Page 68 of Time Out

“Maggie’s pregnant, moving in with me, and I barely know her and I don’t want to screw it up but I’m afraid it’s going to be when my parents find out because shit… who fucking knocks up a one-night stand and then moves her in and actually really likes her?”

Me. That was who. The idiot and corn-fed boy from Nebraska who no one really expected much from besides himself and his family. But that could go to shit when said family learned what I did.

I expected a laugh. Anticipated and braced for it even, but Cole stared at me with eyes that had seen more than me, a wealth of understanding in them considering his own son had been born from a similar, if also very different circumstance.

“Come on.” He tugged me toward him, his arm landing over my shoulders and slapping my pads. “You’ve gotta see this.”

“Coach is coming soon.”

“We’ve got time.”

We headed down the hall, toward the tunnel that would take us to the field. Inflatable towers were set up that would blow smoke and the noise of the crowd would soon encompass us all. Soon, for the next hour of playing time, we would be gods and heroes and I was buckling quickly under the pressure to be everything to everyone but most importantly… the only thing that mattered to the few who needed it most.

“Look.” Cole pointed. His arm flew out and I followed the direction and there.

There she was. She was across the field, near the corner behind the end zone on the side of our team’s bench but the spot I’d memorized hours ago was now filled with the person I wanted—needed—to see the most.

“Do you know why I’m always the last guy in the locker room before Coach shows up?” Cole dropped his arm from my shoulders and stood, hands on his hips.

We were still in the tunnel but far enough out no one would see. No media. No photographers. Like he knew the exact place to stand and it made sense in a blink of my eyes.

“Because you’re here.”

“Always.” He turned to me. “I’m here. Always. Looking at my reason for why I do this. Why I want to be the best.” He curled his hand into a fist and punched it to my pads over my heart. “You have your own now, you know? And I get it… trust me. I get that whatever you’re feeling right now is absolutely, one hundred percent scary as absolute fuck. But she’s your reason, yeah? The baby she’s carrying?”

“Yes.”

Unequivocally. Always. Even if Maggie fucked off and wanted nothing to do with me, the child we’d made would forever be my reason.

“Then take this moment, Hall. Take it. Soak it all in. The experience. The sound. The excitement, the hope, the joy. It could be over tomorrow or last for a decade, we never know. You could be here for years or traded in March. We never fucking know what life will bring. But this? Right now? Everything you’re playing for is here, supporting you. Cheering you on. You know what that makes you?”

“The luckiest man alive?”

I couldn’t see her, but she was there, and it was all I needed.

“Damn straight.” He slapped my shoulder. “Now let’s go listen to Coach tell us how much he loves us and then go kick some Rough Rider ass.”

We were not kicking Rough Rider ass.

Down by eight, one minute to go. At the forty-five yard line, which was good enough for a field goal and three points but no way would we kick in this situation.

Short, under twenty-yard touchdowns and long, over sixty were my jam, but I’d been sat down all night by Raleigh’s defense. They were on me like bees on honey and I couldn’t shake off their defense or shove my way through it.

Not a single touchdown for the running back who’d been described as the best rookie in twenty years.

I could only imagine the criticism, the shock, the talk from Monday morning quarterbacks that they were wrong, I wasn’t all that great or special. None of it was true. Even without being able to find a hole in their D-line, I’d still run over fifty yards. I hadn’t punched in a goal, but Dawson had two.

Yet every time he returned to the huddle, he appeared pissed, like his touchdowns were fuel, not celebration.

“All right, men.” Cole slapped his hands together, appearing unfazed and relaxed.

I was anything but. Sweat dripped down my spine, clinging to my compression shirt, and for the first time since maybe Pop Warner football, I doubted myself.

Until Cole stared right at me, confident as all hell, and shouted, “Forty-two draw.”

“No.” I shook my head. “Won’t work.”

“You can do this. We’ve got you.”

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