Page 57 of Nothing Less Than Everything

TATUM

“Welcome back to Good Morning USA,” Paula, the host began. She was a Puerto Rican woman who got her start in evening news. Her tone was way too chipper for my liking. “Right before the break we showed a clip from the Rhode Island versus Tennessee football game yesterday where something shocking happened. A player careened off the field and collided with a cheerleader. The whole thing was caught on camera and went viral in minutes. Joining us now is Rhode Island Red Cocks wide receiver, T.J. Bryant Jr., and the Lady in Red herself, Wren Porter.”

As the studio audience applauded, the camerawoman shuffled backward, pulling the shot away from Paula, revealing Wren and I sitting catty cornered to her.

“Well, good morning, you two!” Paula said with the fake cheer that came from crunching espresso beans straight instead of drinking coffee. “We’re so excited to have you both here to discuss the tackle heard ‘round the world.”

Wren and I faked subdued laughs of amusement and said good mornings in unison.

“Well, let’s start with you, Wren,” she began. “How are you feeling after having this guy run into you on the sidelines?”

Wren flashed her brilliant fifty-yard-line smile and let out a melodic laugh. “I’m feeling quite a bit better today than I did yesterday, that’s for sure! I pity the other teams in our conference this season. Our defense is a stone wall, and yesterday I got a first-hand account on what it feels like to take on the offense! These boys mean business when they’re on the field!”

She had the audience eating out of the palm of her hand. I was impressed at how easily she steered the conversation away from her and back onto the team.

“Now, when T.J. tackled you—” she motioned to me— “you hit the ground and said something before passing out—let’s take a moment and watch the clip that has captivated viewers around the globe. For those of you who are just now tuning in, we are joined by Reds wide receiver, T.J. Bryant Jr., and cheerleader, Wren Porter. Let’s watch.”

All eyes turned to the projection screen behind us as the viral video played—emotional music and all. Gasps of shock rippled through the crowd as I tackled Wren. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see outside the studio where the live broadcast was being displayed on a Times Square billboard. Wren looked absolutely breathtaking. I wanted to drape my arm around her shoulder and trail my fingers along her bare arm. I wanted to place my hand on her thigh. I wanted to hold her hand.

But I couldn’t. We couldn’t.

The video cut to me catching Wren’s head and the two of us landing, chest to chest on the turf. I watched with the rest of America as Wren whispered my name. I could still hear it when I closed my eyes. Her breathless, “Tatum”, drowned out the roar of the stadium. Her delicate eyelids closed, and I rolled to my knees to shout for a medic.

I didn’t want to admit it to Wren, but when I finally left her apartment and went back to my place, I watched the video on loop until I fell asleep.

“Wow, T.J.,” Paula said. “You just had a very visceral reaction to seeing that.”

It dawned on me that I had hunched over, laced my hands together, and was holding them in an iron grip to keep from touching Wren. To keep from reassuring myself that she was okay.

As relaxed as I could, I sat back and nodded. “It’s not a scenario that I ever imagined happening,” I admitted.

“You were worried about her,” Paula extrapolated.

I couldn’t deny it, but I couldn’t admit the real reason I was terrified. “I know what it feels like to take a hit like that. I know the damage that it can do to someone’s body—and that’s in full pads. We take every precaution on the field to play a safe game, but there are some things you can’t account for.” For the first time since we sat in the interview chairs, I turned and looked at Wren. “I’m just glad she’s okay.”

The audience swooned as Wren smiled softly back at me. Even through the studio lights, I could see the blush painting her cheeks. Unspoken feelings pulsed between us, coalescing in an intimate connection that had been solidified by the last twenty-four hours.

“Before we started this segment, that video had been viewed over one-hundred million times. Now, I’m going to ask the question that everyone has been dying to know. Right before you hit the ground, Wren, T.J. caught the back of your head and you said something to him that none of the cameras caught.” Paula leaned in to get the juicy details. “What did you say to T.J. when you hit the ground?”

Shit.

Wren laughed. “I said his name. I think I was in shock. One minute I was dancing with the Ladies on the sidelines, and the next I’m on the ground. It all happened so fast. The video paints a very different picture than what it felt like. For me, it was a split second crash, and then I was waking up in the care of the Reds’ medical team.”

“The video certainly shows some serious chemistry,” Paula pushed the topic with an exaggerated wink. She leaned in closer to Wren as if they were old friends and I was simply a pile of chopped liver dumped into a chair. “Just between us ladies, did he ask for your number, Wren?”

Wren wasn’t fazed in the slightest. She laughed and took a sip of water from the Good Morning USA mug to her left. “He didn’t,” she said. I was impressed at how easily she lied. Though it wasn’t technically a lie. Technically, I already had her number. “But he did bring me the game ball after the game ended. It was a sweet gesture from the team. I’ve cheered for the Red Cocks for five seasons now and it has always felt like one big Rhode Island football family.”

Since Wren didn’t play ball, Paula turned her inquisition to me. “Alright, T.J. I’m giving you your shot. Just pretend like millions of people aren’t watching. Anything you want to ask Wren?”

I knew she was fishing, but I wasn’t playing her game. At least, not the way she expected. I turned to Wren, and she mirrored my posture. Wren narrowed her eyes, as if silently asking what I was up to.

Deciding to make a show of it, I opened my hand and Wren, blindly trusting me, slid her palm into mine. “Wren Porter. Would you…” I paused for dramatic effect. The studio was deadly silent. Everyone waited anxiously for me to ask her on a date. “Consider teaching Theo Jackson how to take a tackle, because you took that hit like a pro and I think our offensive line could learn a thing or two from you.”

She let out a loud, rich laugh that was drowned out by the howl of the audience. Even Paula had tears in her eyes.

“In all seriousness,” I continued. “I have so much respect for what Wren and the rest of the Ladies in Red do for our organization. They don’t just cheer for us every Sunday. They support the troops on USO tours, visit children’s hospitals in conjunction with the Reds’ charitable foundation, and they raise money for some worthy causes every season. They are so much more than just cheerleaders. Wren and every one of the ladies that work alongside the team make Rhode Island football the powerhouse that it is. I’m looking forward to the first of many great seasons in Providence.

The camerawoman signaled that time was running out. Paula pressed her hands together. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Thank you, Wren and T.J. for joining us this morning and we wish you both a great season.”

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