Page 96 of Scored

I should have stayed.

And then I remembered Fin and our workout.

I should have stayed, but I wasn’t unhappy that I didn’t.

Making a brief detour, I went to the locked case holding the Lamar Hunt Trophy in the main concourse. The modern trophy design was crafted exclusively by Tiffany and Company in sterling silver. On the front plate was engraved “Lamar Hunt Trophy – AFC Championship.”

The backplates were permanently engraved with the names of every AFC Championship winning team in history, including the year and the score. In all of Dad’s years with the Coopers, he was never handed this trophy. He believed this was the year.

“I want to get it for you, Dad,” I whispered.

As I walked out onto the floor, I shook my head. If I didn’t know this was exactly where I was last night, I wouldn’t believe it. The trees, the booths, the paths, and streams were all gone. A crew of twenty-plus workers were removing the turf protection system. It was a heavy-duty interlocking ground cover that protected the turf from the weight of something as heavy as a Ferris wheel or monster trucks and mounds of dirt.

The flexibility was truly amazing.

“Vee,” Rex Stone, my director of field turf and grounds, greeted. “We’re ahead of schedule.”

“It doesn’t seem like the same place.”

He laughed. “Fran can come up with some wild ideas.”

“It was exceptional. Magical. Now we need the magic to hold for tomorrow.”

“I believe in magic.”

In a young girl’s heart. The lyrics played in my head. Dad was a fan of old music. In the Lovin’ Spoonful’s song, they ask, do you believe in magic in a young girl’s heart?

I wasn’t a young girl. A smile curled my lips, recalling Fin’s parents calling us kids. We weren’t but we were most definitely not old.

“I do too,” I said. “It’s in my heart.”

The next morning, Aunt Rachel and I met the Houston Texans’ owner and his wife for breakfast in a private dining room at the Manchester Hotel. As we entered, I realized this was where my father met Ed Clark before his death. They weren’t in a private dining room but in the restaurant. While the Texans’ players and coaches spent the night at the Marriott, their owner stayed here. It was a beautiful hotel.

“Hello, Rachel,” Carl McDeer said, offering Aunt Rachel his hand.

“Good to see you, Carl,” she replied. “This is my niece and the owner of the Coopers, Maeve Hubbard.”

“Nice to meet you,” I replied as we shook.

“Maeve” —he pointed to the woman at his side— “may I introduce my wife, Hallie.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Hallie spoke. “May we offer you our sincere condolences for your father and brother.”

“Thank you,” Aunt Rachel and I said in unison.

“Shall we,” my aunt said, leading the way to the private dining area. “Welcome to Lexington.”

After we were seated, Carl sat back with a smile. “I appreciate you looking after our trophy for the last few days.”

My smile was tight. “NFL officials brought the Lamar Hunt Trophy Wednesday. While I wanted to take it home and put it on my bookshelf, we’ve had it on display at Crystal Light. You’ll have to go see it when you arrive. It’s stunning.”

“I’ve dreamed about it on my bookshelf as well.”

As I drove Aunt Rachel home, I turned toward her. “Thank you for accompanying me to this breakfast. The hobnobbing with the other owners is new to me.”

“You spoke to each one after Reid…?”