by Lily Cahill
“Awww. That’s terrible,” he says, though he’s got a huge smile plastered on his face. “That’s truly terrible.”
“I thought it might make a nice addition to your office collection,” I say. “With the season you’ve had, I think it’s about time you unpacked that box. Don’t you think?”
His smile turns warm. “You’re probably right, kid. You’re probably right.”
It occurs to me that I have the chance to tell him about the surgery. But he looks so happy, and I just can’t bring myself to do it.
Finally, it’s the 26th—the day when the whole football team is coming back so they can travel to the playoffs at the Fiesta Bowl together. West texts me with updates on his driving progress, and I’m waiting at his door when he says he’s going to arrive. But he doesn’t show.
A few minutes later, I get a text: Where r u, gorgeous?
I call him, too anxious to type. “I’m at your door, dummy,” I say, laughing. “Where are you?”
“At your door,” he laughs.
“Then get your ass over here,” I say.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. I’m pretty sure the time in Texas made his accent thicker, and it only makes me want to jump him more.
When he arrives, he practically tackles me with a hug, lifting me right off the floor. God, it feels good to be in his arms again.
“Hey, sugar,” he says, kissing me deep. He doesn’t even give me time to answer before he’s carrying me into his room.
Screw presents. This is better. We spend his last free night together, and we don’t talk about the holidays or even the playoffs once.
Chapter Twenty
West
IT’S NEW YEAR’S EVE, AND when I step onto the field at University of Phoenix’s stadium, my muscles are more relaxed than they’ve been in months. I think all that time I was exercising to clear my mind, I was using the wrong kind of workout.
The scent of Lou’s perfume lingering on me reminds me how it feels to tap into the side of me that’s all action, all instinct. I feel like we might actually have a chance to win this thing.
We’re up against the Texas Longhorns, and it’s the last qualifier before the national championship. They’re no joke. They’ve got the same record we do, just one loss, and a football tradition that goes back decades. The difference is that we’re ranked #4 and they’re ranked #1. This game is meant to weed us out, and everyone expects us to fail.
But if I can harness my primal side, then we have a good chance to win this.
I let the doubt flow through me.
I don’t have the talent to overcome those odds.
One good game does not make a career.
It was a fluke and you’ll never be a star quarterback.
And then I force it shut the fuck up.
Fearless. I remind myself over and over again until the anxiety stops nagging at me. I’m in control of it, and I will use it to fuel me. Not the other way around.
We line up on the field with the sun beating down hard. We’re in neutral territory in Arizona and the stands are a mish-mash of orange & white and blue & silver.
I scan the stands for Lou, but I don’t have to look far. She’s upped her sign game. She is standing in a line of her sorority sisters holding up a huge L. With the rest of the girls, the letters spell FEARLESS. She’s not going to let me forget my courage, even if I try.
I smile and wave at her in the stands. I blow her a kiss and she reaches out her hand to catch it.
Coach Prescott starts the game off with a slew of running plays. I hand the ball off over and over, letting everyone else march us up the field.
We get a first down. And then another. Slow and steady we make our way down the field.
A new kind of anxious energy starts to fill me. I used to worry about the play that I would be the one responsible for fucking it up. Terrified of throwing the ball and knowing there’s no one else to blame if I fail.
But now I’m feeling restless. I don’t want another running play. As one announcer said this morning, “We have a better chance of seeing pigs fly today than seeing MSU upset Texas.” And I want to make this pig skin soar.
Coach calls another running play and I grit my teeth. My muscles are twitching with the desire to show what I can do. I’ve got this! I want to shout it to Coach. To the team. To anyone who will listen.
I fake a handoff to Riley Brulotte, but when he cuts away, he doesn’t take any defenders with him. They’re on me, surrounding me. It’s the fourth time we’ve run this exact play, and Texas has caught on.
Fearless, my mind shouts before the panic paralyzes me. I look down the field and scramble backwards, buying time. There’s no way I can make enough space to get off a good pass. It’ll get batted down or worse, intercepted.
I hustle to the left and see Ben Mayhew cutting back behind me.
I spin my back to the Texas defenders and throw a shovel pass to Ben—who’s already running, picking up speed.
He catches the ball and is off like a shot.
The defenders are so busy crowding me, they’ve left the right side of the field void of obstacles.
Ben swings wide, running parallel to me until he’s clear of the defensive cluster. Then he shoots down the field, and damn is he fast.
He gains twenty yards before Texas finds an answer. And we have another first down.
I wait patiently for Coach to call a passing play. He must see the difference that I feel coursing through me.
But he’s still keeping me handicapped.
We continue to run the ball and play it safe. It’s working, so I can’t argue with that. We finish the half tied, 7-7. It’s a closer game than anyone would have thought, and before we head into the locker room, Coach is bombarded by the asinine questions sideline reporters always ask.
“You’re holding up better out there than most anticipated. How are you going to keep it up in the second half?”
“We’re playing the game we’ve been practicing for all year. Our men are ready to meet this challenge, and I believe they’ll play as hard and as smart as they did in the first half.”
