“Anyway, he’s having the boys and their families there after the game. So, we’re either celebrating a win or taking home second place.”
“Regardless of the outcome, as long as he plays well, that’s all that matters.” I motioned toward Cutter, who was in the middle of the court, stretching. “I really don’t want him to go out there and not have his thoughts on the game. He’s worked very hard for this.”
“He’ll be fine,” Dad said. “Weston’s a good coach. If Cutter isn’t playing to his ability, he’ll give him a rest. You have to trust Cutter and his coach.”
“I know.” Except I truly didn’t. I didn’t know how he was out there, acting like everything was okay. I could barely function or make a decision. Of course, it probably didn’t help that Brendan had been pushing for me to come back into the office, despite me taking a sabbatical.
The buzzer sounded, and both teams jogged to their benches. The announcer started and said things about the state, the community, and how parents needed to let the coaches coach, players play, and the referees ref. According to Cutter, most of the refs in the state were blinder than a blind bat, which equated to them missing a lot of calls. I pretended to understand.
The opposing team was announced, and then it was the Timberwolves’ turn. My heart began racing, and I was suddenly anxious. Selfishly, I wanted Cutter to have the best game of his career, because I knew Miri was looking down on him, and as soon as I had that thought, I wanted to take it back because then Miri would be here to see her son play in this game. She would’ve been so damn proud just to hear his name called.
For some reason, I stood as the boys’ names were announced. When the announcer said “Cutter Vaughn,” I screamed as loud as I could while tears streamed down my face. Miri should’ve been here to witness this.
Cutter slapped hands with his teammates, then with the three officials, and when he got to the opposing coach, he pulled Cutter into a hug and patted his back. Cutter ran to center court, where the other starters were, and pointed to the ceiling, and then he looked in my direction. I didn’t know what to do, so I placed my hand over my heart.
Everyone stood for the national anthem, and then it was game time.
The next thirty-two minutes of playing time were the most anxious and agonizing minutes of my life. I needed the Timberwolves to win because I needed Cutter to have a glimmer of happiness.
I stood most of the game, and as the clock ticked down, my eyes went from Cutter to Weston to the clock. The bench stood in the lastten seconds, and when the buzzer sounded, the entire student body from Grove Hill cheered.
The Timberwolves were state champions.
Despite everything, Cutter had played his heart out and helped his team win.
The students rushed the players, picking the stars up on their shoulders. The pep band continued to play their fight song while the opposing team stood there, waiting. After minutes of celebration, the students were ushered back to their seats, and the awards ceremony started.
I continued to stand, clapping for each member of the other team, but as soon as the announcer said “And now for your state champions, the Grove Hill Timberwolves,” I started crying. I couldn’t hold the tears back, even if I tried.
The coaches were announced first, and then each of the boys came forward after their names were called and a medal was placed around their necks. The starters were saved for last. That was one thing I noticed: The five who started the game were the same five who ended the game. I was certain it meant something and would ask Weston later about the significance. As Cutter’s family, we all appreciated seeing him on the court when the final buzzer sounded.
Parents and fans began filing out. The Timberwolves’ family members stayed and waited. One by one, the boys emerged from the locker room to be greeted by their families.
I moved to the bottom row and waited, unsure of what I should do. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind he wanted his mom right now, and I knew I’d never fill the void, but I was something to him.
Cutter came through the door, shaking hands with teammates as he passed them. He paused midway and looked at us. I had no idea what he saw, but I hoped he saw a family who loved him, even though we weren’t his blood, except for Nova.
“Why don’t you go get him,” I said to Nova, who took off running. She launched herself into his arms, and like I’d seen him do at the other games, he carried her to the rim and let her hang there.
Slowly, I made my way to him. He held Nova and looked at me.
“You did it.”
He nodded. “But she wasn’t here to see me.”
“I believe she was watching.”
Cutter didn’t say anything. He reached into his bag and handed me a plastic case with a medal inside and a piece of the net the boys had cut down earlier.
“I want to put this on her marker,” he said. “She earned it, too, after all the long hours she put into my career.”
“We can put it inside her box if you want. This way it’ll be with her forever.”
Cutter nodded and then collapsed in my arms, still holding Nova. I wrapped them in the biggest hug I could, praying I could suck all the bad from their lives. I could deal with it. They shouldn’t have to.
“Your mom was so damn proud of you.”
“I know,” he said. “We did this for her.”
