Page 45 of The Comeback

But Jett and the rest of the offense, not to mention the defense, look gassed. It’s been a tough, gritty game.

The Blues score first in overtime, kicking a field goal and making it. The fans go wild for the Pumas’ defense for not letting them score a touchdown. I’m not sure if I can watch Jett run out onto the field again. He has to be shaken after what happened at the end of the fourth quarter.

He’s off, and it’s obvious when he gets sacked on first down. Gabriella squeezes my shoulder, murmuring something in Spanish that I can’t understand.

“It’s fine. It’s fine,” I chant, mostly to myself. I also pray that somehow Jett can hear me.

And then his face turns toward the stands. I swallow. He must be looking at me. He has to be. Logically, it doesn’t make sense. His family is probably all here. They wouldn’t miss this game, and maybe I just didn’t see that they were somewhere in the crowd around me when I scanned it before the game.

But I put my fist on my heart, the way I used to. I’m here, Jett.

He turns back. His pads rise and fall in a deep breath, and the crowd is near silent as Jett counts off. He passes for a first down, and Gabriella and I both jump up and down and scream.

The next play seems to happen in slow motion.

Jett passes to Colby, but instead of leading him so Colby can escape the defender sticking to him like glue, the pass comes up short. Colby turns to grab the ball, but the defender snatches it before Colby can reach it.

The air deflates from the stadium as a whole. The defender turns to run up the field.

Like before, Colby scrambles to tackle, chopping down hard on the defender’s arms, doing anything he can to make him fumble.

Bless the heavens, it works.

The ball tumbles onto the field. A Pumas offensive lineman scoops it up, dragging two defenders into the end zone with him and scoring a Pumas touchdown to win the game.

My gaze goes to Jett. He’s already jogging off the field, ignoring the celebrations of his teammates behind him. They won. They won! It’s huge, but his stiff motions say he doesn’t feel the joy the rest of the team does.

I clasp my hands together in front of my face, holding in my own emotion, even as the fans around me cheer in triumph. The refs reviewing the call dims no one’s elation, and it erupts even louder when the refs confirm that the pass was complete—an interception—and that the fumble stands.

Jett sits on a bench, ignoring his teammates giving him comforting pats on the shoulders and then walking away when he doesn’t respond. I can’t sit here. I can’t watch this emotional pain so evident in his features and not do anything. I hurry down the steps to the railing that separates us from the field and vault myself over.

Of course a security guard is at my side in seconds. “Ma’am, you can’t be down here.”

“I just need to talk to Jett. I’m … I’m his…” I don’t want to lie, but they’re not going to let his ex see him. Maybe not even if I was his wife. I’m not sure how many rules this is breaking.

“She’s fine,” a voice says, and then Colby has me by the elbow, escorting me through the players even though the security guard protests.

“Thanks,” I say under my breath. I jog the rest of the way to Jett, coming to stand in front of him. He doesn’t look up, so I plant myself right between his knees. “Hey,” I say when his gaze finally raises to mine.

His expression is the worst. I swallow back emotion at how broken it looks, how much he’s beating himself up. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me. His arms come around my waist, and I lean over him. I know he doesn’t want to hear that it’s fine because they won. He doesn’t want to hear that he fought hard in this game. He doesn’t want to hear that everyone makes mistakes.

So I just whisper that I’m sorry and hold him closer. I melt into the way he clutches me, and I struggle to focus on him and not how much I miss him and I miss this. How normal this would be if I hadn’t left all those years ago.

It seems like forever but not long enough before he stands up, keeping his hands on my waist. “Thanks, Ave,” he whispers.

I reach up and brush some sweaty hair across his forehead. “J, you beat the Blues. You threw a touchdown pass, and you rushed one of your own. You. Beat. The. Blues.” I say the last one word at a time, making him hear me.

He laughs, soft at first and then it turns more genuine. He reaches down to hug me, lifting me off my feet. “We beat the Blues,” he says, his voice finally holding the triumph it needs to. When he sets me down, he looks around at his team. He needs to congratulate them and let them comfort him too. “Celebration at my house tonight? I’ll tell Colby.”

I’m leaning into him. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t know what it even means. “I’ll be there. No guac, though, so that’ll put a damper on things.”

Jett breaks into another laugh. “We’ll survive it.”

I stare up at him. “Yeah. We will.”

CHAPTER 27

JETT

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