Besides, it feels so wrong to even think like that. They’re sort of my best friends. I’ve become everyone’s go-to editor for the articles we write for our center’s newsletter. And last month, Skyler changed the oil in my car—saving me fifty bucks.
Not that we can’t still be friends, but when we’re out of the bubble that SAU’s Early Childhood Center has provided for us, there’s no telling what will happen. I know we’ll, at least on some level, grow apart.
What if Willa and I grow apart?
I shovethatthought down as I pass through the security gates at the Wolves stadium. When Taysom invited me, he mentioned there would be a meal and I figure, since I need to be watching my budget because of soon becoming jobless, I need to take advantage of the free food.
I’m here for the food and an introduction with HR.
That’s it.
I’m escorted to a seat in the third row and sit down, looking around for anyone I might know.
Why would I think I might know people here? This is not a crowd I’m used to. I’m used to kids and my eclectic group of co-workers, not friends and family of professional football players.
Everyone’s engaging in small talk, so I just stick to myself. I do have some work on my phone I need to do. I’m helping my mom with a photo digitizing project, and though it’s taking months, I’m beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I’m absorbed in deleting duplicate photos when an announcer speaks over the intercom.
“Welcome, Wolf Dawgs, to the San Antonio Wolves Friends and Family Night! Tonight, we’ll enjoy a little, friendly flag scrimmage from our players. We know they’ve been chomping at the bit to start playing again in the off-season, so we thought we’d give them a chance to do that. No tackling allowed! Did you hear that, Foster Massey?”
The crowd laughs and then starts to cheer as the players run onto the field. I crane my neck to see Taysom. I’ve only been to one of his professional games before. It was his second season in the NFL. He played well, but they ended up losing in overtime. I’ve stayed away ever since. I don’t know if it was for self-preservation against the crush that would not die, or because I’m superstitious. I couldn’t jinx him and cause him to lose again.
And…there he is. Only I quickly realize that this friendly scrimmage is so much worse than an actual game. In an actual game, he’s covered with gear and helmets and padding. But here and now? He’s in a casual t-shirt and shorts that hang to that just right length: a bit longer than mid-thigh, so that I can see the contours of his muscles above the knee, but there’s still plenty of imagination required to fill in the rest of the leg.
Not that I’ll be imagining the rest of his leg!
But still, as the game begins, I can admit he’s good out there. I would expect nothing less from him, but even I can tell he’s gotten better. There’s a swagger in his movements that’s hard earned. He’s a veteran now and was team captain last year. He has confidence and leadership and a certain persuasive quality that draws his teammates to him.
And they’re having fun. He’s laughing, which doesn’t happen during a real game, I’d imagine. There’s an electric feeling on the field. These guys aren’t just teammates, they’re brothers.
Kyle was the closest thing to a brother that Taysom had. And now he has an entire team of brothers. My throat clogs with a ball of emotion.
Which makes zero sense. Why would I care Taysom feels included and loved?
Because he had a rough childhood with his parents’ divorce and because, like he said, his house was sterile and pristine, so coming to our wild, funny, emotional, not-pristine-but-very-much-lived-in house helped him.
Everything’s all fun and games until the last quarter, when Taysom’s team is down 20 to 14. If they score a touchdown and an extra point, they’ll win. I see the moment when things shift for him, and honestly, it makes me laugh a little. Because Taysom goes from laughing and smiling to scowling. There’s a crease between his eyebrows and his jaw is steel.
A wave of heat goes through me at his smolder. The man is suddenly intense. He wants to winso badly, and I find this both adorable and insanely hot.
But I’m only here for the food and an introduction, I remind myself. I’ll soon be entering the poverty line-level of life, so the food matters. Except, I haven’t seen any here yet. What if I misunderstood and they’re not feeding us?
Against my better judgment, I turn my attention back to Taysom. He throws an incomplete pass, and then another one. It’s third down and ten yards to go, and he’s practically ready to jump out of his skin. He’s not mad at his teammates or the other team. He’s driving himself to win. Willing it to happen.
A slick of heat sweeps across my shoulders at his intensity, and this time even my palms feel wet.
How come this is so intense? It’s a simple, no-consequence scrimmage against his own teammates—his brothers. It’s not a big deal at all. Yet, I want him to win, too.
This time, he hands the ball off, and his teammate skirmishes and gets a few yards. Now they’re at fourth down with a few yards to go.
Their last chance.
The ball is snapped to Taysom to begin the play and everything’s in motion. It’s a mass of humanity and manliness—focus and drive. Taysom winds his arm back, ready to pass. It’s like he’s in slow motion, one of those sports movies that slows it all down at the end so you hear every groan, every crunch, every step, every breath.
But he’s not releasing the ball, he’s scanning, scanning, scanning across the field looking for anyone open to pass to. The clock is counting down, there are only seconds left, and still, no release. Without warning, a member of the opposing team manages to get around his defenders and lunges, grabbing Taysom’s flag.
“No!” I can’t help but yell.
