Touching Down(80)

Charlie nodded, distracted by what was happening on the field. “So he’s more the Resilient Man?”

Her conclusion made me laugh and pull her a little closer so I could kiss her temple. “You can call him whatever you want, I don’t think he’ll mind.”

Charlie stood when the last of the Hawks players had been pulled from the pile. She looked like she was holding her breath for Grant to get up. But he didn’t just get up like a normal person would have. No, that would have been far too expected. Instead, he wound his arms behind his head, planted his fingers into the turf, and popped himself up. The stadium exploded yet again, making so much noise I could feel it vibrate my insides.

Charlie cheered right along with them, waving her foam finger so vigorously it started beating the neighbors around us. “Dad works for me!” she hollered at me, before cupping her hand around her mouth. “Yeah, Dad! GO, DAD!!!”

It was impossible that he could hear us above the roar, but his helmet turned toward where we were settled in the bleachers. From this distance, I couldn’t see his eyes, but I knew they were aimed our way. He lifted his thumb, giving us the sign that he was okay. After watching a few games this season where it hadn’t seemed humanly possible that he hadn’t sustained some kind of serious injury, he’d suggested he flash a thumbs-up toward wherever we were in the stands so we’d know he was good.

After the ordeal in the owner’s box, Charlie and I had been sitting out here with the rest of the fans ever since. Grant was still nervous about it, but he always arranged to have a mini security detail staggered in the seats around us. Out of the eight games Charlie and I had made it to, nothing had happened to warrant security intervention though. Unless you counted the danger we were to our clothing. Plus, Charlie and I usually came with friends or sat with other family members of the players.

Tonight’s game was a special one. The big one—the game every player dreamed of playing at least once in their careers. This was Grant’s second time playing the big game, and from the looks of the scoreboard, it was going to be his first time winning it.

“You should be the Invincible Woman,” Charlie said after we took our seats again. For a whole thirty seconds until the next time we had to leap up and cheer or shout or cringe or whatever the next play called for.

“I can’t catch a football to save my life.” I twirled the ends of her ponytail around my finger and shrugged. Charlie had been throwing a better spiral than me from the age of five.

“Yeah, but you get up no matter what.” Her head turned from the game for quite possibly the very first time since kick-off, a smile on her face.

My chest warmed as I leaned closer. “Isn’t that more the Resilient Woman?”

Her dark eyes twinkled as her head shook. “No, I like the idea of you being invincible more.”

I kissed Charlie on the tip of the nose. “Me too.” I kissed her once more. “The Invincible Woman it is.”

Charlie leaned her head onto my shoulder for a minute, and the weight of the moment hit me. Half a year ago, I’d felt alone, scared, helpless, and next to hopeless. I didn’t know what would happen to my daughter when I became too sick to care for her, I didn’t know how to tell her that I was sick, and I didn’t know what to do about my disease other than let it have its way with me.

Six months later and everything had changed. Everything. My daughter would be taken care of, well loved, no matter what. She knew that I was sick, and despite her seemingly daily questions about HD, she’d accepted it better than I ever could have hoped. And despite this disease having no cure, I wasn’t about to let it just do what it wanted to me. I wasn’t resolved to letting it take me away from myself, one day at a time. I was fighting it with anything and everything possible. I wasn’t going to roll over when I was so much stronger on my feet, fighting back.

“What did I miss?” Dr. Patel, aka Ravi, asked as he squeezed past Charlie and me to get to his seat, his hands and arms loaded with food and drink.

When I noticed a camera on the field aimed our way, I gave a cheesy smile and waved, moving Charlie’s foam finger in front of her face at the same time. Grant had announced in a press conference that Charlie was his daughter, and he’d requested that the media and fans remember that she was a seven-year-old girl and not a headline. Surprisingly, most of them honored this. A few needed a foam finger reminder every now and again.

“Pretty much a whole quarter.” Charlie motioned up at the scoreboard where the last few minutes of the fourth were winding to an end.