Once he’s in position and everyone is lined up, Roman looks to his left, as always, and then to his right, making sure everyone is precisely in place and ready on his side of the ball. He licks the fingers on his throwing hand, as usual. But before he shoves his hands up his center’s ass crack, like he always does before the snap, Roman first mimes putting on his magic blinders. This time, without looking up at me. This time, without making it a cute thing between us.Well, that’s a first.
With his imaginary, magic blinders in place—this time, only for himself—Roman slides his hands into position and shouts a string of gibberish signals to his teammates. And two secondslater, Roman’s got the ball firmly in his large hands and he’s scanning the field for an open target.
Before Roman gets the ball off, however, a Knight breaks through the O-line and barrels toward him at full speed, prompting Roman to scramble to avoid decimation.
I scream at the top of my lungs as Roman takes off running to avoid a tackle and then continues running well after he should have slid to the ground, as most quarterbacks would do in the same situation to avoid getting tackled and possibly injured.
Oh my God. He’s not looking to get rid of the ball any longer! He’s clearly intending to reach the end zone himself!
The entire stadium stands and screams in unison, some in support of Roman, others in support of the Knights running after him to take him down.
Three defenders close in on Roman. Based on their trajectory, he’s not going to make it. He’s going to go down a few yards short.
Oh my God. Without warning, Roman hurtles himself into the air and wellovera leaping, flying, careening defender’s body. And a second later, Roman comes down like a ton of bricks in the end zone.He did it.He scored the go-ahead touchdown, all by himself.
The nearest referee shoots both arms into the sky, signaling a touchdown, and Roman bounces up from the ground and starts celebrating like a madman with a cluster of elated teammates. Their celebration is short-lived, however, because the point after needs to be kicked. Which it is. Successfully. But with six seconds left on the game clock. Unfortunately, that’s enough time for the Knights to throw a Hail Mary pass, take the lead again, and squeak out a win.
Shit. Why’d I let myself think that?Jinx, be gone. Jinx, be gone.
“Fucking commercial breaks,” Luca mutters. He wipes his brow. “I really think I might barf this time.”
“Then go stand next to Levi,” I say, swatting him. “I don’t want your barf on me when I go down there to congratulate Roman on his first Super Bowlwin.”
Luca claps his hands together. “Okay. I needed that, sis. I’m back. He’s got this.”
“Atta boy. No bad juju.”
“No bad juju. I’m back.”
Ava leans forward in her seat to shout at Luca and me. “We all need to send whammies to that motherfucker as a family.” She’s talking about the Knights’ stupendous quarterback. And I’m not surprised at all by her word choice, by the way. Whenever we’re at a football game, Ava Maguire turns into a swearing, violent sailor. The transformation was shocking to me at first, though highly amusing, but I’m used to it by now. In fact, elegant Ava’s propensity for foul language at games is one of the many things I adore about her.
“You especially, Iris,” Ava adds, wagging a finger at me. “Make those whammies extra good ones.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I raise my arm toward Vanessa and Maverick in the back, signaling to them. And when I finally catch their attention, they join everyone else in Roman’s box in our common mission of wiggling our fingers and sending whammies to the Knights’ quarterback.
My eyes drift to Roman again. He’s pacing on the sideline like an angry bear at the zoo—one being teased with a steak. My man did everything in his power to secure victory tonight, but now, his fate is totally out of his hands.
While I’m watching him, Roman unexpectedly looks up toward the box. His helmet is off now, so I can see his face. He’s drenched in sweat and scowling, looking equal parts exhausted and pissed off. But even in this state, the second our eyes meet,he blows me a kiss and motions like his heart is beating out of his chest. I blow him a kiss and shoot him a thumbs-up, letting him know he’s got this, that I’ve got unwavering faith in him and the Thunderbolts’ destiny, and he nods his appreciation before looking away with his chest heaving and sweat trickling down his forehead.
The commercial break ends, and the ball is kicked off uneventfully. Everyone lines up, this time with the Knights on offense and Roman watching helplessly from the sideline.
The Knights’ center snaps the ball to his talented quarterback, who drops back and scans the field for a miracle. Surely, he’s looking for Marco, his favorite target. But it’s not meant to be. The quarterback gets pummeled to the ground before releasing the ball, sending the ball skating across the turf before a Thunderbolt pounces on it and hangs on for dear life.
A referee confirms the Thunderbolts have recovered the fumble ... and the clock runs out ... which means the good guys, with Roman Maguire as their fearless leader, have now officially won the game!
The next few minutes are a blur of happy tears, screams, and hugs. If I weren’t hanging on to Luca’s arm through most of it, I’d surely pass out onto the sticky, beer-covered floor.
“Come on, Iris,” Roman’s father, Edward, says, grabbing my hand. “Time to go to Roman on the field.”
I check to make sure Vanessa’s got Maverick. When we talked earlier about a possible victory tonight, Roman said he didn’t want Maverick coming onto the field in front of all the cameras and people, and we all agreed that was for the best.
My eyes meet with Vanessa’s and she quickly signals she’s got Maverick firmly in hand, so I take Edward’s offered arm and let him pull me, along with the rest of the family and Cameron, toward a cadre of waiting security guards.
Insanity.
Breathtaking chaos.
That’s what greets us when we make it onto the field.
