Page 52 of Final Down

I didn’t really stretch it out enough to tell, but I remember it being large.

“Well, he never quite hadyourbiceps, but I imagine you can pull it off.”

“Good. I’m going to wear it under my jersey if I can, at least for practice. Thanks, Mom. I love you.”

She echoes my affection, and I end our call as I step into the security line. A boy who looks to be about eleven or twelve is standing in front of me in line with a man I assume is his father. He gives me a double take before tugging on his dad’s jacket sleeve.

“Hey, that’s Wyatt Stone,” he whispers, and not very quietly either.

I feel my cheeks warm up. I’m not dressed up as I should be, but I have on a button down and slacks, so at least I’m professional-looking.

“How you doin’?” I say, nodding to him.

“Good,” he mutters, biting his bottom lip while he twists in place with nervous energy.

“Hey, great game, man. We were rooting for you. Pretty cool having an Arizona guy out there representing,” his dad says. He reaches out his hand and we shake.

“Thank you. I’m trying. It’s hard to keep up with those young guys, you know?” I kick myself internally when I realize he’s probably about a decade older than me.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. You looked comfortable to me. I think they had a hard time keeping up with you. Hey, good luck, man.”

“Thank you,” I say, tucking his words into the corner of my mind to dwell on later.Was I really that good?

His son keeps looking over his shoulder as we move up in the line. I feel inside my bag for anything that might work for an autograph, and I come across my pen and the coffee receipt from my trip to LA. I pull it out and scribble my signature along with a short message that I sort of borrow from my favorite quarterback growing up. Kurt Warner signed a ball for me once, and he wrote, “Always play with heart.” It stuck with me, so maybe it will with him.

“Here,” I say, handing him the makeshift keepsake. “You’ll always know I take my coffee with double cream and sugar.”

His dad laughs, and the kid holds the paper up in front of him while wearing a grin and wide eyes.

“Thanks, Mr. Stone,” he says.

“Yeah, thanks, man.” His father glances at my message, then back to me, nodding. He gets it.

As we shuffle through the checkpoint and approach the scanners, I set my bag on the conveyor belt and leave my palm on top for an extra beat.

Play with heart. I think I will.

Chapter Twenty

My phone buzzes in my palm and I open the photo Wyatt sent of himself wearing his father’s old jersey. He’s right; it is a little tight. But it’s also perfect.

“What an incredible gift,” I say before taking my phone off speaker and heading out the door to the Jeep.

“Yeah. So many memories of my dad wearing this thing. You think it’s stupid to wear it for practice?”

“Not at all.”

I set my duffle bag in the passenger seat before moving to the driver’s side. I sync my phone with the Jeep and head down our driveway, pausing at the empty road. Not a car in sight. I’m a little stressed about practice today. A few of the parents sent me messages of encouragement last night after the meeting, but I can’t get over the look on a few of the faces in the crowd. They were demonizing me.

“You okay?” Wyatt breaks the silence.

“Yeah,” I sigh out. “Sometimes, I just like having you on the line, even if I don’t have anything to say.”

“I know what you mean.”

I give my pause a few more seconds, then turn onto the road, heading toward the high school.

“My mom told me the best way to shut everyone up is to win state,” I say.

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