“What I was looking for before you got here.”
“Huh?”
“A plate! I was looking for a plate!”
I push myself up, because if I don’t go get the plate immediately I’ll forget again. Pregnancy brain is a real thing. I should also put on a shirt.
“Is this a good thing? The plate?” Maddox asks. “I want to make sure I’m appropriately excited.”
I smile and kiss the tip of his nose. “I love you, you know that right?”
He gives me a lazy smile as he pushes a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “I do.”
CHAPTER 30
MADDOX
Ihave a definitive order of ranking my favorite kinds of football games to play solely based on atmosphere. They’re listed into regular season games and playoff games because you can’t compare the two.
And yes, they’re written in a notebook.
The honorable mentions of my regular-season rankings are the classics—rivalry games and revenge games. There’s a different vibe in the air when you know you’re going to be facing an opponent you hate, or they hate you. But in my rankings, there are better games.
Third place is when you clinch your playoff berth. Home or away, doesn’t matter. That feeling of relief when you know your season's going past New Year’s, and that you have the chance to be the best in the league, is something only players know.
The second best is the home opener. No matter the kind of season you had the year before, the first game in front of your home fans always has an energy that can't be beat.
Which means the only thing better than a home opener, is a home opener when you’re raising the championship banner.
Fucking best game ever.
The atmosphere here today is insane. Normally, the champs will have the first game of the season, but weird scheduling snafus meant we opened on the road. Doesn’t matter to us. All that means is now we’re 1-0 after a dominant Monday night performance, and the fans are bringing that energy here tonight. People give Nashville a lot of shit for being a town full of transplants—which it is. But when you have a good team that fans can rally behind? Our town shows up and shows out. Just like they are today.
This is my third championship banner game, and each of them is special. But without a doubt this has personally been my favorite, and that’s because of who’s here today.
My girl. Wearing my jersey.
I take my eye away from the game for a second to glance up to the suite I know she’s in—a few of the WAGs get one every year to be away from the crowds and they made sure to bring Gabi in there today so she would be more comfortable. I don’t even try to hide the smile on my face as I look up at her. The jersey I got her would normally have been swimming on her, but it’s the perfect size to hug her bump. Her face is glowing as she talks to a few of the other wives and girlfriends. Ainsley is standing next to her, wearing a similar jersey, only that one I know says Kincaid on the back. The two are talking to Lucy, our quarterback Bryce’s wife, who is balancing a toddler on her hip. It warms my heart that Gabi is already fitting in. Like I knew she would.
“You know we’re going to have to go make a final stop. Think you can take your eyes off your girl for that long?”
The words come from Austin Keller, the rookie linebacker who was my roommate through training camp and has gotten a good amount of reps in today. Not many rookies do, but this guy is the real deal.
I give one more look to Gabi before bumping shoulders with Keller. “Let’s go put this fucking thing away.”
As if on cue, our defensive coaches call out for us to assemble as the punt unit runs off the field. Our offense has done a good job for most of the day of getting us in scoring position, but Cincinnati is no slouch. They were a playoff team last year for a reason, which is why the game is as close as it is. Our defense has bent but hasn’t broken, and we need to do that one more time to make sure we’re 2-0 going into next week, when we head to Philadelphia to play the Kings.
“Do you have one more drive in you?” The question comes from my head coach, Hunter McAvoy.
“You know I do.”
He slaps me upside the helmet, a classic move by all football coaches. “Don't get a penalty. Keep them out of the end zone. And whatever you do, keep your man the fuck in bounds. Make them burn their last time out.”
“I’ll do you one better, Coach. I'll just pick it off.”
The look my coach gives me says all I need to know—quit being a cocky asshole. But also, go intercept up the fucking ball.
He knows by now I can be both.
