Page 129 of Blitzing Emily

“Win,” she told Brandon.

“You bet your ass.” He clapped his hands loudly. “So, ladies, I understand there’s a game this afternoon. Who’s going to help me tape up?”

Emily could still hear the whistles, shouts, and stomping feet from inside the locker room as she and the Sharks employee hurried through the hallway outside.

She walked into the Sharks’ owner’s suite a few minutes later. There weren’t many women present. The other wives and girlfriends must have been scattered all over the stadium. The media lurking around the Rose Bowl snapped photos of her in Brandon’s jersey. His ring was still in her jeans pocket. She rubbed her fingers over it as she paced in front of the suite’s windows, waiting for the kickoff.

For someone who appeared in front of a couple thousand quiet, formally dressed people to do her job, it was shocking to experience 100,000 people screaming their heads off at Brandon’s workplace. There seemed to be some kind of elaborate pre-game procedure, too. The teams were introduced as a unit, and emerged from the tunnel. Kelly Clarkson sang “America the Beautiful.” The team captains walked to midfield holding hands, introductions of players and dignitaries present at mid-field were made, and a coin toss determined who would defend each goal. Seconds afterward, Aretha Franklin’s voice filled the stadium as she sang the national anthem. Fighter jets roared overhead only moments after the last note.

The Sharks’ owner, John Campbell, milled around the suite with his guests. After a recent split with his much-younger second wife, he was considered one of Seattle’s most eligible bachelors. He was entertaining what appeared to be a couple of lingerie models today. Maybe they knew Anastasia. He also hosted some former Sharks players. Brandon could have told her who they were, but he was a little busy at the moment.

John broke away from his guests long enough to greet her.

“Emily, it’s good to see you. Weren’t you supposed to be singing at the Met today?”

“Well, Iwas.” She smiled up at him. “I had to see this.”

“Help yourself to something to eat or drink.” He nodded in the direction of the huge buffet.

“Thank you so much for offering, but I think I’ll wait awhile.”

He squeezed her shoulder, and said, “If you need anything, let me know. Excuse me for a moment.”

Emily grabbed a soda and sat down. She waited nervously for the game to finally start. She’d never felt this way before, either. A perma-knot formed in the pit of her stomach, and she wanted to jump out of her own skin. She hoped he would play well. Even more, she wished the experience would be everything he’d dreamed of over the years. Her nerves were probably nothing compared to his.

Brandon ran up and down the sidelines before the first play with the Sharks defense. He raised his arms up in the air, asking the fans for noise. She saw his huge smile on the video screen, and he pointed toward the suite. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she got to her feet and blew him a kiss anyway.

The fans cooperated, roaring loud enough to make the ground shake. The Sharks faithful were here today, too. The game began, with an even louder roar from the crowd. Oddly enough, Brandon was on the sidelines. The coach must have still been mad.

“Why are you benching him?” she muttered to herself. “Are you nuts?”

Emily got up out of her chair, found a quiet corner, and paced as she watched the game. The first quarter passed rapidly. After all, New England’s offense spent most of it on the field.

The second quarter came, and Brandon still wasn’t in the game. The sports commentators on the televisions all over the suite seemed horrified that Brandon wasn’t playing.

“We’re a little surprised to note that the Sharks’ All-Universe defensive end and the centerpiece of their defensive line, Brandon McKenna, is still riding the pine in the second quarter,” one announcer said. “His team’s getting beat, and we have no information about a possible injury that would prevent him from playing.”

“He’s worked his entire career for this,” said another. “I understand that the Sharks wanted to teach him a lesson, but is it worth a potential Super Bowl loss to do it?”

The first one took up the story again. “We have an unconfirmed report that McKenna told Coach Olsen he wanted to skip the game to attend his ex-fiancée Emily Hamilton’s debut with the Metropolitan Opera this afternoon. According to the same source, Miss Hamilton is at today’s game, so something happened. We’re working on getting more information.”

A former player on the announcing team piped up. “Hey, I’ve played with McKenna, and that’s a damn lie. There is nothing more important to him than football. He’s not going to do stupid shit like that on the eve of the Super Bowl.”

Despite her worry and nervousness, Emily had to laugh. The “bleep” came about five seconds too late. Little did the guy know that Brandon had done “stupid shit like that” only hours ago.

“We’ll get more of the story as it’s available,” said the first announcer. “In the meantime, McKenna’s on the sidelines, he hasn’t played a down yet, and the Sharks are being badly beaten at the line. Their pass rush is non-existent as well.”

Emily saw Brandon look up toward the suite again. All around him was the controlled chaos that was the Super Bowl, and she wondered what he might be thinking. She got to her feet and moved to the window. She blew him another kiss. To her surprise, he pantomimed catching the kiss in his fingers. She saw a video camera out of the corner of her eye, but she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Despite a getting-crowded suite, nobody else was there. She folded her hands under her chin.

“God, please let him play,” she murmured. “Please.”

Emily turned to see John Campbell standing next to her. “He’s going to play, isn’t he?” she asked him.

“It’s up to the coach, Miss Hamilton.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not going well.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

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