July 4th #3
When we got back to Chase’s house, my sister was pissed at Chase, drunk, and bawling.
There was some family drama—my dad getting all upset before Jennifer got Dani calmed down and Dad took her home.
I was spending the night there, but was sent downstairs while Chase got reprimanded by his mom, after which, he got sent up to his room.
No surprise that once they went to sleep, I snuck up there.
Chase was a wreck. Mostly because my sister had said she hated him. That everything was his fault. I distracted him, asking about what had happened inside because I was dying to know.
He told me that when he got there, Dalton, our school’s senior quarterback, was all over my sister.
He was kissing her, his arms tightly around her, feeling her up.
He said it was like a flip switched inside of him—an almost-animalistic reaction to a perceived threat.
Like when the hair on the back of a dog stands up.
He told me he never understood how someone could kill another person, but that night, he felt like he could have.
His need to protect her overtaking rational thought.
That’s how I felt today. I wanted to kill that guy for touching Ainsley the way he did. For hurting her, scaring her.
I think about the world. How some people think they have the right to do whatever they want with no regard to how it will affect others. How others are just downright evil. I’ve always worried about my sisters, especially my little ones.
I chuckle to myself, imagining how I will feel when I have children of my own. And it’s scary, but I know that I would protect Ainsley and my future children till my last dying breath.
Part of me is afraid to have kids—if for no other reason than them having to possibly face something like what happened today or something much worse.
Ainsley stirs, squints her eyes, and then looks up at me. “Sorry I fell asleep on you. Have I been sleeping long?”
“Just about forty minutes. How are you feeling?”
She presses her cheek against my chest, sort of rubbing it like a cat would do. “I’m here with you. I’m all good. Have you been just lying here, or did you sleep too?”
“I was content with just rubbing your hair,” I tell her, planting my lips on the top of her head and giving it a kiss.
“You must be tired of me falling asleep on you,” she says. “Did you at least get to, like, read on your phone or something so you weren’t bored?”
“No, I couldn’t reach it, but it’s okay. I was sort of reminiscing.”
“About what?”
I smile, then tell her about the party.
“Afterward, Chase told me that his need to protect her overtook his rational thought. That he wanted to kill the guy. I felt that way today.”
“I tried to defuse the situation. I was trained on how to handle it, and over the years, I’ve gotten pretty good at avoiding anything like that. But this guy took it a step further than any time before. And I went from pissed off at the asshole to scared.”
“I’m glad I was there,” I tell her, kissing the side of her face. “You told me yesterday that you wanted to learn more about me. The night of the party I just told you about had quite the aftereffects for both me and Chase.”
“What happened?” she asks, sliding her hand down my arm and intertwining her fingers with mine.
“After our high-school team lost Dalton, the starting quarterback, because he had a broken hand, a series of unfortunate events occurred. The third-string quarterback got kicked off the team for drug use, and right before the state championship semifinal, the second-string quarterback was messing around on the gymnastics equipment during PE, landed wrong, and broke his ankle. Which meant that Chase, an eighth grader at the time, was brought up to play—to lead the team.” I smile.
“Of course, I talked my way onto the team as well.”
“Of course you did,” she says with a laugh.
Which makes me happy to hear. It means she’s not thinking about the events of today.
“So, it was a crazy game. They’d score. We’d score.
Chase was throwing really well, but at the end of the game, with little time left, we were down by three and too far away for a field goal that could tie the game and send it into overtime.
Right before the last play of the game, I told the coach to put me in.
Told him that Chase had been throwing to me his whole life.
That he needed me on the field because Chase always knew exactly where I was going to be.
And that if he wanted to win this game, that’s what he needed to do. ”
“A crazy game for a guy with a crazy amount of confidence. How were you so confident at such a young age?”
“The thing is, it didn’t feel like confidence. It was just … what I knew to be true. I could envision exactly how the game would be won. I see a problem, and I try to fix it. Sometimes, I get into a little trouble for that.”
“How so?”
“Like with Haley when she was recovering. I knew what she needed to do. To get better. To heal. And I pushed her to do so.”
“But she pushed back?” she asks.
