Page 12 of Game Changer

“And their commandos,” London adds.

“They’re not commandos.” Harper laughs.

“Well, they sure as hell aren’t our retiree’s greeting fans,” London says, nodding toward the gate where about five pro-football-sized men, armed men in black, who are all really good-looking, stand.

“They certainly aren’t,” I reply.

“They’re going to scan you,” Harper says.

“They’re going to what me?” I ask.

“Facial recognition,” London answers. “You know the kind of machines that not commandos with guns use on any given Sunday at a family friendly NFL game.”

Harper rolls her eyes. “If Vegas had one of these, we’d know who the people were that stormed the field.”

“Ma’am, could you remove your hat?”

“My hair—” I gasp when London pulls it off me. “I didn’t get a chance to do it today.”

“Ma’am, could you look this way and try to stand still?”

“Sydney Sparks, she’s one of use,” London tells him.

He rolls his eyes and turns the device to face us, and it reads, “Sparky: Too sweet for her own good. Too good for any of you. Touch her, we will bury you. Don’t believe us, fuck around and find out.”

“This you?”

I feel my face heat up, and I nod. “Could you tell me if the wonder twins still sleep in the same bed?”

“Not sure, Sparky, but I’ll be sure to ask.” His lips twitch up just a touch, and he nods for us to proceed.

“I appreciate it.” I roll my eyes as I pass.

Past the gate, there’s even more security than ever. The new additions are all dressed in black and look like they all came out of a factory that spits out hot as hell bad asses. Unlike the ones at the main gate, these ones don’t appear to be packing.

“No guns inside?”

“None that you or anyone else can see,” London answers as we head for yet another gate.

My father never hunted often, so he never had a gun at our house, but I was raised around guns because everyone in Blue Valley hunted. Grandpa John made sure we all knew how to, at the least, check to see if they were loaded and how to unload them. Since becoming a teacher, I have grown to dislike them a great deal.

It feels almost suffocating in here now, and it’s a stark reminder of the chaos and turmoil that was brought upon by the old Knoxville Knights fans who despise the buyout and move. There is still no proof it was them who stormed the field in Vegas and the fight that broke out, which resulted in some of our players getting hurt and Hart, who was simply throwing bodies off his teammates, being benched.

In our last home game, BVPD and the State boys were present, but this is next level.

“Something’s up, and I don’t like being left in the dark,” I tell Harper.

“All we know is the closer we get to the big game, the more pissed off they’re going to be because they couldn’t do it in Knoxville,” she says as we make our way to the stairs that lead to the owner’s box.

“Better safe than sorry,” London adds.

“I agree.”

Through the maze of checkpoints and barricades, we make our way to the owner’s box, a sanctuary high above the sea of black and gold.

“I thought you weren’t coming.” Mom walks over and hugs me.

“Wasn’t really a choice.” I hug her back and hear Aunt Tessa laugh.

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