Does that mean that he plans on running the same plays? There’s no way that Texas isn’t going to figure out a way to stop us if we don’t mix it up.
Playing smart, huh? He means playing with as little of me as he can manage.
My leg shakes up and down as I wait for Coach to get through his halftime speech. I want a few minutes with him alone.
He steps to the side and lets one of the defensive coaches take his place, going over areas of weakness in the Longhorn’s offense. I take the minute to pull Prescott away.
“Coach, can I talk to you for a minute in private?”
“Sure, son,” he looks at me with a worried expression, but leads the way to a private office.
“I think you’re underutilizing me out there.”
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t mean any disrespect, sir,” I say, changing my tactic. “I just want you to know, I’m not afraid of handling the ball. I think I’ve made some real progress and I can do more out there.”
He looks at me through squinted eyes, like he’ll be able to see the future of the game in my face. “You really think you can get past their defenders? Their defense leads the nation in interceptions, and well…”
He doesn’t have say it. I’m leading the nation in throwing interceptions.
“I know, sir. But I think I can do this. I’ve been working on speed and accuracy and I think I can make that ball a direct bullet to where I want it to go.”
“You think?”
“I know so, sir.”
He nods his head and scratches his chin. “We’ll see how it goes,” he says. “We better get back out there.”
I half turn to leave the office with my tail between my legs. But I know I’ll regret it if I leave things like this.
I turn back to Coach Prescott. “I know I can do this. I’m absolutely certain, sir. And I also know t
hat if we don’t start throwing the ball, they’re going to figure out how to stop our run game. We’ve already had to start being creative. And we will run out of options as they correct to cover their mistakes.”
“Okay,” he says nodding at me again. “We’ll throw the ball. But I’m not giving you much slack. We don’t have room for error out there today. The Longhorns will pounce on any weakness we show.”
“Yes, sir.” I say.
Right now, I don’t feel any weakness.
Standing in the middle of the field, I scan the stadium. All of these people here to watch us play a football game. It’s all on the line for them too: money, bragging rights, recruiting power, and even draft picks.
The pressure should be suffocating. If I think about it too hard, I know it’ll get to me. So I don’t.
I close my eyes and let the sun beat down on me. And I feel so grateful.
I take inventory of all that I have. I’m clean, I have Lou, my family is healthy, my team is thriving, and the sun is shining.
I know it’s cheesy, but it’s so easy to slip into a dark place. The kind of place that whispers to me that I’m nothing and that one bump doesn’t mean anything. That I’ll end up like my dad eventually, so why fight it?
Terror grips at my stomach. Did I just ask Prescott to trust me for my own personal glory? Is this how I let everyone down?
The bad thoughts are crawling all over me like spiders.
“Hut, hut, hike!” Reggie yells in front of me and the ball is coming back at me fast.
It bobs off my hands and shoots up in the air. I catch it and hold it tight, too tight. I’m not letting it give at all in my hands.
Players are all over the field, scrambling in and out of formations, and running too fast for me to make any sense of it.
A defender’s coming at me and I realize I’m right back where I started. Paralyzed and weak. A liability to my team.
I somehow find my way out of the pocket and get the ball off just in time to both not get clobbered and avoid an intentional grounding call.
The logical side of me tries to rationalize away the panic. No harm done. It’s second down. There’s plenty of time.
I breathe in deep, trying to clear the bad play, trying to find the confidence I was so sure I wasn’t going to lose.
You’ll never be good enough to wear this jersey.
What makes you think you deserve to play in the national championship?
After the botch job you did last year, you should never get a chance at that game again.
I’m spiraling down and out of control. If I don’t push this away now, I don’t know if any mantra will be strong enough.
I start chanting the now familiar word through my head.
It’s not working.
I’m seeing how big the other team is. How quickly they could break my bones if I get sacked. The look in their eyes tells me that’s exactly what they want.
Fearless, I tell myself again, but the word sounds desperate, even in my head.
I look for Lou in the stands. Her arms are stock straight as she holds up her letter. Then I hear her voice saying the word in my head—shouting it into the night, both of us shouting together. And it sounds so much stronger and more stable.
I hold on to it. I focus on it until it practically loses meaning.
And this time when Reggie snaps the ball, I don’t hesitate. I see the field and the players like x’s and o’s moving exactly as they’re supposed to.
I pass the ball. It’s an easy throw, just a few yards, designed to get a first down. And we do. Lotto catches the ball for the first down and immediately gets tackled.
We reset. And again I listen to Lou in my head.
And I don’t think.
And I throw the ball.
And we catch it and we’re marching down the field. Not so unlike the running plays from the first half, slow and safe. But we’re gaining yardage a little quicker, and the plays are new to the Longhorns. They’re not anticipating every move like they were starting to do at the end of the half.
Another catch and we’re in the red zone.
It’s hasn’t been flashy. But I don’t care. We’re inside the 10 and it’s in large part because of me and my arm.