“On some things. From a workout standpoint, it motivated her. But there were times when she was feeling upset or down about it all, and I would ask her how I could fix it. But she told me that I needed to stop trying to fix everything. That she just wanted me to listen so that she could talk through what she already knew was right. That it was okay to sometimes just listen and not solve. It was eye-opening for me.”
“It’s nice that you want to try to fix things, Damon. But I could see me feeling that way too. Sometimes, I just need to talk through things. So, what happened in the game?”
“Let me set the stage,” I say, smiling. “The stadium is packed, fans cheering loudly as both teams lined up. Chase went under center, took the snap, and stepped back into the pocket. Our offensive line held while I raced down the field. I was wide open because not only was I fast, I ran the perfect route. It also didn’t hurt that they’d double-teamed our best receiver.
Although I didn’t see it until I watched the replays, Chase stepped to the side to avoid a sack, then launched the ball downfield.
I knew before I turned around that it was a perfect throw based on the cheers of the crowd. ”
“So, you caught the ball and won the game? Became the heroes?”
“Not exactly,” I say with a sardonic chuckle. “Just as I was about to catch the ball, one of my teammates cut me off and tried to catch it himself. I guess he thought he could catch better than me.”
“Was he right?”
“No, he dropped the ball. Boom. We lost. I was pissed. Chase was pissed. The whole team was. The fans too. They couldn’t believe he’d tried to intercept the ball from his own teammate.
The poor guy felt horrible about it. But Chase handled it like a pro.
I actually still have the video on my phone because what he said has stuck with me. Want to see it?”
“I would love to,” she says.
I scroll to find the video, then press play. We watch as Chase stands up on a bench and starts speaking.
“We all heard the chatter on the field when the game was over. There was a lot of emotion. Some of you blamed me. Some of you blamed Damon. Some of you blamed Joshua. Actually, most of you blamed him. But basically, it was someone else’s fault.
“Should Joshua have gone after the pass when his teammate was wide open? Probably not. He tried to intercept the ball from his own wide-open teammate, Damon. He failed, making them both miss.
“But what if things had happened the other way? What if Damon had missed it? And even though it came down to one play that didn’t go our way, no single person is to blame for our loss.
“As a team, we never should have been in that position to begin with. How many guys missed passes in the game? What about missed blocks? Missed tackles? Fumbles? Our team lost tonight. That means, we all are at fault for the game’s outcome.
“I’d also like to take a moment to thank the seniors for their leadership and for all of you giving me a chance to prove myself. I hope I’ll be good enough to lead this team onto the field next fall.”
One by one, the guys who are sitting with towels over their heads stand up. And eventually, they start clapping, ending the video with a standing ovation.
“That’s actually a really beautiful moment,” Ainsley says. “I can see why you kept it.”
“Want to see something else?” I ask.
“Of course.”
I pull up another video. “This is all of us at the Mackenzies’ that night.”
We watch as I yell out, “Holy guacamole! We made ESPN!”
I grab the remote and turn on the TV. On the bottom of the screen is the headline—Eighth-grade phenom quarterback throws for over 550 yards for high-school team in the Missouri state playoffs.
“They also showed the last play. Over and over. Mentioning what not to do.”
I look over at Ainsley. She’s in tears.
“What?” I ask her.
“It’s just really—this is exactly what I was talking about yesterday. I want to know about all these moments in your life. Defining moments. The things that make you who you are. Thank you so much for sharing it with me. Also, did I mention that there is a new trope now that fits you perfectly.”
“Do I want to know?” I say with a chuckle.
“The golden retriever hero. It’s been made popular by a current professional athlete who plays here in KC and dates a pop star.”
“Oh, I know who you are talking about. But what does it mean?”
“The guy is energetic, friendly, and crazy loyal. Has a playful side, which makes him fun to be around. And is happy and secure in his relationship.”
“I bet he likes to be pet too.” I break out into a wide grin, feeling happy.
And when she takes off her robe and moves on top of me, I get even more so.
We’re lying in bed, snuggling, when her phone rings.
“It’s my uncle,” she says. “I should probably take it.”
“Of course,” I say. “Put it on speaker.”
“Hey, Uncle Tripp,” she says. “You have me and Damon on speaker.”