I close my laptop, grab my jacket from the back of the chair, and head for the door, bringing the phone to my mouth as I tap the record button.
“Tell that loser that I was always going to be there tonight, I’m headed to the stadium now for our pregame thing.”
I let go for the voice message to send, watch the ticks turn blue, and then crying faces and hearts come through from him.
***
Hauling ass across town during a game takes longer than I wanted. By the time I reach the stadium, traffic’s a nightmare, and the parking lot is swarming with tailgaters still packing up.
I flash the family pass Hudson left for me at the players’ gate. The security guy eyes it, eyes me, then waves me through after a bag check. A volunteer hands me a lanyard that saysFamily & Guestsin big block letters. I thread it over my head and follow the signs through a concrete maze that smells like popcorn and Gatorade.
Waiting outside the locker room feels odd. I haven’t been on this side of things for long, and all my muscle memory wants to be cleaning kit, getting SD cards ready, and taking pregame photos behind this door. Reporters buzz past, trainers haul cartsstacked with tape and water bottles, and every second makes me ache for what could’ve been.
A staffer finally pokes her head out, checks my badge, and looks back to someone. “Five minutes.”
Hudson’s with me in the hallway in a beat, bouncing on his toes. His face is lit up and wild, adrenaline already bleeding through his skin. “’Bout time, asshole.”
“Traffic,” I say, reaching into my jacket pocket. “But I brought your fix.”
I pull out the mini bag of caramel M&M’s and toss it to him.
His grin splits wide as he rips it open. “You’re the only man I trust with my game-day nutrition.” He eats one, then holds the bag out to me. “You have to eat them, too.”
I take one, even though I hate the caramel ones, but they’re his favorites. That’s the deal—one for him, one for me. It started when he got the job here. I happened to come by and give him a bag, and he claims it gave him good luck… football players and their superstitions. I’ll have to make sure I slip some in his locker or something if I can’t make it. He grins around the caramel, and I get a flashback of two dumb kids in a high school locker room with more dreams than sense. Only now, one of us is about to run onto an NFL field.
He chews and nods like the sugar just settled something in his blood. “Okay. Now we win.”
I clap his shoulder, the way I always do, trying to steady the storm of nerves I know will be vibrating under his skin. “Go play the game of your life, man.”
He goes back into the locker room with his team, and pride swells in my chest as I inhale, knowing he’s going to be amazing out there, but I can’t lie and say it doesn’t sting to not follow him.
I’ve watched him play more times than I can count. I’ve been with him every step of his career, taking pictures for each team he was a part of. My fingers itch to feel the click of a button,my eyes narrowed to see through the viewfinder of my favorite camera, the smell of the leather strap hanging around my neck. Memories plague me of how many shots I’ve taken of my best friend on the field, and how badly I wish I were with him right now.
I didn’t apply to the Beavers, they had no openings, but the Jaguars did, and at least that kept me near my friends, my family… but I guess things don’t always work out.
This is different, this is his dream in real time. And as the crowd escalates around the stadium, readying their favorite team’s entrance, all I want to do is make sure he knows me and Daph are here watching him tonight. So I walk to the stands to join her.
Chapter three
Jay
“Idon’tknowhowwe aren’t getting mobbed right now,” Daphne says, looking around the full Lakeside diner, our old college hangout.
“Well, Dan knows us,” Hudson replies with a casual shrug. “I may have called ahead to reserve the booth. He agreed on the condition that I sign his wall of fame.”
“Dude, be more humble,” I laugh jokingly. “You’ve just played and won your first pro game as a rookie, and you killed it.”
Dan swings by with a grin, placing some chips on the table for us. “Great game, Hudson, we’re proud of you ’round here.”
“Thanks, man, I appreciate it.”
“Three Lakeside Specials, yeah?” he says, pen tapping against his notepad. “Two milkshakes for the lovebirds and a lemonade.”
“You know us too well.” Daphne grins, then adds, “Extra pickles on mine.”
Dan nods and disappears back toward the kitchen, and Hudson leans an elbow on the table, stealing the nacho chips from the basket.
“Is that allowed now?” I ask, raising a brow. “You’re a pro athlete, remember? Strict diet and all that?”
