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“Nephew, as of ten hours ago.” I pull out my phone and show her the picture my sister sent earlier.
“Aww,” she croons over the photos. We talk a few more minutes about my sister and her new family while we finish eating our meal. I throw the two plates into the sink, refill our glasses with water, and sit back down across from her as I place a chocolate chip cookie in front of her for dessert.
Her eyes light up as she breaks off a piece of cookie and lifts it up. “Do you want some?”
“Nah, that’s for you.”
“If you’re sure,” she says as she shoves a piece in her mouth.
“Soo… tell me about the Super Bowl. What’s the experience like?”
“I don’t know.”
Her eyes take me in. “What do you mean?”
“I was never in one with my last team, and I was traded in the spring after Boston’s last Super Bowl win. We’ve had a five-year drought.”
A five-year drought is probably being dramatic, especially since we’ve made it to the playoffs every year since I’ve played in Boston. But I’ve never made it to the big game with my team. We’ve been close—I’ve played in the conference championship twice before—but the third time was the charm in the case of today.
“Oh.” Her words are soft, and her eyes are wide.
I shift slightly in my chair, throwing my hand under my ass to keep it still.
“Yeah. I’m glad to know I wasn’t the reason the team never made it.”
“You’re not.” Her words are firm.
“How do you know?” My words are light, but I need the answer.
“Because you are an incredible player and leader who deserves to be there.”
“Yeah,” I say, but my words are empty. Some days I’m not so sure. “We will find out soon enough.”
We are silent for a few, but she’s assessing me. After a beat, she says, “I hope you have so much fun at the Super Bowl, but if you don’t win this year, maybe it’ll happen next year.”
“I’m not sure if I’ll be back,” I admit.
Her brows rise.
“I’m thirty-five. I’m already old for a center in the NFL. It’s a hard position that takes a toll on your body.” I sigh. “And if I don’t win, maybe I am the problem, and they will win next year?”
“Don’t you want to win?”
I laugh. “Of course I do.”
“Then you’ll win, and I’m going to be there in the stands to cheer you on.” She nods to cement her words, and a grin takes over my face.
“Good. I’ll send you my two tickets.” Who am I kidding? Those were always going to be hers.
Chapter Fifty
Scarlett
Ireach for my orange juice and take a sip. “What?” I say to the person grinning at me like a buffoon.
“I’m just so happy,” my mom says with a shrug, smile still plastered to her face.
“Because?” I prod.
