Page 63 of Final Down

Chance resists at first because he doesn’t like to be told what to do. That’s going to be problematic for him down the road, but that’s a talk for another time.

“Please,” I add.

He finally takes a step back and sits down. I gesture for his friends to do the same, as well as Whiskey, and within a few seconds, the dozen or so guys in the locker room are all seated and ready to listen to me.

If they knew the meaning behind it, maybe they wouldn’t be so intimidated by it.

“I know you guys don’t know me, my story, how I got here. I get that. I’m not Hickory over here, coming from Heisman talk, college playoffs, one of the best showings at the Combine since?—”

“Ever,” Chance adds. Yeah, he’s going to need to work on arrogance.

“Right, good for you.” My response gets a small chuckle from those who understand I’m mocking him. Of course, he doesn’t. In a way, I envy his ability to be naïve to other people’s opinions of him.

“My story is a little different. I broke a lot of records in high school and set a few more at Arizona in my first two years. I didn’t have the same numbers after that, partly because my girlfriend at the time, who is now my wife, broke her spine. She had to completely relearn how to do just about everything. And I wanted to be there for that. Ichoseto.”

The quiet in the room is palpable. This might be my only shot to win these guys over.

“This jersey I’m wearing . . . it was my dad’s. He died before my senior year of high school. Cancer. He was a firefighter, and there are risks. They don’t really tell you about the cancer risks when you sign up for the job. People like my dad dream of being firefighters. It starts in childhood, with the red firetrucks and the cool hats. Kind of hard to make cancer a part of that conversation.”

My gaze drifts around the room, the solemn faces staring back at me. Whiskey nods as he stands with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“My dad was the quarterback for the Arizona Fire team. Sure, it’s not the pros. But don’t tell any member of Arizona’s public safety that. Those games are always serious. And my dad’s teams won it all a few times.”

I look down at the logo and smile to myself.

“Wearing this jersey reminds me to be the man he taught me to be. I don’t have the hype. I’m the old guy. But I’m also Todd Stone’s son. And this jersey, however corny you all seem to think it is, reminds me to be the best version of myself.”

I hold my open palms out and shrug, looking Chance’s friends in the eyes before slowly turning to face him again.

“We cool?”

I hold out my fist for him to bump. He chews at the inside of his mouth for a second, then tilts his head to one side, cracking his neck before bumping my fist.

“Yeah, we cool.”

And for now, I think we are.

Chapter Twenty-Four

My dad is right. Finding out the gender of your baby is an incredible thing. It’s also super hard to hold in your hand without peeking. And it’s not the kind of news you want to share over a video call or the phone.

Which is why my dad rented an RV and drove my ass—along with my mom, sister, aunt, uncle, and grandparents—twenty-two hours to Portland for Wyatt’s second pre-season game.

“Your doctor said not to fly. He said nothing about relaxing in a tour bus,” my dad said when he explained his spur-of-the-moment gesture to my mom.

He also insists we call it a tour bus because RVing makes him feel old.

It’s an RV.

“You think he bought it?” my dad asks? He was hovering as I spoke with Wyatt, biting his knuckles to keep from blurting out that we’re here.

Those tailgaters Wyatt was talking about? We’re one of them. And that jersey he saw? There are lots of them around. My dad bought one from a vendor on the corner when he went out torustle up some food. The guy tried to give it to him for free, something that happens a lot with my dad. I’ve always found that strange because it’s not like my dad can’t afford to pay for things. People get starstruck, I guess, and gestures like free coffees or knock-off jerseys with your son-in-law’s name are how they show appreciation.

We chill in the RV, as well as on the makeshift porch my dad set up for our picnicking until an hour before game time. My dad called in a favor with Jerry to have the video screen guys put up the gender at the first timeout. It’s crazy to think that the only people who know if my baby is a boy or a girl are my doctor, Jerry, and the video tech running master control.

Since we brought my Grampa Buck along for the game, we take the ADA entrance so he doesn’t have to leave his wheelchair. The elevator dumps us out on the suite level right by our box, so we’re not lingering out in the corridor for long. My mom and Rose get my grandpa set up so he has a clear view while I text Tasha our location. She’s in a different suite on the other end of the stadium, but when she gets my message, she and her girls make their way over to join us.

“Okay, folks. Here’s how this is going to work,” my Uncle Jason says, drawing our attention to the counter in the back of the suite. He sets two buckets on the counter and holds up two rolls of raffle tickets—one blue and one pink.

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