We run a mirror play with wide receivers Ben Mayhew and Jerome Adams running the same routes on opposite sides of the field.
Adams jukes left before running right. His defender gets tripped up enough to leave a tiny opening.
I don’t hesitate. I let the ball fly, aiming a few feet ahead of Adams, letting it hit him mid-route.
He catches the ball, just as the defender catches up to him. He gets hit hard, but the block pushes him forward and he falls with his body in the end zone.
And like magic, we’re up 14-7.
The Longhorns aren’t about to give up, but we’re working like a solid unit. We aren’t wavering. We move like a team down the field, reading each other and playing in sync.
In no time, we’re up 21-10.
I’d like to say that I make some highlight-worthy plays. But I don’t. We play smart and I keep my shit together and that’s enough. I’ve got consistency in my play action. It’s what Coach has wanted from me all season. And finally—finally—I’m delivering.
But that doesn’t stop Texas from getting another 7 points against us. They’re a strong team. They wouldn’t be here if they weren’t.
And just when I think we’re starting to gain traction and guarantee our win with one more touchdown in the 4th, the Longhorns’ defense holds us at thirty yards during what will probably be our last possession of the game.
The score sits at 21-17 with 40 seconds on the clock. It’s not a lot of time, but touchdowns have been made in much less. And it would only take one for the Longhorns to steal the lead and cinch the game.
Part of me wants to kick myself for not doing better, not doing more to guarantee us the win. But this time, I know it’s not true. I left everything out on that field and so did every single one of my teammates. Win or lose, I’m proud of how I played today. I’m proud of all of us.
But, God, I want to win. I want to take this all the way to the championships. My performance today makes me feel more than ever like there’s a chance to win that too. There’s a chance I’ll get to redeem myself on the national stage. I’m a man given more second chances than I deserve. I’d be an idiot to turn them down.
I want this. We all want this. But right now, it’s out of my hands. So instead of getting pissed, I scream my support for the defense.
“Fearless! Fearless!” I shout. Reggie joins in. Then Riley and Ben and Jerome. Soon the whole team is chanting. “Fearless! Fearless!”
Thirty seconds.
They try a passing play and gain eight yards and a first down before we stop them. The clock stops with the first and we lineup again.
The cheerleaders join us, then the fans too. “Fearless! Fearless!” The entire arena thunders with the sound of it.
Twenty-three seconds. The Texas QB launches the ball and I see exactly where it’s headed. My heart stops beating. Their wide receiver is sprinting toward the five with two of our guys on his heels. They could make it. This could be it.
The wide receiver leaps forward, reaching, reaching, his fingertips touching the ball, ready to snatch it …
… But it sails right through his hands.
The crowd explodes as the last ten seconds tick down on the clock. The Longhorns scramble to try one last attempt, but they don’t have the time. The buzzer sounds before they can even hike the ball.
There’s screaming and cheering everywhere, blurring into a wall of noise so loud I can’t hear my own thoughts. Did that really just happen? It takes a moment for the truth to sink in.
We just won the Fiesta Bowl.
We’re headed to the championship game.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lou
THE HOTEL BALLROOM IS DECKED out in blue and silver for the celebration party. The
place is packed. There’s a DJ blasting music and players busting out their best moves on the dance floor. A herd of reporters and big-money boosters have my dad trapped in a corner, where I’m sure he’ll be all night. It was all I could do to drag West away from his own crowd of admirers.
It’s New Year’s Eve on top of the big win, and everyone’s in their finest. West looks so damn good in his tux, all I can think about is taking him out of it later. It’s maddening not to touch him, but too risky. Dad may be preoccupied, but he still has eyes.
So instead of dancing, we stand side by side, pretending to be having a polite, disinterested conversation. “Have I told you how amazing you look in that dress?” he asks, looking like the spitting image of Don Draper, complete with an old fashioned in his hand. He seems more relaxed tonight than I’ve ever seen him.
“Yes. But I don’t mind if you tell me again,” I say, doing a little swish in my cream chiffon gown. The tiny silver sequins sprayed up the asymmetrical strap reflect little dots of rainbow light on his face as I move.
“You look amazing,” he says, quiet enough that only I can hear.
“So do you,” I say. I really wish I could kiss him right now. And from the look on his face, he’s thinking the same thing.
Riley Brulotte saunters up to us with three shot glasses full of something amber. “Here’s to you, man,” he says. “You really killed it out there today.”
“Thanks,” West says, beaming. I’ll never get tired of seeing him so happy.
Riley tries to hand me a glass, but I don’t accept it. “I’m good. You guys go ahead,” I say.
West gives me a funny look, but takes the shot and downs it with Riley.
“First a diet soda at the bar, and now you’re refusing a shot?” he asks after Riley leaves. “What’s up?” There’s something dancing behind his eyes, but I’m not sure what.
“I’m looking out for you tonight, okay?” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“You deserve to celebrate, West. It’s your turn to have some fun. I’m the DD tonight.”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“This is a big deal!” I say. “You guys are going to the National Championships. You deserve one night when you can do whatever you want.”
