Page 71 of Replay
I bite back my grin, remaining stoic as I head into the huddle before the next play. I read what our offensive coordinator is asking before letting the team know. We break and head to our positions on the field. One more time my eyes glance up to the box and collide with ones that are honey gold. She catches my stare and gives me a saucy smile and a thumbs up. My heart thuds faster, wanting this win for my team but also for her. For us. For them. For everything we fought for to get here.
I call the play, snapping the ball. Taking two deep breaths, my eyes scan the field, my feet moving, always staying readyto launch the ball when I find an open target. My receivers scramble down the field, dodging the defense. By now, my best players are being double-teamed; our opponents are being extra careful. The clock ticks down, and finally I see my open player. His arm goes up, signaling, and I throw the ball, a perfect spiral down the field and into his waiting arms. He runs over thirty yards before reaching the end zone. Our offensive line meets him down there, hugging him and high fiving.
The refs do their thing, preparing the ball for the next play, and I hustle off the field. The extra point is made and then it's time for the kick off from our opponent. By now there are four minutes left in the game. We need to hold them here and burn some of that time off the clock. So many things could go wrong in four minutes. I grab a headset and listen to the calls from the defense. I move along the field with them, encouraging them, reminding them of what it took to get here. They’re tired, the whole week has been long between the promotions, the fan greetings, and the practices. We’re close though. And I don’t give up. They don’t call me the ruthless quarterback for nothing.
With two minutes remaining, the other team kicks a field goal, taking the lead. My jaw clenches around my mouth guard.
“It's all right. We got this,” I tell my team, rushing the offensive team to the field. Anything can happen in two minutes. Glancing up at the woman of my dreams, my eyes search hers. She doesn’t look worried.You got this, babe.She mouths to me. Determination sets in my chest; the thirst to win heavy in my stomach. We’re not going home without those rings.
I nod to my coach, and I see his acceptance in his eyes. I’m going for it. Collins is ready; his hands are steady. He may have been a rookie last year, but he’s come a long way. The media has been eating up our dynamic duo the whole season.
“Blue, eighty-two. Set. Set, hut!” The ball snaps and I scramble, faking a hand off to my running back, before runningright. In my peripheral vision I see their defense being shut down, but I’m losing time. The clock is there, glaring at me. The crowd is losing it. I find Collins, on the line, directly ahead of me. His hand goes up and he keeps running, anticipating the throw. I launch the ball and he catches it, before being sacked, five yards short of the endzone. I wave off the break, knowing the clock is still running.
“Rush, rush,” I pull our offense together, avoiding the huddle, while the offensive line scrambles to get back into position.
“Red. Eighty-seven. Red. Set. Hut.” Everyone scatters except my tight end who plows through the line of their defense. With a quick pump of my arm, the ball arcs perfectly to him, and he comes down, clutching the ball, right in the endzone.
“YES!!” My fist raised, I meet my team for the celebration. The clock runs out and we’ve won the game.
I’m in a daze as blue and red confetti falls from the sky. I’m handed a t-shirt that I throw over my shoulder and a baseball hat I put on, turning it backwards. There are tears and celebrating. I shake hands with everyone I meet on the field: players, coaches, and personnel. The entire time my gaze scans the crowd for her.
“Hawke!” she yells at the same time as my two daughters yell, “Daddy!”
Smiling, and blinking back tears, I turn right as Emmarys reaches me, her arms wrapping around my neck. I scoop her closer with my arms, one banding around her back and the other coming gently to her stomach, placing my hand gently on the curve of her belly where our third child is growing strong.
“I’m so happy for you. So proud of you, babe, You were incredible to watch,” she whispers in my ear, just for me. “I love you so much.”
“I love you more,” I say into the curve of her neck, before taking her face in my hands and kissing the shit out of her.
“Ew, Daddy,” my oldest squeals and her younger sister giggles.
