I stare him straight in the eyes. “You’re ready. You’ve earned this. And tomorrow, you’re going to finish your perfect season and bring home that title.”
His lip curves up. “Want to give my pre-game talk to the guys? You kind of kick ass at it.”
Chapter Twenty
IT ALL COMES DOWN TO tonight. I may not be a football player. I may not be a coach. I may not even be a parent with a kid out there on the field. It probably seems silly to feel this invested in a high school football championship match when I don’t meet any of those criteria. But it’s like my life the past few months has been leading to tonight.
It makes some kind of sense, though, right? I’m sharing a life with Brook. This is the most important thing of his life right now, so by osmosis or some other rule of relations, it matters to me, too.
It’s more than that, though. After making hundreds of cookies and bars, chaperoning and traveling with the team, sitting in the bleachers every Friday night, becoming a small member of this community, I’m invested. This isn’t about science I don’t understand or even social norms, it just is.
While we wait for the team to take the field at Memorial Stadium, J.J. and Wade keep checking their phones for any updates on this week’s fantasy game. Bless their hearts for caring, but I’ve already cinched my spot in the playoffs. I haven’t bothered checking the scores since last night. What’s the point when my opponent was out of players, already defeated, and pretty much out of luck?
I hope that’s the case tonight for the Warriors. I want a win for Brook. I want everyone who questioned his abilities earlier in the season to eat their words tonight.
I haven’t been able to think about much since last night. After Brook’s panic attack of sorts, we cuddled on the couch, barely speaking while we each thought about the coming day. At least, I assume that’s what was going through his mind, but I can promise it weighed heavily on mine. I hope they win.
I’d pray for it, but I’m sure God has more important things to care about than a high school football game. (Though not everyone would necessarily agree with me on that front, I’m sure Brook does and his is the only opinion I care about in this situation.)
I also wish I was better at knowing what to say. Brook claims I do a good job of offering comfort and support, but I’m not so sure. He was still so uptight, so tense the rest of the evening. He wants this so badly. He’s worked so hard. Maybe there was nothing more I could say. I guess maybe I’m like Brook. I’m the kind of person who wants to fix problems. I don’t like waiting for things to work themselves out. Not when there’s something I could do—even when there isn’t.
An older couple climbing up the stairs catches my attention. They’re maybe in their mid to upper sixties. They move well enough on their own, but they’re not as fast as they probably were years ago. The lines around their eyes and foreheads show there have been many years of happiness and laughter. Probably even some grief. You don’t turn sixty or seventy, or even twenty-eight, without having to face sadness and disappointment at some point or another. Their clothes don’t indicate whether or not they’re cheering for the Warriors or the opponents, but they’ve dressed to stay warm. They could be my aunts or uncles. They have that sort of face. The kind you recognize because you see people you love in them.
What I find most striking is how much of a pair they seem to be. He’s guiding her up the steps, her hand firmly grasped in his. She wipes some hard-to-see specks of lint or dust from his jacket. It’s done automatically and with such care. They’re solid. They’re a team.
They climb and climb up the bleachers, coming to a stop when they reach our row. Checking the slips of paper in his hand, the man turns to the woman and says, “Well, it looks like these are our seats.” He flashes me a friendly grin. “You weren’t hoping to save these for someone else, were you?”
I shake my head, returning the grin. “They’re all yours.”
They take their seats and turn to stare down at the field. The woman points to the 50-yard line just ahead. “These are fantastic seats. Much better than the ones we had last year. We couldn’t see a darn thing.”
“Well, last year we waited until the last minute to buy some. This year I made sure to get them right away.”
“We definitely learned our lesson. And it paid off.” The woman turns to me and surveys my sweatshirt. “Are you an alumna or do you know somebody on the team?”
“My boyfriend is one of the coaches.” The head coach, I want to say, but Brook hates when I brag about him to strangers, even if he never knows. To be both polite, and distract myself from my nerves for a few minutes, I ask if there’s anyone out there she’s cheering for tonight.
“Oh, not officially. We don’t particularly know anyone on either team, but I suppose it would be nice to see the hometown boys win. They’ve been up against a lot this season. It’s always kind of nice to see a team beat the odds when they’re stacked against ’em.”
I nod. “I’m proud of them for getting here.”
“You should be.”
Not wanting to end our conversation just yet, I ask what brought them to tonight’s game.
“It’s hard to pass up a football game on a beautiful night like this,” her husband jokes, laughing so hard his breath shows in the cold November night air.
“Actually, we just like to stay busy,” she says. “Ever since we retired a few years ago, we’ve tried to spend more time doing the things we always said we’d do when our schedules were full with trying to make a living.”
“And paying off a mortgage.”
“And raising our children.”
“Then putting our kids through school.”
“Then trying to save back enough money to live on for the rest of our lives.” She shares a grin with her husband. “We spent so much of our lives saying someday, once we got there, we realized we’d better not waste it.”
He nods. “Lots of people—like us way back when—forget to take time to live. Well, we’re not letting that happen anymore.”
