Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Mia
To say I was excited to go to the opening game of the Militia’s season would have been like saying a kid felt okay waking up Christmas morning.
Denise picked me up because she had a special parking pass for the VIP lot and we would arrive an hour early.
Even so, I had paced around my living room drinking coffee all morning, watching NFL Network and pregame shows, working myself up into a football fan frenzy.
With my Tate Fontanna jersey on—a gift from him sent over yesterday morning—and temporary tattoos of the Boston Militia logo on my cheeks, a jeans skirt and Sketcher slip-ons, I was ready to go well before Denise arrived.
She’d called from her car out front so I ran down and jumped in with my small bag and a sign I’d prepared rolled up into a tube.
“Look at you, all decked out like a true fan.” She laughed at me. She wore her number eleven Wyatt jersey and white jeans, but she had no tattoos and no banners anywhere I could see. I tossed mine into the back seat.
“You’re driving Gabe’s car,” I said. His Escalade.
“Sure. Why not? He got a ride with Hunter and Cat to the stadium earlier.”
“Hunter Quintanna?”
“Don’t go all fangirl on me now. What’s with you? You act like you’re now just realizing who we’re dating.”
“I’m not dating anyone,” I said, not sure why I needed to make the distinction. Maybe because she had a four-year relationship with Gabe and I had had less than four dates with Tate. It hardly seemed comparable.
“Sure you are. Not that I’d wish it on my best friend, but there are perks to dating an NFL player and today is one of them.
We’ll get VIP treatment, as if we’re celebrities or something.
TV cameras on us, fans staring, sometimes I’ve even had young men ask for my autograph.
As if.” Denise laughed as she drove, the navigator telling her where to turn.
“If you say so, but that’s not what I’m excited about, Denise.
Unlike you, I love football. Adore it. I’m excited to watch the game, super excited to have people on the team to cheer for.
It makes the stakes higher than ever, sends my emotional investment in our win through the roof.
” I looked at her as she focused on the traffic, realizing how little she cared.
Realizing how foreign to me her attitude was. I waved a hand. “Never mind.”
“I get it. I don’t feel the same way, but I understand,” she said. “I’d have preferred if Gabe was a professional golfer if he had to be a professional athlete. But either way, I really wish he had more time for me.”
The sadness in her voice tugged at me. It was genuine and a rare vulnerable moment for Denise. She hated being vulnerable, always played the part of super competent, super in control, superwoman. I reached over and touched her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Denise. It’s not forever. Football careers are the shortest of all professional athletes.”
She snorted and then got that thoughtful dangerous look like she was scheming something. I knew her too well.
“What?” I said.
“Do me a favor?”
A red flag of nerves told me I should say no, but I had no right. She’d been there for me when my father died. Besides, how bad could it be? I was already playing her watchdog.
“You know I will.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate.” She kept her eyes on the traffic, but she put a hand over mine and at the same time trepidation rose like yesterday’s bad meal. A well of sympathy overshadowed it because I could clearly see my best friend was hurting.
A few beats went by, but I didn’t prompt her, just squeezed her hand back.
She finally asked me her favor and it put me in shock, the kind where I had to immediately push it aside, push aside the knowledge that I’d agreed to do it, and especially push aside the guilt that deep down I wanted to do it.
We drove the rest of the way listening to the radio. She let me tune in the pregame show, accusing me of acting a lot like her little brother. I didn’t care. My nerves were hyped like I’d drunk a gallon of espresso.
When we pulled into the stadium past the lot, the sight of an endless stretch of cars and tailgaters eating and drinking and tossing footballs tugged at me. I was almost disappointed we weren’t joining them.
“Don’t worry. We’ll go to the VIP lounge for our pregame refreshments. Inside a nice air-conditioned place on this hot day.” She patted my leg and gave me a smirk.
“Am I underdressed?”
“No, you’re perfect. Look at me—we’re a pair. We’re the girlfriends. We can wear whatever we want and fit in.”
“Will Gabe’s family be there?”
“They’re tailgating outside. Mrs. Wyatt loves to cook.” Denise rolled her eyes.
“She’s not disappointed that we’re not joining them?”