Laughing I bend to pick them up, holding them each in an arm. “Ewwww,” I tease her before kissing them both on the cheeks until they're laughing, and Emmarys is smiling, her eyes shining with love and happiness. This is what I always dreamed of. This moment. The win and having my girl. My end game for life.
The End.
epilogue iii
Hawke, 5 years after the draft…
The stadium pulses with energy, the lights shine bright over the field, and the roar of the crowd is deafening. My eyes eat up half the stadium dressed in our team colors of red and light blue and the opponents’ colors of white and green. Tonight isn’t just an ordinary game, though, on our home field. It is Super Bowl LXV, my first since being drafted to Tennessee. It is finally our year after being so close last year and losing in our conference championship game. I was ready to lay everything on the line tonight. I wanted nothing more than to bring that trophy back to our hometown. Currently, we’re tied 21-21 in the fourth quarter.
My hands flex, the tattoos on them rippling with every movement. My heart is full and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. My eyes flick up to one of the private boxes that I reserved for my family. Momma is chatting with some of our friends who stopped by, most of them famous athletes in their own right. Our box is gaining the most attention tonight by the cameraman, and they’re often on the jumbotron. Riggs is among them, here to cheer me on even while being bummed his teamalso lost this year in the playoffs. I’m hoping that after this year, we’ll be able to make a trade to pick him up. If I get my way, it will happen. Falcon looks the most ridiculous dressed in my team’s colors and holding one of his nieces on his shoulders while she pulls his hair.
I bite back my grin, remaining stoic as I head into the huddle before the next play. I read what our offensive coordinator is asking before letting the team know. We break and head to our positions on the field. One more time my eyes glance up to the box and collide with ones that are honey gold. She catches my stare and gives me a saucy smile and a thumbs up. My heart thuds faster, wanting this win for my team but also for her. For us. For them. For everything we fought for to get here.
I call the play, snapping the ball. Taking two deep breaths, my eyes scan the field, my feet moving, always staying ready to launch the ball when I find an open target. My receivers scramble down the field, dodging the defense. By now, my best players are being double-teamed; our opponents are being extra careful. The clock ticks down, and finally I see my open player. His arm goes up, signaling, and I throw the ball, a perfect spiral down the field and into his waiting arms. He runs over thirty yards before reaching the end zone. Our offensive line meets him down there, hugging him and high fiving.
The refs do their thing, preparing the ball for the next play, and I hustle off the field. The extra point is made and then it's time for the kick off from our opponent. By now there are four minutes left in the game. We need to hold them here and burn some of that time off the clock. So many things could go wrong in four minutes. I grab a headset and listen to the calls from the defense. I move along the field with them, encouraging them, reminding them of what it took to get here. They’re tired, the whole week has been long between the promotions, the fangreetings, and the practices. We’re close though. And I don’t give up. They don’t call me the ruthless quarterback for nothing.
With two minutes remaining, the other team kicks a field goal, taking the lead. My jaw clenches around my mouth guard.
“It's all right. We got this,” I tell my team, rushing the offensive team to the field. Anything can happen in two minutes. Glancing up at the woman of my dreams, my eyes search hers. She doesn’t look worried.You got this, babe.She mouths to me. Determination sets in my chest; the thirst to win heavy in my stomach. We’re not going home without those rings.
I nod to my coach, and I see his acceptance in his eyes. I’m going for it. Collins is ready; his hands are steady. He may have been a rookie last year, but he’s come a long way. The media has been eating up our dynamic duo the whole season.
“Blue, eighty-two. Set. Set, hut!” The ball snaps and I scramble, faking a hand off to my running back, before running right. In my peripheral vision I see their defense being shut down, but I’m losing time. The clock is there, glaring at me. The crowd is losing it. I find Collins, on the line, directly ahead of me. His hand goes up and he keeps running, anticipating the throw. I launch the ball and he catches it, before being sacked, five yards short of the endzone. I wave off the break, knowing the clock is still running.
“Rush, rush,” I pull our offense together, avoiding the huddle, while the offensive line scrambles to get back into position.
