That was Robin on the carry for a gain of twelve yards and another Yellowjackets first down!
Daisy’s eyes perk up at the sound of the announcer. “He’s earned them a whole new set of downs, right?” I nod encouragingly, and she continues, “And since they’re past the midpoint of the field?—”
“The fifty-yard line,” I correct her.
“The fifty-yard line,” she repeats and smirks, “they’re getting close enough to kick a field goal if they get to fourth down?”
“Exactly.”
“See, told you I’m a fast learner,” she says, lifting her chin smugly and making me chuckle.
“I guess you are. Coach Reed would be proud to have you for a daughter-in-law,” I lean down to whisper near her ear, and I see her cheeks flush once I back away. She might have taken that one a little too much to heart, judging by the way she tucks her hair behind her ears as she stifles a grin.
I clear my throat awkwardly. “Any other football terms you’re wondering about, while we’re at it?”
“Oh, what about a Hail Mary catch?” she asks excitedly. “Whatever it is, I bet it’s my favorite.”
“Well, it’s usually just a Hail Marypass,” I say with a soft laugh. “Because it’s not often caught.”
“Why not?”
“It’s basically a last resort play where the quarterback just throws the football into the end zone or as close as he can get to it and prays one of his teammates comes up with it,” I explain.
“Oh, well … now that I think about it, it’s kind of sweet that they named it that.”
“How do you mean?”
She shrugs. “Even a big, tough football player knows to call on the Blessed Mother’s intercession when he needs a miracle, right? Except, I like my version better. A catch sounds more optimistic.”
I stare at her in appreciation. The way this woman’s mind works is just … well, admirable.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who thinks the way you do, Daisy,” I hear myself saying.
“Is that a good or a bad thing?” she ventures as her cheeks turn pink again. “Wait, don’t answer that. I’m going to tell myself you meant it as a compliment.”
“I don’t give those away for free, so take it while you can, I guess,” I reply, holding back a smile.
“Landry!”
The sound of Blake calling my name and waving frantically on the sidelines derails my thoughts. I furrow my brow and jog down to meet him, my stomach instantly turning with the dread of what he might have to say. Did something happen to Loren or one of the twins while he was here at the game? If so, I may never forgive the cocky son of a?—
“Hey, Doc, we need your help down here,” Blake tells me when I make it to bottom of the bleachers. “One of the guys just took a hard hit to the head, and he’s showing signs of a concussion.”
I hop down immediately. “Okay, but I thought you had paramedics on site for that stuff?”
“We do, but this wouldn’t be his first concussion of the season,” Blake explains as he walks me toward the bench. “And I’m worried. He’s got some scouts looking at him, but we need someone qualified to convince him to sit his ass out for a while before he develops CTE.”
“Gotcha.” I nod as I approach the bench.
“Hey, Damien,” Blake says to the kid, and I recognize him as one of Daisy’s catcallers earlier. “This is Dr. Reed. You cool with letting him take a look at you?”
Damien’s eyes flash to Blake’s, but he keeps his head in his hands. “I don’t need a doctor, Coach,” he declares before he groans and spreads his feet to vomit on the grass.
“Looks like you do,” I say. “But I’m not gonna do anything without your permission, kid. Are your parents here?”
“No.” He spits on the ground and squints in pain. “You can examine me if you want, but I’m not going anywhere in that ambulance.”
“Okay. Does your head hurt, Damien?” I ask as I kneel beside him in a patch of clean grass. I take his wrist to check his pulse. His heart rate is slightly elevated.