Denise waved a hand. “Don’t worry. We’ll be spending plenty of time with them at the game. Their seats are with ours.” She pressed her lips together, then added, “Plenty of time to bond.”
There’s no way I should have had to practically drag Denise out of the VIP lounge, with her drink in hand, running and laughing though we were, to get to our seats as the Star-Spangled Banner cued up and people were already standing hands over hearts.
To say I was embarrassed as we slunk to our seats, luckily at the end of the row, with Gabe’s family, would have been an understatement.
As it was, she made me go first, so I ended up sitting next to Gabe’s younger sister, Annalee.
I immediately apologized, even before I said hello, reintroducing myself.
But as soon as the anthem got into full swing with the crowd singing along and the fireworks shooting off, the electricity of the game sparked me, giving me that carbonated feeling in my gut, the heart-hammering excitement that I usually only got in the emergency room when an ambulance came in hot, or when I was in bed with a hot guy—which admittedly hadn’t been recently.
But I was a true fan and it had been a while since I’d been to a game in person.
They said the NFL wasn’t as exciting as college football, but the crackling air, the noise and anticipation that stimulated me like pins and needles, felt a lot like the games at Auburn.
Except then I’d been on the field cheering in my skimpy outfit and having a ball.
It was funny that I hadn’t minded being part of the squad.
Maybe because we weren’t the main attraction I didn’t feel the attention rose to the level of uncomfortable.
When the Militia took the field, electing to go on offense, I jumped up and down and clapped before Denise reached over and subdued me.
“Simmer down on the enthusiasm, buttercup. Sure we’re expected to support our team, but going overboard is unseemly,” she said, pulling on my arm, forcing me to sit. Annalee stood and clapped and laughed when I’d jumped u up, but she sat now too, so I relented.
“I’m in my element, Denise. You’re going to have to put up with some enthusiasm today.”
She rolled her eyes, grinned, and lifted her drink in a salute.
On the edge of my seat, yelling and screaming alongside Annalee while Denise clapped in a ladylike way pretending to be horrified by us, by the time the first quarter ended and the game was tied 3-3, I needed a break in the tension.
“I could use a drink. How about you, Annalee?”
She nodded and I turned to Denise.
“If you haven’t noticed,” she said, “I already got my second drink and I’d better pace myself for now. But you two go ahead.”
Walking up a few steps to the landing, we made our way to the semiprivate concession area that serviced the lower-level seats on the fifty-yard line.
I’d had no idea this amenity existed before today.
Annalee took my elbow and led me to the counter of an upscale beer and wine place with only a few people ahead of us.
She was a couple inches shorter than me, but she leaned in and whispered.
“Tell me the truth—do you think Gabe will marry Denise?”
My eyes widened in surprise, not so much at the question as the fact that she’d asked me, someone she hardly knew.
And that she had a pinched, worried look, anxiety clear in her eyes.
Pausing while I considered what to tell her, I tried not to frown.
This was awkward. If I told her the truth, it would feel somehow disloyal to Denise.
But with her arm squeezing my elbow and the worry lines creasing Annalee’s forehead, I had to tell her what I really thought.
“No. I don’t.”
She looked at me for a long moment where neither of us took a breath and then she let it out and so did I.
She gave me a hug because that’s how she was—how all Gabe’s family were—very hands on with affection.
Except him and his dad. He was almost exactly like his dad, except younger and hotter and more talkative.
“I’m glad you said that. I believe you,” she said.
“And not just because I want to believe you, but you know Denise better than any of us. I don’t think she’s really in love with Gabe and he deserves so much better.
” She winked at me. I was too stunned to be horrified. Or maybe not a good enough friend.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I think it’s the other way around. I don’t think Gabe is in love with Denise.”
She laughed. “Of course not—he’s too in love with football for that. But he might get married anyway. Out of obligation. Or to have some bambinos.”
My heart pumped hard in protest as I realized she might be right. I was half relieved that she was so sure Gabe wasn’t in love with Denise and half horrified with the idea that he might get married out of obligation. Or to have children. The uncomfortable twist in my ovaries made me pause.
