I know she’ll be with her parents for Christmas this year. I also know she feels indifferent about that. Her parents have always been very nice and generous people the handful of times I’ve actually met them. They were honestly really fucking absent most of Summer’s life, even though Summer seems to have actually preferred it that way. I don’t think there’s any bad blood between them, but she made it sound like a chore to be going home for the holiday instead of staying around town like she has in recent years.
With our game today, I feel like I definitely should have done more rehab on my knees than I have all week, but I’ve been busier than ever as of late. I haven’t had much of a personal life in years, resulting in early bedtimes, little plans aside from dad life or football, and certainly no company. I’ve enjoyed the last few weeks more than I think I even want to admit. Summer still even gives me a hard time about my calendar that dings with meetings and appointments.
The sky's the brightest shade of blue when I step out of my truck and begin walking into the stadium today. It reminds me of the color of Summer’s eyes and picturing her eyes makes me picture her face, and then her body and her on her knees for me… all thoughts that shouldn’t be in my mind as I’m about to prepare for a football game.
“He’s here!” I hear as I’m walking into the locker room.
Nate smiles as I approach him and I notice the new hair right away.
“Got tired of having to shampoo and condition the hair?”
“Luke grabbed a chunk of it after he got ahold of the peanut butter jar. Needless to say, I couldn’t stand the smell so I’m back to short hair.”
Laughing, I pull my boots from my feet and take a seat on the chair in front of my locker just as Liam comes up beside me.
“There you are, we thought maybe all of our threats had you scared.” He smirks.
“Your empty threats,” I correct.
“Fuck if they are. I will physically hurt you.” Ford comes up to us, holding a cup of coffee.
I give him two thumbs up just as Coach Aarons walks into the locker room, bringing everyone’s attention to him.
“Morning, gentlemen,” he begins. “Big day. Let’s focus on this game, stay tough and ready. Depending on how things are shaping up around the league and within our own game, we’ll see if we keep starters in or rotate you guys out. I don’t want any fucking around today; no one slacks off. Just because we’re in the playoffs already doesn’t mean we hold back. No stupid fucking injuries. Keep the penalties to a minimum. This is a team of champions—you need to play like it. Go do your job.”
“Who shit in his cheerios this morning?” Liam mumbles when Coach Aarons walks out. “All the f-bombs. The black windbreaker instead of red. Who’s that man and where is our even-tempered guy?”
“That guy abandoned ship when we decided to lose fucking four games in a row earlier in the season,” Nate scoffs, bringing his shirt off over his head to get ready.
Liam isn’t wrong, though. Coach has become a lot tougher recently and takes most of his hardest shots at Liam and the offense, in particular.
I direct my attention back to my locker, pull out my uniform and suit up for today’s game.
“It’s a hot one today,” one of the assistant coaches’ remarks as we stand on the sidelines. The first quarter is almost over and the score is sitting with a sad goose egg on either side.
“Hear you got a girlfriend.” One of my teammates standing beside me nudges my shoulder.
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
I watch as the center snaps the ball to Liam and he gets it out of his hands within a second, sending the ball soaring down the field where one of our wide receivers is sprinting for his life, fighting off a cornerback trying to make the catch. He misses the ball, but a yellow penalty flag is on the field and I see Liam clapping as he stares up at the jumbotron.
“MVP.” He nods out to Liam and all I can do is shake my head. Liam’s a gossiper if I’ve ever fucking met one.
“Holding, defense number thirty-six. Automatic first down.”
Our sideline claps at the referee’s call, which brings our offense down the field significantly.
“If he didn’t hold him, he would’ve caught it. Probably saved a touchdown there,” my teammate comments, and I nod. He’s probably right. Our wide receivers are fast and tall, not usual for them to miss a catch unless someone interferes.
After the penalty and a couple more downs, Liam is able to run it in himself for a touchdown. The crowd erupts, sending chills up my spine and I look up into the second level suites, knowing my daughter and Summer are somewhere up there looking on.
Halftime goes by quickly—as it usually does. A quick breather, bathroom break, drink of water and a few words from the coach and we’re back on the field. The sun is sweltering as the day is progressing. I’d still choose an outdoor field to indoor, but fuck, we are getting our asses handed to us in this heat. Even in December, it’s still a fucking nightmare.
Coach Aarons has kept the starters in so far. We’ve been hoping to bump our playoff seed number up with a win today and a couple of losses by other teams. The teams we’ve needed to lose, have done it. So, the fate of where we stand now in the playoff picture is left completely in our hands. Where it should be. Our games and our standings should always come down to us. Right now, we’re hanging on, but field goals aren’t going tocut it the rest of the game when Tennessee is only ten points behind us and has a solid running game.
The fourth quarter begins and it’s evident that everyone on the field, on both sides, is gassed. Aside from the heat, it’s been a physical game. We’re in the playoffs no matter if we win or lose, it just affects where we sit. But Tennessee has to win to even make the playoffs in their conference. If they lose, they’re done. And knowing what it feels like to be in that position, they aren’t going down without a balls-to-the-wall fight.
As the defensive play caller, I pay attention to how the offense is lining up. I watch as their tight end sits back toward the quarterback. It looks like he’s going to be a blocker for someone else to carry the ball, but instincts tell me it’s a fake and he’ll run up the middle unblocked to wait for the ball to be thrown his way. We’ve got a four man rush up front, which should cover their linemen, but leaves that tight end to break loose if that’s their play.
