Madden pounded me on the back. “One more quarter, man, and she’s yours.”
I lifted my chin up. “She brought some of her friends too.” They used to be my friends. He peered over his shoulder, trying to see where they were sitting. I shamelessly pointed, not even caring that Anna would know I was pointing at her. “Front row, right there. I’ll introduce you after.”
He nodded and swiveled his head back around. “Nice.”
“Head in the game, boys!” Coach Whitlock yelled and we both chuckled.
One quarter to go.
CHAPTER 8
anna
By the end of the third quarter, the sun had set and the lights of Smoky Mountain Stadium were on. With all the fans wearing team merch, it was a sea of orange and baby blue. The last quarter was simply a formality. Knoxville had already annihilated South Carolina. There was no way they were coming back. 35-11 with three minutes left. Blue whipped that left arm back, which the fans called The Missile Launcher, and let another fly. Number 20 caught it and ran it in for another easy touchdown. Just like after every other Knoxville touchdown, fireworks shot out of silver tubes lining the top circumference of the stadium. Make that 41-11. Man, Knoxville was not messing around. It almost blew my mind that this simple girl from a jerkwater town in Virginia had once dated the boy who was making it all happen. And he wanted to meet up when it was over.
My eyes drifted to the clock, repeatedly, the minutes creeping by.
“What are you going to tell Jonah?” Brooklyn asked.
My forehead furrowed. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Anna, you sobbed into his neck. Everyone saw.” They were still seeing. I’d never had so many people interested in my every reaction before. Every few minutes, another camera would turn my way. “Jonah’s going to see if he hasn’t already.”
He had. At halftime, I’d seen the text on my phone and then quickly slid it back into my purse putting it squarely out of my mind. Okay, not squarely. Because when your boyfriend texts the words “We need to talk,” you can’t put it all the way out. But you put that crap off as long as you can. Especially when your gorgeous ex, who you’re pretty sure you’re still in love with, wants to meet up after his college football game.
My stomach churned. “I’m a terrible person,” I mumbled.
Ashton leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “No, you’re not. Anna?” The question in his voice brought my head around. His eyes were soft, crinkling at the corners from his gentle smile. “What would your mom tell you if she was here?”
Ashton did that a lot. Whenever I freaked out, he’d say, what would your mom say? Or what would your mom tell you to do? And usually, I realized I was being much harder on myself than she would’ve been.
In this particular instance, I absolutely knew what she’d say. “She’d tell me not to settle. To go after my heart.”
He nodded. “Exactly.”
“She’d also tell you to forgive your Uncle,” Ford slurred from his location of exile, down on the other side of Tally. Then he took another gulp of beer.
“Pretty sure she’d help me egg your fancy truck,” I called. “Also, I can’t hear people who are dead to me.”
He grunted and took another swig. But then two preteen girls walked over asking for his autograph. He perked right up.
I focused back on the game. Back on Blue.
And then it happened.
He dodged, sucking in his stomach to miss an opposing player's grasp by inches. Only to be slammed from behind so hard by another guy that his momentum was halted like he’d crashed into a brick wall. His head snapped backward and he immediately dropped to the ground, his legs collapsing under him. The ball went skittering across the grass. An opposing player dove on top of it.
I gasped, shooting to my feet. The entire stadium rose with me. My hand reached for Brooklyn’s.
I looked at Ashton for reassurance, but he was wearing the same fearful expression that I was.
I willed him to tell me it was no big deal. That those helmets could keep anyone safe from anything. He went up on his tiptoes as if that would help him see. On the field, whistles were being blown from every direction.
A mass of orange and baby blue jerseys huddled over Blue. Coaches sprinted across the grass.
“C’mon,” I muttered, my fists balled at my side.Get up, I willed him. But he didn’t. Not after thirty seconds, or a minute, or three. When paramedics ran onto the field, pushing a stretcher, my heart tried to come up out of my throat.
What if he was…
