Page 66 of Red Zone Realizations
I wink at him. “We’ll work on it!” I turn from the car and start heading toward the stadium with a wave. I’m not sure what he does while I’m at the game. Maybe he reads or even runs by his mom’s. She apparently lives not far from here and he has easily four hours to kill. But you know what they say,Houston is an hour away from Houston. Maybe he reclines the seat and takes a nap?
I turn the corner in the concrete and cinder block hallway and find Lydia in our usual spot. “Hey, Lydia!”
“Good to see you!”
“You too! Too many away games in a row.”
She waves her hand. “Don’t I know it.”
“It’s good to be back.” We walk side by side toward the field to an area where I can see Noah before the game starts. I smile to myself thinking about how lost and overwhelmed I was the first time I came to a home game a few months ago. Crazy to think that I had no idea what it would be like, or how at ease I would come to feel. The first time I was here, I had to follow behind Lydia, not sure where I was going. Now, I walk in step with her, my cowboy boots clacking against the floor. It’s surprisingly hard to find an outfit in theme for every game. Today, I’m wearing a jean skirt, my boots, and Noah’s jersey tied up in the back. I’m really embracing my Texan side. Feels appropriate, all things considered. You’d think in October it would be too cold for skirts, but I remember Christmases where it was too hot for jeans.
I’m never prepared for the feeling that stepping on the field gives me. I think it’s hard to tell how massive a stadium is on TV. The field seems to go on forever. If it were the horizon, you’d never find the end of it. The din of everyone moving and talking hums behind warm-up music blasting. I’m a little early, so Noah is still sitting under the goal post, cross-legged with headphones on. Press photos flash around us, and some of the WAGs who are more social media-minded have their phones out taking video. I’m sure I could do some of that and bring attention to my business, but I’m not there yet. It seemslike we just got things ironed out. I want clients to come to me naturally, not because I’m attached to Noah.
My stomach flutters when Noah gets up and his eyes land on me. He jogs over, helmet in hand. His normal stature is inflated by his gear, making him tower over me more than usual. I’m sure the spikes on his cleats give him a few extra inches, too, but the pads on his shoulders make him as wide as a boulder. I’m a little dizzy being on the field, looking up at the height of the stadium ceiling. It feels like an ant wandering around under a magnifying glass.
“Hey, babe.” He kisses me and I can feel the adrenaline buzzing through his lips. It soaks into me, and I embrace it like I can take some of it on for him.
“Hi, how are you?” I keep my hands thrown over his shoulders, holding him close. “Did you get all your warmups done?” I know he has a very detailed routine. Some of the other guys do too. Mack eats one singular sweet potato fry the night before. He said he did it one time in college, and they went on an eight-game winning streak, so he never stopped.
“Much better now that you’re here. I’m afraid you’re part of my pregame warmup now and I’ll suck if I don’t see you before every game.”
I giggle like a schoolgirl, flattered. “Are you asking me to go to every away game?”
“If you want to? Or you could just FaceTime me before?”
“I think we can make something happen.”
I fear something is already happening. So much so that I can’t say no to anything he asks me for.
Chapter Thirty-Five
NOAH
The stadium is buzzing for the high-stakes game. I can feel the ground rumbling beneath my cleats in response. Today we’re playing our AFC rivals, the Griffons. The season is already close to over. We are starting to back ourselves into a must-win position. The race for playoffs is on. We’ve been heating up, and tonight I think we might be on fire.
Sports broadcasters are already talking about the ways that the cookie has to crumble to get us in the playoffs. Right now, we’re fighting for our lives to get a wildcard spot. We won’t have any homefield advantage or playoff byes, but we don’t need them. We just need a chance, and at seven and four we might have one.
The Griffons are one loss behind us and they’re getting desperate. Everyone knows if they don’t come home with something this year, their head coach is getting canned. That’s the way it works in football. Each head coach has a couple years to make something happen (or have a good excuse why it didn’t) and keep their job. Without a championship, SuperBowl, or winning record to show, their ass is grass. Players aren’t much different either.
We need this win to propel us into the off-season schedule.
So it’s about to be a bloodbath.
Chapter Thirty-Six
AUDREY
When the door to the box opens, I’m hit by the sounds and smells. Family and friends of the team talking and laughing, music playing while the team finishes warming up on the field far below. My mouth waters a little at the smell of the food. Spinach and artichoke dip with crackers and bread sit next to big metal warmers filled with fried chicken and waffles. Looks like they’ve got a little brunch theme going on since this is a noon game. A huge, stainless-steel espresso machine sits behind the bar, and I make a beeline to it.
“Hi, Katie! One small hazelnut oat milk latte, please.”
While she works on my coffee, I look around, seeing who’s already here. Most people are carrying a drink already, a mix between coffees, waters, and mimosas. I look through the windows to the left side of the private stands where my now usual seat is located and spot my girlfriends already there. Having a “usual spot” here feels just as normal to me now as the one I have at Big Power Yoga.
I wrap my hands around the coffee cup, thankful for both its warmth and its comforting smell. I weave througheveryone and smile at my friends who are already settled into the seats. I do the awkward dance of dodging feet and legs while sitting in a chair with your hands full of stuff. “Hey, guys!” Chrissy and Nash are balancing plates of food on their knees, chatting and eating. They turn their bright eyes and blinding smiles on me. “Good morning, Audrey!”
“How are y'all this morning?” I don’t have an accent, despite living in Texas my entire life, but I do have use for all the southern slang. The girls nod their heads.
“Good,” Nash says.
