Page 28 of Play the Last Track
Flynn
Playingonorcloseto Halloween is always fun. The fans come out in costume, and the atmosphere gets wild. It’s electric. The moment I step onto the field, I feel it seeping into my bones. It shoots through my nervous system like bolts of lightning, sending waves of energy rippling through me. The stadium is packed, the seats full of fans. Nothing is better than playing against New York on Halloween.
Except maybe knowing that tonight, in one of the corporate boxes, is a woman who drives me absolutely mental. Katie has been to games before. Scott gave her and her douchebag ex-boyfriend season tickets last year when he thought Ivy would come to more games if they came with her. This isn’t the first time that she’s seen me play in the flesh.
It is, however, the first time she’s watching me play with my last name across her back.
After our kiss, caught in 4K thanks to Hollie, I watched both Katie and Ivy be ushered from the field as they closed it off for the game. Hollie followed them, and when they reached the tunnel, her assistant met them in the opening, handing Hollie a brand new jersey. I watched as Hollie ripped open the plastic and gave it to Katie.
They must have argued back and forth because I swear I saw Katie stamp her foot before she finally surrendered, took off her jacket, and pulled the jersey over her head.
I caught a glimpse of my name across her back between her long strands of blonde hair as she made her way down the tunnel. I won’t lie, the sight almost made me hard.
But Katie’s been doing that a lot lately.
Being around her has become increasingly difficult. I mean, I’m not going to stop, but it’s not been easy. I have her routine memorized and her schedule pinned in my phone. Every night, I make sure I’m downstairs by six-thirty. I pretend to be indecisive enough about dinner until she finally caves and just orders whatever she feels like, then I let her put whatever stupid renovation show she wants on and we watch it until I have to head to bed. It was something close to satisfaction when I realized she now goes to bed straight after me.
She’s here tonight watching, cheering for me.
Well, cheering for the team. I’m not naïve enough to think that she would be cheering just for me. Not yet. Soon, though. I hope.
I am still figuring out how best to befriend her again. To try and get her laughter back. God, do I miss her real laugh. Not the fake one she gives me now, but the real, whole-body laugh she had when we were in Italy. I would give anything to know what I did to have it taken away from me and what I could do to get it back.
I have a plan, though. Half a plan. Okay, the start of a plan.
It’s getting there.
“Reed, head out of your ass and catch the ball.” Coach slaps my shoulder as he passes me. He crouches in front of Scott and me, sitting on the bench and waiting for the play to turn over again.
“My head is firmly out of my ass, Coach,” I murmur, earning myself a hard look.
“Harvey, what’s with you?” I glance at Scott when he doesn’t answer right away. He and Coach have grown closer over the off-season. After Ivy’s grandfather passed away earlier this year, Coach Brady is the closest thing to family Ivy has left. He used to coach her dad in college. Ivy even calls himUncle Jeff.
“I’m good,” Scott says, but I notice that he glances up, his eyes searching. I follow his gaze and squint. I can tell where he’s looking, who he is trying to see. I’ve been throwing glances toward the same corporate box all game.
“Get your head on this field and in the game.” Coach smacks Scott’s shoulder gently. “Get Reed the fucking ball and get a fucking touchdown.”
“Yes, Coach,” Scott and I both echo.
When the play turns over and we run back out onto the field, I feel a new sense of adrenaline running through my veins. I flex my fingers and crouch in position, bouncing a little on my toes before I go completely still, waiting for the snap.
I feel, more than see, our center move, snapping the ball back to Scott, and I take off. Power pumps through my thighs, taking me along the exact route of the play Scott called. I ignore the crowd’s noise and the shouts from my teammates. The world quiets. I turn my head, my legs still pumping underneath me, catching sight of the ball soaring through the air. My feet pound into the ground, and when I outstretch my gloved hand, the ball lands easily into the center of it. I grip it, tuck it into my body, and keep running.
A New York defensive back is right on my heels, so I push harder.
When I cross the line, throwing the ball down in the end zone, the noise crashes back in. I point to the box I know Ivy and Katie are sitting in and pound on my chest. Turning, I find the nearest camera and as my teammates close in around me to celebrate an excellent play and touchdown, I throw it a wink.
***
I’ve never brought girlfriends to a game.
Sometimes, in the past, I would ask them to meet me after, either in a bar or at my place. I’ve never walked into the family area after a game and had someone I wanted to beeline to almost immediately.
Her blonde hair falls down her back, messier and more tangled than when I saw her before the game. It looks as if she has been running her fingers through it all night. Was she stressed watching me play? Or was she bored?
God, I want to ask her and find out. Even if it’s the latter, I want to know what she’s feeling. I want to know why she feels it.
I just want to know.
