The rest of the drive is clockwork. A short pass to McCormick on second down. A handoff to long-haired Harlan, and then the bastard shows off his quicksilver feet, darting, dodging, and taking the ball right into the end zone.
It’s a beautiful start, and I high-five him.
Our defense holds them to three, but when we get the ball again, their line nearly mows us down, and we barely get into field position. But we manage, and when Einstein spits out his bubblegum, he sends the ball soaring thirty-seven yards between the goalposts.
I bump fists with him when he comes off the field, grab some water, and watch the defense. Greenhaven glances my way and gives me a nod.
I can’t decipher what that means, and I decide to stop trying.
I stop thinking about everything I can’t control. Violet’s feelings. My job situation. Ford’s state of mind. Trent’s potential reaction. Where I’ll be next year. The one thing I can control is what happens on the gridiron, and when we get the ball back, I am in the zone. Namely, the end zone.
Twice.
As the team trots to the locker room at halftime, I’m one of the last guys to head inside. I’m keenly aware that someone’s right behind me, and that gruff-voiced someone determines my future.
“Cooper.”
It’s Greenhaven. He takes two big strides to catch up, and we walk side by side through the tunnel. “Did I ever tell you the story of how I met my wife?”
“No, sir.”
“I met Emily at a barbecue thirty years ago, when I’d first started with Phoenix. I wore a team jersey. As I flipped a burger on the grill, she asked if I was a Phoenix fan.”
I look at him, waiting for him to continue.
“She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Know what I told her?”
“No, sir.”
“I told her I was an assistant coach on the team.”
I furrow my brow. If memory serves, he wasn’t the assistant coach thirty years ago. Assistant coach is a key position, one he worked his way up to. But that wasn’t how he’d started. “You weren’t, though, right?”
He shakes his head as we walk, our footsteps echoing. “Not in the least. Know what my job really was?”
“What was it, sir?”
“I was the assistant to the coach,” he says with a lopsided grin.
I dare to let a smile spread on my face, since there’s a world of difference between an assistant coach and the assistant to the coach. “Is that so?”
“Have I mentioned how pretty she was?”
“I believe you did.”
“But she was more than pretty. She stole my heart. I think that’s why Emily forgave me when I admitted on our second date that I’d fibbed,” he says as we reach the inside corridor of the stadium. He stops and clasps my upper arm. “I appreciate your candor. And I value it, Cooper.”
Then he strides into the locker room, where he gives his halftime speech to keep it up, and that’s exactly what we do.
We’re on fire the rest of the game, scoring a field goal and two more touchdowns. A calm, focused energy fills me with each drive. When the clock ticks to nothing at the end of the fourth quarter, the Renegades erupt with elation because we fucking made it to the playoffs.
Holy shit.
That’s when the emotions explode. That’s when exhilaration overwhelms me. We punch the air. We hug it out. We shout and hoot and holler. There’s still so much more work to be done, but for now, I let myself enjoy this moment, even though I can’t believe we pulled this off. Three years of warming the bench, a terrible start to the season, and here in late December on enemy territory, we’re celebrating a wild-card spot and a kickass record.
Later, when the cameras stop rolling and the cheers die down, there’s one person I want to call first.
32
I call my mom.
Obviously.
Who else would I call first?
She’s the reason I’m here. She’s the reason I have a chance at the post-season. She’s done everything for me.
“Hey, Mom, if I win the Super Bowl, want me to get you another house?”
She screams in excitement, so loudly I pull the phone from my ear. Then, she laughs. “Just a new Coach handbag and my favorite Chinese food, please. And I knew you’d make it to the post-season, sweetie. I just knew it.”
“Funny how a lot of people say that, but you actually said that when I was seven,” I say as I make my way toward the stadium exit, pressing the phone closer again.
“And eight, and nine, and ten, and so on. When will I see you again?”
“I’m heading back tonight. I can try to stop by tomorrow, but it’s a tight week since we’re the Thursday night game of the week.”