Page 44 of The Game Plan

There are clusters of Newton fans in the crowds, huddled under warm blankets and so many layers, their features too fuzzy to make out. I know my family is out there somewhere. I wonder if she’s here, if she made it to the game. If she stayed.

We lose, 17-49. It’s a somber group that troops back to the locker room. Greg claps me on the shoulder.

“You okay, man?”

I never told him about O’Rourke. I haven’t told anyone. As far as I’m concerned, what happened stays between me and O’Rourke and his buddies. And now, whoever took that video and sent it to Coach.

“Just great,” I tell him, heading to my locker. Taking off my jersey and pads, I head towards the shower. Maybe the warm spray will help.

It doesn’t.

There’s a routine to game day. Whether we win or lose, we still need to shower, we still get our protein shakes. We get dressed with decidedly less enthusiasm than we do after an epic win.

My phone vibrates on the locker shelf, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I don’t want to put on a smile and play nice for my family right now. I don’t want to stand there and listen to my aunts tell me how much I’ve grown and my uncles pick apart all the things I did wrong.

It’s not my family, though.

It’s Sam.

I’m sorry it didn’t go your way, the text says.You’ll get them next time. I’ll be cheering for you every step of the way.

Jogging out of the tunnel, I take in the sparse collection of friends and family gathered to commiserate with us. There are a half dozen people I recognize, teammates’ parents and girlfriends who come to every game.

She’s there.

I hardly notice my family and friends gathered in a circle a few feet away. Sam’s here. She came.

“Hey, big guy,” she says, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. “Fancy meeting you here.”

I swallow back the emotions threatening to burst out of me. “You’re here.”

“I told you I would be.”

“Your friends?”

“They’re around here somewhere. We’re meeting at the diner across the street in ten minutes.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

She worries her bottom lip with her teeth. “I, um, I wanted to see you. After your game.”

“Why?”

“Because I—um, well—” She swallows, throws back her shoulders. “There’s a video going around. And I have a feeling it has to do with why you weren’t playing in the second half.”

Surging forward, I close the distance between us. My hand cups her cheek, and she leans into the contact.

“Miles…”

I cover her mouth with mine. I don’t know what I’m doing. This is all instinctive.

Her lips part on an exhale, and she melts into me. Her hand slides from my chest to the back of my neck, anchoring me to her. I couldn’t let her go if I wanted to.

Sam deepens the kiss, her tongue coming out to tangle with mine. My hand moves from her cheek to her hair, my fingers tangling in her loose braid. She lets out a whine against my lips.

“I don’t care about the video,” I lie.

“I do. You could—”

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