“We’re doing a little of everything. Taking cooking classes, learning Mandarin. Planning a trip to the Great Wall.” She giggles. “We’re doing short-term things, too. Like taking walks around town and trying new restaurants.”
This sounds incredible. I want to be this couple when I grow up. Always going on a new adventure, whether it’s small and simple or giant and grand. It sounds perfect.
“Coming to watch a championship game between the best two high school teams in the state seemed like a good way to live tonight.”
“Amen,” Scott says from my other side. Apparently, he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation.
So as not to give the impression I’m two-timing my coach boyfriend, I introduce them to my brother. While everyone shakes hands, we get to know each other better. His name is Earl. Her name is Peggy. He’s a retired railroader. She’s a retired nurse. He’s a fellow Packers fan and never misses a Husker football game. She also crochets and was excited to hear about Amelia’s and my website. They met in high school and have been married forty-five years. They have three grown sons, seven grandchildren, and another due at Christmas. And as I’ve suspected the whole time, they’re happy.
Before we can give too much of our own back story, the announcer’s voice rings through the stadium. “Members of the audience who are able, please rise for the National Anthem performed by members of both school’s marching bands. Remove your hats while the colors are presented.”
Following orders, around me people stand and begin to sing along with the marching band. With every note, with every passing second, the knots in my stomach grow a bit tighter. Though I try my best to pay respects to what is happening on the field and all around me, I keep stealing peeks at the tunnel. Brook and his team have already finished their final pep talk by now.
They’re probably making the long walk from the locker room to the gate where they’ll run out of once the National Anthem is done. We were in the
same situation one year ago. And one year ago, our hopes of a state title were dashed. I shake my head, trying to clear those thoughts. This is a new year and a new team with a new focus. Anything is possible.
The final note of the anthem rings through the air while the crowd erupts in cheers. This is it.
I hold my breath and stare at the gate. Scott takes my hand, and our new friend Peggy follows suit. I borrow their strength as the announcer introduces the teams. As expected, players and coaches run out on the field. It only takes me seconds to find Brook. Even from our seats, I can read his body language. He’s excited and confident. What more could you ask for from a coach heading into the biggest game of his career? At last I can breathe again. On the sideline, he gives one glance at the stands, and I swear he’s looking at me, like he said he would last night. Regardless, I drop Scott and Peggy’s hands and wave.
After scoring a field goal and touchdown on their first two possessions, the Warriors keep a three-point lead over their opponents throughout the first half. With less than a minute left on the clock, and 17-14 on the scoreboard, the other team makes a last-ditch effort to drive down the field. Despite the defense’s best efforts, they make it within field goal distance with less than ten seconds left. It’s third down with a few yards to go. They can kick the field goal and tie the game or go for the touchdown—and the lead—right now.
I know what Brook would do. He’d go for the touchdown.
The opposing team sends out the field goal unit to tie the game. After a quick talk with their coaches, the Warriors’ defense lines up to block the kick.
“It’s going to be okay,” Scott says quietly. “We get the ball back to start the second half. Brook will come up with a solid game plan for them during halftime, and we’ll take a seven-point lead.”
I nod to acknowledge his pep talk, but keep my eyes peeled to the field. The ball is snapped, the holder reaches for it and—he misses. The kicker rushes for the stray ball in an attempt to regain possession of the ball, but the Warriors beat him to it. They ground the ball and our fans erupt in cheers as the sidelines clear to head toward the locker room.
J.J. whistles. “That was some nice action.” I’m about to agree when he adds. “Of course, it would’ve been nice if the D would’ve tried to run it back for a touchdown, but it was still good work.”
Earl snorts, but quickly covers it as a cough when J.J. turns to find out who dared to laugh at his story. Before he can spout off some snide remark, Earl gives a friendly wave and says how much they enjoyed watching J.J. play in college.
Never one to shy away from fan praise or an opportunity to toot his own horn, J.J. launches into one of his stories. The rest of us have heard it dozens of times, but it’s new to Earl and Peggy. And, with J.J.’s recent kind behavior toward me, I’m in a mood to let him have his moment. So for tonight, we refrain from rolling our eyes or calling him out, because his once simple story has grown into a tall tale that rivals Paul Bunyan or Pippi Longstocking.
We carry on casual conversation through halftime. By now, Earl and Peggy realize exactly who we are here to support, which leads them to ask more and more questions.
“How much time does he spend reviewing game tape?”
“Where does he come up with his ideas for new plays?”
“What coach is his biggest inspiration?”
“What are his long-term plans? Will he stay in high school?”
“Doesn’t he want to try the next level?”
“Or the next, next level?”
“Are you two kids planning a wedding any time soon?”
“Oh! Will it be in a stadium? Or have a football theme to it?”
I’m saved from having to answer those last few—which were thrown out in rapid succession—by the start of the second half. Still riding high from their last-second save, the Warriors take the field with their energy and spirits soaring. It only takes the offense a few minutes to score a touchdown, giving the Warriors a ten-point lead. Each team scores another touchdown.
