At half-time, it was three to two, and I was nearly hoarse from shouting. Becks had scored two of those goals, Ash the other. Mom was back down there with the Kents, the brothers waving their arms around expressively, most likely reliving Chariot’s best moments. There were certainly plenty to choose from.
“Dang, Spitz.” Hooker elbowed me in the side. “He’s like a man possessed.”
I grinned proudly. Possessed wasn’t the word. In the last play, Becks had done Rick Smythe’s job, blocking the goal with his body, the ball rebounding off his chest. Phenomenon would’ve been more accurate.
“Becks is the best,” I said, smiling. “There’s no one better.”
“Ugh, spare me.” She made a face, leaning back against Cicero. He wrapped an arm around her, discussing that last block with the guy sitting behind him. “If you love him so much what was all that stuff at Mercedes’s house? I thought it was over between you two.”
“It is,” I mumbled, wishing I hadn’t said anything. Hooker was watching me carefully, her gaze too direct. I was worried if she looked close enough she’d see the pain I’d worked so hard to keep hidden.
“You don’t sound so sure, Spitz,” she countered. “If things weren’t over, I’d have a few things to say. Number one would definitely be that you and Becks are acting like a couple of first-class idiots. Why can’t you just tell him—”
Jumping to my feet, I decided it might be time for a bathroom break. She was obviously about to tell me all the reasons I should confess to Becks. Been there, done that. My heart still hadn’t healed from the first time. The line to the ladies’ room would be long, a welcome escape from Hooker’s prying eyes.
They’d said there was going to be a special treat at half-time, but I had no desire to see it. That is until Becks stepped out onto the field, carrying a microphone, Ash on his heels, Clayton lugging a chair behind him. The sight of the trio was so unexpected I lowered slowly back into my seat, ignoring Hooker’s exclamation of, “This is it? What a lame excuse for entertainment.”
I didn’t know it then, but she couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Hey everyone,” Becks said, voice echoing over the loudspeakers. “Enjoying the game so far?”
The words were met with a loud roar of applause and a couple of boos. Naturally, those came from the Broughton side.
“Yeah, me, too.” Becks exaggerated wiping sweat off his brow and being out of breath, like he’d really been working hard—which he had. The crowd laughed. “You all are probably wondering what I’m doing out here.”
“Yeah,” Ollie hollered, “what the hell are you doing, Becks?”
That got a few snickers. I watched as Leo pulled him back down, smacked him in the head, and then moved my eyes back to Becks. What the heck’s he doing? I wondered. He should’ve been using this time to rest and recharge. Instead he was out here showboating for the fans.
“Good question, Ollie, and I’m about to tell you.” Becks grinned as the crowd grew silent, waiting to hear what he’d say next. “Everyone knows I’m a little superstitious. The proof’s right here,” he said, pointing, “on my face. But sometimes you got to risk something if you want to get a better return.”
Murmurs went up as Becks sat down in the chair, and Ash pulled a razor out his pocket, holding it up so everyone could see.
My hands went to my lips, realizing just what he intended to do.
“What is it?” Hooker said, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Spitz, you alright?”
I hardly knew. He wouldn’t…would he?
“Don’t do it, Becks! Don’t do it!” one fan cried.
Searching up and down the rows, Becks met my eyes, our gazes locking, mine shocked, his determined. His mic caught the words and threw them out for all to hear, but the words were really for my ears.
“This one’s for you, Sal.”
Someone gasped—or a whole bunch of someones actually. I might’ve been one of them. Next thing I knew, Clayton had lathered Becks’s cheeks and chin, making sure to cover the entire lower area of his face. Ash moved in after him, leaning down to do the honors.
Before he made the first stoke, Ash spoke into the microphone. “And the idiot’s letting me do it just to prove how serious he is. Don’t fall for it, Spitz. Call me instead.”
Ash’s invitation went in one ear out the other. I was too focused on the so-called idiot I loved.
Becks got shaved right there, any luck that might’ve been in that beard falling away with each scrape of blade on skin. It took less than five minutes, but the whole time the crowd seemed to hold its collective breath. When it was done, Becks stood up and pounded Ash on the back like guys do sometimes, and The Whip returned the gesture.