Page 67 of The Check Down

She continues to mother me, freeing strands of hair that stick to my damp skin. “A wonderful young man named Seth arranged everything. I hope he works things out with his Daniel.”

Over Dad’s shoulder, Paige waits, wearing a grin. “Oh, gosh. Mom and Dad, meet my friend Paige.”

After a pair of handshakes, Mom can’t help herself. She pulls Paige in for a quick hug, too. “I love your energy.” She waves a hand in front of my friend. “Yellow aura. Joy and positivity. And you’re in love.”

“Her fiancé is the quarterback,” I pipe up, and Paige adopts a dreamy smile.

“Ah. Yes, I can always tell when a woman is in love.” She arches a brow my way, and my face flames.

Mom, mistaking my red cheeks for embarrassment aboutherwhen, in reality, my feelings for Griffin are the culprits, places a cool hand on my cheek. “What do I always tell you?”

I roll my eyes, but I tell her what she wants to hear: her most-used motto from my childhood. “Having a weird mom builds character.”

“That’s right.” She pats my cheek. “You, my love, are the most precious soul. And you deserve a grand love story.”

Tears fill my eyes once more, and with a peck on my cheek, Mom turns to Paige. “Lead the way, dear.”

My friend smiles and links her arm through my mom’s. “I think the suite is down here.”

As Dad and I follow, I can’t keep from looking from him to my mother and back, like they’ll disappear if I look away.

Beside me, Dad is dressed in the Hardy Nelson standard: bright-colored polo (today, a sky blue) tucked into well-pressed khakis. Tan hemp belt and sensible walking shoes. He might have a hippie soul, but his engineering roots run deep. My mother, on the other hand? She could have stepped off the pages ofFree Spirit Catalog. Her breezy palazzo pants are striped in various shades of blue, and her white tunic’s pulled snug at her slim hips by a silver and turquoise concho belt. The flowy sleeves peek out from beneath a patterned vintage kimono.

She and Paige gab like a pair of old friends as we hunt for the two suites available for the visiting team. At first glance, it appears that team management fills one while family and friends of Blues’ players fill the second. Charmaine and Gina wave to us from their row as we settle into one near the back.

The Blues get off to a slow start. Beau throws a rare interception in the first quarter that makes Paige cover her eyes and mutter, “He’ll agonize over that for days.”

Greenway and Jefferson both drop passes that could’ve become scores. The suite erupts, finally, when Griffin runs in a pass at the end of the half, bringing the Blues’ deficit to only six.

When Dad leaves at halftime to find drinks, Mom digs in her regulation-sized crossbody and pulls out a small velvet pouch, the same kind she uses for crystals at her shop.

“I have a little something for you, Moonbeam.”

When I tip the pouch over, a necklace puddles in my hand, the gold chain so dainty it’s almost weightless. In the center is a cloudy thumbnail-sized pale pink stone. It’s a raw rose quartz crystal, its shape irregular and edges jagged.

“You know what rose quartz is for.” She gently picks up the necklace and hooks the clasp at my nape.

I touch the small lumpy stone where it rests against the Blues sweatshirt that was delivered to the apartment yesterday, and Mom gives me a satisfied smile.

Our team plays much better in the second half, and this win advances their record to seven and two. Griff has another phenomenal game—at least that’s what Paige tells me; I’m still too unfamiliar with the stats—and my parents beam when they discover that he’ll have a few minutes with us before the team is hurried onto the buses.

I catch a glimpse of Jack and Shane leaving the other suite, but they’re swept up in the crowd as we exit. The pit of dread sitting like a boulder in my gut lightens for the moment, though that confrontation is imminent.

When we reach the lower level of the stadium, the walkway from the visiting team’s locker room is crowded with family, friends, and fans waiting to give the Blues a proper send-off. There’s a barricade on both sides, giving the players and coaches an unobstructed path to the chartered buses. Paige squeezes between bodies, her hand locked on to mine, guiding us to the front row.

The medical and training staff pass us first, followed by the coaches. When the players start trickling out, D’Angelo engulfs Charmaine in a bear hug, his smile so bright it makes my chest pinch. All the guys look sharp in what Griffin calls their “gameday fits,” and many of them still sport wet hair from their postgame showers.

Beau and Griffin exit the double doors together. Despite its ear-piercing volume and tone, I barely register Paige’s squeal. I’mtoo busy being held hostage by the intensity in Griffin’s gaze. I break our eye contact long enough to do a head-to-toe scan, checking for a limp or any hint that he may be injured. Not only does he seem unscathed, but he’s got a little extra swagger as he saunters over, wearing the same cream cable-knit sweater and brown trousers he wore yesterday when he left the apartment.

The moment he sets his leather duffel at his feet, his arms are around me and he’s exhaling a satisfied sigh I feel down to my toes. “You look good in Memphis blue, professor.” He doesn’t let go as he greets my parents. “Hey, I’m Griffin. So glad y’all could make it.” I’m jostled a bit as he lifts one arm from my back. “Hardy.” A pause as he shakes Dad’s hand. “Celeste.”

“Thanks for arranging this for us.” My dad clears his throat, and I’m released from Griffin’s embrace. “We’ve loved visiting with our Moonbeam for a bit.”

“Oh, yes, love. Thank you so much.” Mom sniffles and gives him a hero-worshipping smile that makes my heart swell.

Griffin rubs his beard. “Loved doing it for y’all. Let me—or Moonbeam”—he gives me a flirty smirk—“know when y’all want to catch a game. We’ll get you set up. And you’re welcome to visit us in Memphis any time.”

Mom shoots me a look. She didn’t miss the way he saidus, either.

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