Page 25 of Score to Settle
A flurry of excited talk from the commentators blasts from the speakers as the Wildhorns kick the ball toward the Stormhawks and the seats around me fill.
Having some knowledge about the game definitely enhances the enjoyment factor, thanks to Jake’s continual tuition, filling our awkward silences this week with game play explanations. The crowd’s energy is electric as the Stormhawks receive the kickoff and begin their first drive. A moment later, the offense lines up for the first play. The Stormhawks quarterback takes the snap and drops back, scanning the field for an open receiver. But the Wildhorns’ defense is relentless. In a flash, a defender breaks through, forcing him to release the ball too fast. The stadium gasps as the pass sails into the hands of a Wildhorns defender. Just like that, they’ve taken over. A few plays later, they punch it in for a touchdown. The extra point is good, sailingcleanly through the uprights. The scoreboard reads 7-0, and my stomach knots as the stadium explodes with cheers.
The game is fierce and brutal. In the second quarter, the Wildhorns add three more points with a field goal, pushing their lead to 10–0. The Stormhawks answer in the third with a field goal of their own. Then a well-placed throw finds its target in the end zone, and we add the extra point to tie it at 10–10.
During the break before the last quarter, I watch Jake talking to his teammates down on the sideline. He’s focused and totally in his element. I’m starting to understand the draw of the game, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wince at every tackle. It’s hard to believe any player walks away uninjured.
I asked Jake as we walked to his truck this morning if there’s anything he can do to avoid injury. A wild look crossed his face. “Keep my cleats laced tight and my head in the game.”
“So that’s a no then,” I said.
“Hey, if you’ve got a nurse’s uniform in that suitcase of yours, Cassidy, I might be a little more inclined to get injured.” Such a typical Jake comment, using humor to hide his feelings. I shoved him and he staggered, pretending he was already hurt.“Nurse! I need a nurse!”
The teams take their positions for the start of the fourth quarter, the tension palpable. The Wildhorns offense strikes fast, breaking through the Stormhawks defense to score another touchdown. The kicker adds the extra point with ease. It’s 17-10 to the LA Wildhorns.
But on their next possession, the Stormhawks march down the field with precision, earning a touchdown too. The crowd holds its breath as the kicker steps up—and the extra point is good. It’s all tied at 17-17 with only minutes left on the clock.
Then it happens. Stormhawks have the ball, and suddenly Jake makes his move. He finds space, and the quarterback throws a quick and accurate pass. Jake catches it like it’s secondnature before powering forward, putting the Stormhawks close to the end zone before he’s brought down by a defender. The crowd erupts and me with it. I can’t believe how much I’ve learned from Jake about football this week and how excited I am.
As the team moves, I see Jake still on the ground and I gasp as the replay shows a late tackle from a Wildhorns defender, knocking Jake flying.
Play stops and so does my ability to draw in breath as a silence falls over the hospitality suite and the stadium.
I think of Dylan—more than a year into his recovery. My heart leaps into my throat. “Get up!” I whisper, surprised how much my heart is racing. How much I’m willing Jake to be OK.
Team medics race across the field as the seconds pass like hours. On the big screen, I watch as Jake’s helmet is eased from his head. There’s a trail of blood on his face. I stand, biting my lip, but a moment later he’s jumping to his feet and waving at the cheering Stormhawks fans with a confidence that takes my breath away.
On the next play, the Stormhawks score a touchdown to put them in the lead: 17-23. They score the extra point and the final whistle blows. The game is over. The Stormhawks have won.
Just before Jake turns to celebrate the win with his team, I swear he lifts his head and looks right at me, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips. My face burns with heat and I’m sixteen all over again, watching him from those rickety bleachers the year before he left for college. I can almost hear him telling me not to put the nurse’s uniform on just yet, and I laugh with relief and wonder how I’ll cope for the next four weeks when one game has me feeling like I was right there with him on the field, taking every tackle.
TEN
JAKE
What a win! One we really needed. OneIreally needed. For the first time in a long time, the ache in my legs and shoulders actually feels good as I step from the shower in the hotel bathroom. Like I’ve got a hundred more games in me. Our next game is at home against the Miami Tidalrunners on Thursday and already I’m feeling pumped for it.
I half wonder if having Harper at practice this week and the game tonight, knowing she’s there for me and me alone, made the difference. It’s a stupid thought. Harper is still closer to being a pain in my ass than a lucky charm.
I pull on my basketball shorts and throw myself onto the bed as I relive the game in my thoughts, the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. The hotel room is like every other mid-range high-rise in this part of Los Angeles. Functional and sleek but lacking personality. Doors bang from down the hall followed by the laughter and shouts of my teammates. It feels strange not to be joining them. How many nights like this have we hit whichever city we’ve been in, downing shots and beers and enjoying the flirting of the female fans who always find their way to the same bar?
I feel a stab of frustration that I’m not part of it tonight. But Coach Allen’s words from Monday are still ringing in my head.
I don’t have to tell you, Jake, that one more screw-up like last year and you’re done.
I can’t risk any more bad press. So here I am, alone on Thanksgiving night after the biggest win of the season so far, stuck in a hotel room while everyone else parties. I sigh and flip on the TV, trying to distract myself, landing on a rerun ofFriends.
When the knock on my door comes a minute later, I kill the TV and ease my aching body up.
“Go to hell,” I say as I’m opening the door, expecting Billy or Rob wanting to coax me out.
Except it’s not one of my teammates. It’s Harper, wearing a pair of skimpy denim shorts and the red Stormhawks tee Mama gave her. Her sleek hair is up in a swishing ponytail and she looks just as hot as she did in her swimwear earlier this week.
“Good to see you, too.” Harper smiles but there’s an awkwardness to it, like maybe she’s having second thoughts about knocking on my door. I realize she’s missing Thanksgiving with her family. I can barely remember a time before I was playing football on the holiday, but I doubt this is Harper’s idea of a fun Thanksgiving. And I’ve just told her to go to hell.Good one, Jake!
I smile, opening the door wide for her. She hesitates for another moment before stepping inside, filling my senses with her intoxicating perfume, like autumn rain and wildflowers.
She holds up a pack of four beers in one hand and a first-aid kit in the other. “I thought since you’re not allowed out, I’d bring the party to you.” She looks hesitant for a beat before adding, “Seeing as it’s Thanksgiving.”
