you need?” I asked.
“Will you do the coin toss?” she asked. “We can announce you as an honorary captain for the game, standing in for Chris. They’ll do a moment of silence, flash a few pictures of Chris, and then your part will be done.”
It was the last thing I wanted to do. My whole body shook from the force of wanting to run right behind Liam.
Instead, I nodded. “Whatever you need,” I told her.
Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”
Charlotte briefly gripped my hand, her eyes seeking mine. “Are you sure?” she asked.
I didn’t have time to answer. I had to follow the woman to the sideline, and as we passed in front of the team, they started to take notice. Every time a player thumped me on the back, or nodded with sympathy in their eyes, my lungs squeezed uncomfortably.
I sucked in a steadying breath, focusing on the grass and the white-painted lines.
If Chris could see this, he’d probably be laughing his ass off. That I had to go stand at the fifty-yard line and be the sole focus of 107,000 people in my grief.
I’d do it, though, because Liam wasn’t wrong. Mira wasn’t old enough to decide for herself.
And the ease with which he’d protected her had me feeling just a little jealous. My whole life right now was decisions that needed to be made, and I found myself paralyzed.
The band left the field, and I walked with the team captains out to midfield.
The booming echo of the loudspeaker had my eyes closing as they talked about Chris. His impact at Michigan, and the tragic way he and Amie lost their lives.
The blood rushed into my ears when I looked up at the big screen during the deafening silence that followed.
He was smiling and sweaty and still wearing his uniform. Amie was tucked under his arm, grinning up into his face.
Next came a picture of me and Chris, standing at midfield.
My eyes welled up, the image blurred dangerously, and it felt like someone was ripping the air straight from my throat.
The young quarterback set his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “You got this,” he said.
A tear slid down my cheek, because it was the kind of thing Chris would’ve done if someone were struggling in front of him.
It’s what he’d done with me.
Again and again and again.
I swiped at my face with a rough hand and kept my shit together while they announced my name. There was loud applause, which I ignored, keeping my sole focus on the coin in my hand.
Someone called heads.
I snapped my thumb and the coin flipped through the air, landing with a harmless plunk on the grass.
