In it to win it. Let's go #Slaya
My breath stuck in my ribs.
She was in it with me.
Damn, I blew out the breath because I needed to keep my head where it belonged. But she was cheering like it was her full-time job, and I couldn't tear my gaze away from the image of her.
She's here.
She came to watch me win. So, dammit, I had a game to win.
"Are we writing love songs, or are we going to the goddamned playoffs?" Coach yelled from right beside me, right into my ear.
"Going to the goddamned playoffs," I shouted back, letting the adrenaline of the moment take hold so I could do my job, see the team make the playoffs, and go home with my wife.
So, that was what I did. Or rather, I'd started by helping my team win the game. Then I got stuck in an interview room with a bunch of reporters asking a fuck-ton of questions.
"Question fromThe Denver Herald," a reporter said, holding up his pen.
I nodded. "Hit me."
"We've all seen your team reel online," the guy said.
I nodded.
The guy didn't keep talking, so I asked, "Did you have a question?"
"What was Ms. Mitchell's response to the song?" he asked.
"Did you have a question about the game?" I asked, dodging the question because, well, I didn't want to answer it. Not yet anyway. Not until I got the hell out of there and got to see her.
"Given the time you've spent apart, are you concerned about your relationship with Ms. Mitchell?" the reporter asked, keeping on the same track.
And wasn't that just pounding the nail on the head and hitting my thumb with the hammer, all at the same time?
"I'm not here to talk about my personal life. I'm here to talk about the game." I paused, and then I continued, saying straight into the microphone, "A game we won."
"I'm wondering, too," a voice said from the back.
That voice I'd know anywhere. Maya was… right damn there in front of me, about halfway up the aisle. Right in the fucking middle of the swarm of reporters.
"The message on social media wasn't for the world. It was for you," I said. "How, uh, did you like it?"
Damn, but my voice got gravelly, and my heart beat so hard, the mic probably picked it up and broadcast it across all the networks and into the world at large.
"You should keep playing football," she said, with a twinkle in her eye.
Everyone in the room seemed to laugh, including me.
"And about the other?" a reporter shouted.
"I'm always concerned about the time I'm not with you, Maya," I said, finally answering the reporter, but staring straight at my girl while I spoke. "Always."
"But when you love someone, you figure out a way to make it work, right?" Maya asked.
This was happening. Fucking happening right here, right now, in the middle of the press conference, and none of the public relations handlers were doing a damn thing to step in and give me a moment to catch my breath.
And that was the moment I realized I didn't need to catch my breath anymore. Because I wasn't holding it anymore.
