“I never will, baby,” I vow, looking through the screen at her intently so she can see how serious I am.
I love this woman with every fiber of my being. It’s an irrefutable, unaltering fact, just like the knowledge that I couldn’t survive once my heart stopped. My end goal is to love her until I am nothing more than dust.
“Wish I could be there to give you a big kiss in person. Good luck. I love you.”
“Even if I lose?” I ask playfully, but she sees through my brave act.
“I admire you as a player, but I love the man you are. Through every win and every loss, I will be there for you. Stand by you. You’ll always be my winner. The champion of my heart. I love you with all of me.”
Her words ignite a surge of potent emotions. My throat clamps up. “Never stop.”
“Never will, baby,” she replies.
I blow her a kiss one more time and hang up the call.
My phone rings again and it’s Levi.
There’s a moment of reverent silence, and I say, “Thank you for being my best friend.”
“Always, man. Thank you for coming into my life so I could meet the love of mine.”
I chuckle. “Asshole.”
A pause follows, and he inhales deeply. “Nerves are good, Ian. Let them consume you so you can give your best.”
He knows me so well. “This game is important.”
“Man, I have three. You will have many more. I trust in you. And Ian, play for yourself.”
I swallow hard. “I…”
“It was not your fault,” he sighs. “What happened to me was not your fault. When I watch you play, I don’t think anymore about how it would be to be there. I love my life, and I love you, man. So, play for yourself. Playing at this level is hard enough.”
“Thank you, man. It means…” I can’t even form words. It’s like the weight of remorse has been lifted.
He stares at me with a harsh look. “You’re one stubborn asshole. Why didn’t you say something before?”
I scratch my neck. “It’s… you had your own shit to deal with.”
“We’re more than best friends, we’re family.”
That we are. Our bond is titanium—indestructible.
After we hang up, I am sitting on the bus heading toward the stadium when my phone pings. It’s a text from Lilly, so my fingers fly over the screen to read it.
She is wearing my jersey, cupping her breasts. Between them, my number is visible. My mouth instantly dries, thirsty to taste every inch of her. I might wear number 1. I might even be number 1, but if I had to choose, I’d prefer to be and remain her number 1.
Good luck. You can take this off afterward, reckless boy.
I so will, flower girl.
I am about to exit the bus and get my prize already when rationality breaks through my desire, reminding me I have a game to win first.
The music blares with hip-hop songs that set me up to seize my win.
At the stadium, I lean my head against the headrest, taking a few moments for myself.
It’s mind blowing that this might be my fourth consecutive win. I wanted to become the best quarterback in history. That has been my sole motivation, pushing me through the highs and lows. To play is in my nature, but to become a legend is what I aspire to.
