Page 27 of Her Nebraska Touchdown Daddy

“Of course. You said you had a plan, and I believed you. But how could you know she’d be tackled like that?” Realization dawns as we sit and watch Taryn disappear behind the closing doors of the ambulance.

“Sweetheart, just because you didn’t want to be involved doesn’t mean your friend felt the same. And it’s not just men’s soccer players who are good at flopping.” His whisper makes me giggle and cheers me up a lot.

Watching men’s soccer sometimes feels like it’s half-sport, half-slapstick comedy. Anytime another player comes within feet of a guy, he’s collapsing bonelessly onto the pitch and contorting on the turf like he’s been mauled by a tiger.

Coach Vanderman makes his way across the field to where we’re all waiting, a somber look on his face. Bhodi’s gone with Taryn, but other than that, we’re all still here. Sweaty and exhausted, worried and tearful. Director Franklin’s standing off to the side, his glower enough to ensure nobody goes near him.

“Ladies, I want you all to take a few deep breaths and compose yourselves. your teammate is being tended by the professionals, and it looks like her injury is a relatively minor strain. It will, of course, be fully checked out by the sports orthopedist and she’ll receive plenty of care before she returns to the field. The rest of us will carry on with our season until Taryn’s cleared to play. Ruthie, you’ll be taking over as center forward until she’s back.”

Ruthie’s a sophomore with speed and agility, but less confidence as a striker than we need right now. I hope whatever the plan Deke and the others have concocted is, it happens soon.And, I mean, of course most importantly, I hope all of this really is part of a plan and not a real injury for my friend.

I lean into Deke, his arm wrapping around me. I probably smell like a gym sock at this point, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I don’t know about everybody else, but I’m cooked. This night can’t end soon enough.

“Can we go to the room now?” I ask. Well, whine is probably more accurate, but I’m trying hard to hold my shit together and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll manage it.

“Grab your bag. We’ll get you showered and cleaned up at the hotel.”

I point to my duffel with all my game day gear and Deke throws the strap over one shoulder and helps me stand. My muscles are cramping with exhaustion and my mind’s a muddled-up mess.

I don’t have any idea what happens next. Deke pulls me to my feet and leads me from the field, but after that I kind of blank on whether we talk to anyone or make any stops. All I know is the way his arms feel around me, his hip bumping mine to keep my feet moving in whatever direction he leads until we get to his truck.

CHAPTER 29

Deke

The team’shotel of choice isn’t where the football team stays when we play here. Small stroke of good fortune, I guess that being a smaller squad means each player gets their own room. As a football coach traveling with nearly a hundred and fifty people, not just players but coaching staff, assistants, and trainers, our accommodations are never this nice. I’d expected to have to source my own hotel for the night, and was pleasantly surprised when Paul slyly suggested turning Windy’s single occupancy room into a double.

“Can you walk, sweetheart? Or are you too tired?” There’s no fancy valet at this chain bargain hotel, but the parking spots are right against the sprawling building so we don’t have far to go.

“I don’t wanna walk, but I can,” she mumbles.

I recognize the adrenaline crash that always hits after a game, even a win, though these days it’s a lot less brutal.

For a player on a soccer field, especially a midfielder, it’s not uncommon to run over five miles during a single game. And that’s leaving out all the maneuvers and skills required tomanage the ball and other players. Soccer was never my game, but the sheer physicality of the sport has always amazed me. In football, we go hard for a couple minutes at a stretch. Soccer demands a sustained level of athleticism for nearly two hours with only a brief break at the midpoint.

What Windy needs now is a lot of protein, carbohydrates, and electrolytes to replenish what she expended during the match. Once I get her into her room and under the relaxing spray of hot water in the shower, I’ll order a dinner delivery and pamper my sweet, stressed-out and exhausted Little girl. Once the truck’s in park, I unbuckle and look across the cab to see she’s already dozed back to sleep. Sweaty tendrils of her long hair have escaped their braid and cling to her cheeks and neck.

“You really are such a beauty.” My quiet comment doesn’t rouse her, and that’s fine. The words needed to be spoken, like truth demanding to be released into the universe.

The overly romantic thought makes me chuckle. I’ve never been one for that kind of overly quixotic rambling, but meeting Windy has awoken something inside me—a side of myself coded to her specifically, brought forth by her presence. Just sitting here in a parking lot, watching her sleep with the golden light of the sun going down fills me with contentment.

It’s tempting to let the moment drag out, just enjoying knowing that after all this time, all this searching for the other half of my soul, she’s finally here. We’re finally here. But I know if I don’t get her cleaned up and relaxing soon, she’ll pay for it tomorrow, so I turn the truck off and go around to her side. She barely rouses at the cabin light coming on and I’d be worried if the post-game crash wasn’t so universal.

“Let me carry you, precious.” I’m not asking, but she nods sleepily and wraps her arms around my neck when I pick her up from the seat. It’s a good thing the women’s soccer team doesn’t have to do the press junket the way the men do after theirfootball games. I’m sure she’d fall asleep at the interview podium if they did.

“Good girl, let’s get inside and get you cleaned up.” Holding her this way as I navigate to her room lets me press kiss after kiss to her temple. Her phone’s got the electronic keycard set up through the app, a neat trick she told me about when we video-chatted this morning. I hadn’t told her I was coming to the game, wanting to surprise her.

“Windy, you’ll need to unlock your phone so we can open the door.” It’s strange carrying on this conversation completely one-sided, but my girl is definitely not a light sleeper.

“Windy, come on sweetheart. You’re the only one that can open the door here.” A situation I will be addressing before we next leave the room.

“Three, six, two, one,” she mumbles.

“What?”

“Phone’s three, six, two, one.” This time she sounds more awake, and I put her on her feet leaning against the wall by the door.

“If that’s the phone code, I’m glad you feel safe sharing it with me, but sweetheart, you have your phone.”

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