Crumbling the note into a ball, I toss it toward the recycling bin, noting that at least I’m doing something to save our planet for future generations.
I let Pancho out, and then make my way into our bathroom to change. It takes me just a second to spot the dry-erase marker on my mirror. Ha! He must be feeling guilty for being an asshole.
Then, I read what he wrote. “P.S. The Mercedes dealership was given firm instructions that the car cannot be returned, so don’t get any ideas.”
“Bastard,” I mumble under my breath as my lips quirk up into a smile.
“P.P.S. Christen it before the baby arrives. Notice not a question.” Then he drew a damn smiley face.
I throw my hands up in the air. I’ve been beaten at my own game. Except if he thinks that I’m getting rid of my cute little red Mercedes, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve decided to refer to the new tank as the baby’s car. Whomever is lucky enough to chauffer our child can drive it. Ha! That should be a good fight when football season is over.
Chapter Five
Colin
Chaos bombards my mind. All I can see is a swirl of whites, greys, and greens. The roar of the crowd is so deafening that I can no longer distinguish a single word; all I can hear is high-pitched yelling. I sink down to the aluminum bench and shut my eyes, dropping my head, fighting desperately to get a hold of myself. There’s a camera trained on me right now, capturing every movement that I make. There always is. Even that realization doesn’t shake this off. I just need a fucking minute.
Someone puts a baseball hat on my head. I don’t bother to look up and see who it is. There seems to be a constant sting of slaps on my back and shoulders—I barely feel them. They just magnify the chaotic, out-of-control feelings threatening to overwhelm me. I don’t deserve this. Just getting Charlie back and having her pregnant with our baby was enough. I can’t have all of this goodness. When I do open my eyes, I focus on my right leg. What a fucking crazy fourteen months. I would like to say that I never doubted getting to this moment after the “break seen around the world,” but that would be a lie. Oh! I’ll probably say exactly that when there’s a microphone shoved in my face.
This is so surreal. I’ve dreamt of this moment since I knew that I was better-than-average at throwing a football. I envisioned this moment a million times in my head. But, never, ever did I have even a fraction of a clue of how amazing it could be. I just threw the Super Bowl winning touchdown. Little boys across the country pretend that they’re doing just that daily. I actually did it.
“McKinney, come on. They’re about to present the trophy. They need you,” one of the assistants yells to me. He’s the one who I asked to keep my ring for me. If we actually did win the Super Bowl, I didn’t want to hold the trophy without wearing my wedding ring.
I pick my head up and nod, stretching my left hand towards him. He unzips the pocket on his athletic pants and fishes out my wedding ring. I slide it on with a pang of sadness that Charlie can’t be on the field with me right now.
Standing up, I slip a T-shirt that someone hands me over my sweat-soaked jersey. A camera follows me through the crowd of players, staff, cheerleaders, reporters, fans, maybe—I’m not sure. Who the fuck are all of these people? I feel like a fighter being escorted through a rabid crowd to the boxing ring. Shouldn’t “Eye of the Tiger” be playing?
I make my way up the steps of the platform that’s been assembled rather quickly where the commissioner of football is waiting, our team owner, president, GM, Coach, offensive and defensive coordinators, Ty – my best friend on the team, a couple of my receivers, my center, and a couple of the guys on defense.
Apparently, they’ve been waiting for me to begin the presentation of the trophy. The reporter asks me a question first. “Tell me, Colin, what does this win mean to you?”
I smile at this question. “What a season.”
Cheers and screams bombard my ears. This has been as close to a rags-to-riches season as possible. We struggled early on. My leg wasn’t one-hundred percent starting the season. I didn’t have total confidence in my line to protect me. My receivers didn’t have faith that I was going to get them the ball. But every game we got better. Every Sunday, we seemed to gel more as a team. When offense was struggling, defense stepped up. When defense was getting their asses handed to them, offense became resolved to just have to score more points. Perfect season this was not. Hell, we were a wild card team going into the playoffs. No, the season wasn’t pretty.
But we found a way to win. The boys standing next to me up here, and the ones whose faces I can see in the crowd played their fucking hearts out. Around week seven it was decided; this is our year, and not finding a way to this spot wasn’t an option.