“It’s a good thing I love to practice.”
SIXTEEN
ANNIKA
I shouldn’t be smiling.
But I am. And I can’t seem to stop.
The stadium is alive in a way that feels uniquely New Orleans. Music pulses between plays, fans are on the edge of their seats, loud and relentless, like every down matters just a little more here.
Suffocating humidity presses in on me from all sides, clinging to my skin, and to my clothes. The smell of beignets and fried everything drifts from the media room just inside the tunnel.
It’s chaotic and loud, yet I feel lighter than I have in years, like I’m walking on sunshine.
On the field, the Armadillos move through warmups, focused.
Every motion is purposeful.
I find Parker, observing every route, the shift of his weight and even the flex of his hands right before the ball is snapped.
My body recognizes him before my brain can stop it. It seems as if I can still feel his hands grasping my hips and his lips skating over my skin.
Get last night out of your mind.
I cross my arms over my waist, grounding myself. Be professional.
Not like last night.
My heart is sewn together and one stitch popped loose last night. Like maybe I can trust him with everything, not just my body.
The New Orleans fans bring me back to reality, yelling as the Armadillo kick returner runs it to the fifty-yard line, giving us fantastic field position. Parker lines up. One receiver on the outside of him. He rolls his shoulders once, shaking out his arms like he’s shedding a skin.
Good. That’s new.
“Trust,” I say, barely audible.
The ball is snapped to his brother and Greyson scans the field. Parker fakes the defender, fast and effortless, distancing himself.
The ball spirals toward him.
Trust. Trust. Trust.
It’s unhealthy how much I want him to catch the ball.
Parker sees the ball into his hands and catches it, turning and gaining ten more yards before he’s tackled.
He springs up from the turf, extending his arm motioning a first down.
I catch myself clapping so hard my hands burn. His teammates are jumping and patting his helmet.
Perfect.This is how Parker looks when he’s happy.
He runs a sideline route. Another catch.
The running back gets the ball the next two plays then it’s back to Parker. He leaps into the air and there’s no way he catches this ball. It’s too high. Somehow Parker stretches his body, hauling in the pass. He stutter-steps and three more yards into the end zone.
It’s the biggest celebration I’ve seen since college. Parker’s teammates clearly love him and want him to succeed.