I wanted to talk more to her about it and at the same time I hesitated. The decision was taken out of my hands when the man behind the counter prompted us for an order. Annalee ordered a beer and I got a plastic wine glass of chardonnay—a surprisingly good label.
“Let’s get back before we miss something,” she said, taking my elbow again and smiling. “Gabe will kill us if we miss anything important. He may not be a prima donna when it comes to how he’s treated off the field, but he loves talking about every last detail afterward.”
“Me too,” I said. “It should be fun.” We hurried back to our seats, missing only the snap.
As I sat, I stood back up again to watch Gabe drop back for a long pass while Hunter took off down the field in a screaming route straight for the end zone.
With a lineman in his face, ready to pounce, Gabe let the ball fly.
I was torn between watching him take the hit, worrying that he’d be injured, and watching the trajectory of the ball to see if Hunter would catch it and score a touchdown.
In a telling subconscious decision, my eyes stayed riveted on Gabe.
Everyone around me, even Denise, was on their feet, yelling and watching the ball and Hunter.
Gabe fell back to the ground, only able to partially sidestep the hit by the big man who fell on top of him.
Gasping in a breath and holding it, while I watched the big man immediately push off of him.
One of Gabe’s Militia teammates helped him up as the crowd cheered.
While I was obsessing over Gabe’s safety, Hunter had scored a touchdown. I caught the replay on the monitor. Gabe trotted to the sideline, fist pumping as he went, taking back slaps from his teammates.
We finally sat back down and I took a long sip of my wine, ready to relax a little with a seven-point cushion and a nice buzz on a hot sunny day.
It was Tate’s turn to take the field as the starting middle linebacker.
I was interested, I really was, but I didn’t feel that same zip of excitement as I had watching Gabe, damn it.
I glanced at Denise and she smiled, elbowing me and winking.
“Tate’s out there. Exciting, isn’t it?”
I nodded. Not as much as it should be. But then I hardly knew Tate, so maybe it was normal.
I had far more of a history with Gabe. I knew him from college, had watched him play for years, spent that one memorable dinner together and then listened to Denise talk about him for the next four years.
Until now. No wonder I felt more connected to Gabe than Tate.
But it was the nature of our connection that bothered me, tickled my conscience.
Because let’s face it, I want to bang him.
Badly. I sighed aloud. Maybe I wasn’t so evil after all because, as Denise pointed out often enough, every woman with a heartbeat wanted to bang him.
My obsession had to be lust, pure and simple.
And our suddenly being thrown together after all these years of naughty dreams. I put a hand to my mouth to stop the giggle.
“You’re a cheap date,” Denise said. “One wine and you’re smiling like a goof at your man taking the field. Am I going to need to restrain you at dinner?” She grinned at me and squeezed my arm. “Truthfully, I’m really happy that you found someone you like. You’ve been so sad since you lost Paul.”
I turned to her and opened my mouth, about to tell her it had nothing to do with Paul. We were never meant to be. My sadness, the lonely hollowness I felt was because I’d lost my dad. But I couldn’t very well start up that conversation now, here in the middle of a football game.
Whatever I was going to say got derailed by the sudden collective intake of breath by the crowd, followed immediately by a whistle.
An injury. I stood. Denise stood with me.
We’d both missed the play and I searched the field and then looked up at the jumbotron in time to see the replay of the gut-wrenching fall.
It was Tate. He’d run down a wide receiver on the sidelines and another player ran in to back him up.
They all collided and fell, with Tate at the bottom of the pile on his side, one arm outstretched awkwardly.
My hand went to my mouth and I dropped my plastic glass. Then I snatched up my bag and pushed past Denise. Glancing at the field I saw the medical team rush to him as he lay there clutching at his arm.
“Where are you going?”
I looked at her and shook my head. “To the field. My EMT team is down there. If Tate needs to go to the hospital, I’ll go with him. With the EMTs.” She nodded and I took off through the door, not exactly sure how to get to the field, but sure I’d figure it out.
But I never made it to the field because I met up with the emergency crew driving Tate in the back of a cart toward the ambulance at the far end of the tunnel. I ran to catch up with them.