30 - Fallon
~ 30 ~
FALLON
I didn’t know why they called it the Wagon Wheel game until I saw the trophy. The rivalry between our school and Eastern New Mexico University had gone on for three and half decades, with the Buffaloes and the Greyhounds battling for possession of the crazy-looking giant wheel. They traded it back and forth throughout the years like some prized possession, with the fans taking the battle every bit as seriously as the players did.
As a result, the crowd was whipped into an absolute frenzy. I could barely hear my own voice, cheering loudly as the players ran onto the field, much less the little voice of Joshua sitting next to me, his little hands clamped over his ears.
“Will there be popcorn?”
I nodded and smiled down at him. I had no idea whether there would be popcorn, though.
“When?”
I pretended not to hear him, instead taking in the breathtaking sights and sounds of the rip-roaring stadium. There were only a few games left, but none of them would be like this. This was the pinnacle. The very top. Unless the team made the playoffs, this would likely be the end of a very long road for most of the seniors, down on the field.
I glanced over to where Mr. Marshall stood at rapt attention, beaming down with a father’s pride. His tears were joyful, but they were also nostalgic. I could only imagine his journey; from the first beautiful green morning he took his little toddler to sign up for little league football, to the day he watched him run out of the tunnel, a full-grown man, about to lead his team to victory. There was a solid chance Dalton went on to be scouted, recruited, and would ultimately — as they so often dreamed — star in the NFL.
But there was also the chance that this, right here, was the end of the line.
The man looked weighed down by the depth of a thousand happy memories, and it brought tears to my own eyes. But a tug on my arm caused me to wipe them away.
“Hey!” Morgan shouted, cupping a hand to her mouth. “Trey wants you!”
I looked to the field. Sure enough Trey was down there, holding his helmet, motioning me to the sidelines.
I bounced my way down, and pushed to the front. Once there, Trey lifted me from my feet and kissed me full on the lips, spinning me in a complete circle before setting me down on the turf.
“For luck,” he winked.
I was still beaming as he pulled on his helmet and turned away. But before I could do anything else—
“I’ll take a little of that.”
Dalton scooped me into his arms, dipped me, and kissed me — all in one motion. The surrounding crowd, many of whom were watching the star quarterback, let up a resounding cheer.
I turned bright red from all the attention. Dalton patted me on the rump, much the same way he might do to his teammates, then spun off toward the home bench. He passed Emerson, who was sitting slumped over, his head down, his helmet on the ground between his feet.
Before heading back to my seat I skipped over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the tight end didn’t even flinch.
“What’s wrong?”
“My father is here,” he said sullenly, without looking up.
“I know, I just came from his section. He’s right up ther—”
“No, not him.” Emerson’s chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “My biological father.”
The gravity with which he spoke the words made my whole body shiver.
“The guy with the cane?”
Emerson turned to look at me quizzically. “How did you know that he—”
“I saw you yesterday, in the cafeteria,” I explained. “And he’s here? Right now?”
He pointed, and I slid to the bench alongside him, heedless of the sea of players, coaches, and staff. Following his finger, deep in the crowd, I eventually saw.
“Sitting next to him,” I swallowed, squinting. “Is that—”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “He’s my brother. Half-brother, anyway.”
“Half?” I shook my head. “C’mon, none of that bullshit. He’s your brother, Emerson. Every bit as much as Jack Marshall is, and always will be, your father.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Alright.”
I slid an arm around him, not caring what it might’ve looked like. I could feel the layers of protective padding beneath his jersey.
“He’s your little brother and he looks up to you. He worships you even, from what I overheard when he showed up at the house that day.”
With gentle fingers, I tilted his face upward. Through the swirl of motion and the blaring of the band, I captured those emerald green eyes with mine.
“No matter what your father did,” I pointed, “ that kid never wronged you.”
“I… I Know.”
“So play for him, ” I told him. “If you don’t want to play for your father, that’s okay. But play your heart out for your little brother. Play for Dalton, and Trey, and the rest of your team.” Bending forward, I smiled and kissed him. “And me.”
Emerson reached for his helmet as I went back to the stands. He stared at me for a while, though. The national started up, and the crowd leapt to its feet. It ended in another near-deafening cheer, as the players ran out to their positions for the kickoff.
That’s when I noticed Lisa Marshall, staring at me. And she wasn’t alone. Other people were staring and pointing, as well. And then I knew.
Oh … fuck.
Kissing all three guys at home had been one thing. But doing it right on the field, in full view of everyone, including Dalton and Emerson’s parents?
Well, that seemed to be quite another.