The Warriors have the ball again with a minute to go in the fourth quarter. They’re still up by ten. There’s little chance of their opponents making a comeback, especially if they run out the clock. When the center snaps and the quarterback takes a knee, the crowd stands and applauds the new state champions. They did it. Of course they did it. This team was destined for greatness all along.
Scott pulls me into a hug. Then J.J. throws his arms around me next. Pretty soon, my league buddies and friends are passing me down the line for crushing embraces and cheers. When I’ve been jostled around for the last time, I quickly work my way back to my seat to watch the quarterback take the final knee to end the game.
I give the opposing sideline a quick glance. Even in my euphoria, I feel a glimmer of sadness for them and their dashed dreams. Losing hurts. But I hope they are still proud of all they accomplished.
Peggy nudges me. “I think someone is trying to get your attention.” She points to the other side of the field.
Following her direction, I find Brook. In the middle of dozens of high school players and coaches jumping up and down and patting each other on the back, he’s staring up at the stands. Unlike last year, this time I have no doubt he’s looking at me. I wave, and in return, just like he has at every other game this season, he pats his heart and points at me. Tears that I didn’t realize I was holding back fall down my cheeks. Brook gestures for me to join him on the field. I wipe the moisture from my cheeks to do as I’ve promised.
Before I leave my seat, I give my new friends a hug good-bye. “Thank you for watching the game with us tonight.”
“It was our pleasure,” Peggy says.
“Good luck with whatever comes next on your retirement adventure. I’m sure it will be fun.”
Earl winks. “We take the fun with us.”
A security guard helps me down the last step to the field. I sprint across the turf, but pause a few yards away. Brook is wrapping up an interview with a reporter and catches me waiting off to the side.
Flashing a grin, he motions me forward. I shake my head, because unlike him, I know what’s about to happen in a few seconds. The confusion on his face is replaced with shock when a handful of players dump the watercooler over his head. Though he should have seen it coming—I mean, it’s kind of a thing when you win a big game—the look of pure surprise on his face is priceless. It is pretty frigid tonight, so he must be cold, but at least he has his seasonal beard to keep him warm.
I’ll feel bad for him once I stop laughing.
Catching my reaction—and apparently taking offense—Brook narrows the gap between us. Mischief lights his eyes. I take a cautious step back, but I’m not fast enough. Brook throws his arms around me and lifts me several inches off the ground with his bear hug. I let out a shriek of outrage. Instead of gaining me sympathy from the players, I only get more hoots and laughter. Hmph. We’ll see if I make any of them treats ever again.
I’m ready to work myself into a proper rage when Brook sets me back on my feet and whispers, “I love you.”
Well, how can I be mad at him now?
WE STAY AT THE STADIUM long after the final seconds melted away from the clock. Even though the players and coaches and fans are all expected to be in school tomorrow morning, everyone lingers on the field under the lights at Memorial Stadium. When you’re this happy, you want to cling onto the moment for as long as possible.
Besides, it’s not our faults the state high school sports organizers scheduled the championship game on a Monday night.
Through it all, Brook’s arm almost never leaves its spot around my shoulder. With the exception of when he climbed the makeshift stage to accept the trophy and speak to the crowd, I’m glued to his side. He shakes hand after hand, accepting congratulations for the Warriors’ victory tonight while we linger.
But eventually, it’s time for the team to go back to the locker room to change for the journey home. That’s when Brook leaves me—but o
nly for a moment—to wait so we can ride home together.
He doesn’t leave me waiting long. After spending so much time celebrating on the field, the players were wiped and just wanted to get home, too. Hand in hand, we take our time walking to Brook’s SUV. Despite both of us being damp, the cold doesn’t seem to bother either of us anymore. Like earlier with the players and coaches and their families, there’s an unspoken desire to prolong this extraordinary night.
We pause near the glass-paneled entrance to the training facility near a bronze statue of a coach and player. The last time I walked past both was a year ago. Brook had pulled some strings to have one of the trainers take a look at the ankle I’d injured after winning my first fantasy football game ever and celebrating like a drunken fool. (It wasn’t one of my finer moments, but it had been a learning moment for me. No more shots.)
We stare up at the lit building, where thousands of dreams have been made. I lean my head against his shoulder. “You did it. I’m so proud of you.”
“Tonight’s been a good night.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
“I’d say.” I rub my gloved hand up and down his arm. “Becoming one of the youngest head coaches in the state of Nebraska to lead a team to a football title would count as a great night to most people.”
“That’s true. It was. But . . .” Releasing a shaky breath that makes a puffy cloud in the cold air, Brook turns toward me. His face is serious, his eyes intent. “People say life is only as good as the company you keep. I always figured I did a good job of keeping good people around me. But now that you’re in my life . . . well . . . you’re the best company. And now, my life . . . it’s the best. I . . . You . . .” He removes his cap and runs his hand through his hair. “None of this,” he gestures around him, “would be half as good if I didn’t have you to share it with. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I manage to croak out.
Tossing his hat aside, he takes my hand and reaches into his coat pocket with the other. “It’s been a good night. It’s been a great life. But it can get better.”
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