Chapter Five
Saint
Thirty.
Feels a lot like getting hit by a three-hundred-pound lineman. Not because it hurts, but because it hit fast and didn’t care if I was ready or not.
By six this morning, my phone had been going off with texts from my sister, Presley, and a few of my teammates.
My sister sent a voice memo of her and the kids singing "Happy Birthday". It was cute and made me miss them. I really need to see them before the season gets too crazy.
Brody Vaughn, our tight end, left me a voicemail, singing what is possibly the worst version of “Happy Birthday” ever.
I get a threat from Aston Griffith, one of my teammates on the D-line, saying he got me a gag gift that was “technically legal.” I’m half curious, half terrified to see what it is.
And then there is a message from Liam, who I’ve become good friends with.
Liam: Dirty Thirty. Don’t forget to stretch before you sneeze.
Then there was Presley's text.
Presley: Happy birthday, old man. Try not to get hurt today. We have plans later.
I huff a laugh, but stare at it probably longer than I should.
Saint: You worried about me, Doc?
Her reply came almost instantly.
Presley: I just don’t want to have to baby you after another injury. Plus, it creates paperwork for me, and you know I hate paperwork.
I laugh.
Me: No injuries.
Three dots appear, then disappear.
Presley: From your mouth. Be safe out there, birthday boy.
I toss the phone next to me on the bed and look up at my ceiling fan, rotating on high, smiling like an idiot.
There’s a lot to look forward to today. My birthday, preseason game day, waking up to texts from people I care about, and plans for later. I guess it’s a group thing. Presley invited Alie, Liam, Aston, and Brody. I’m sure I’ll have a cake, and they’ll all tease me about my knees and getting older.
I love that Presley thought to plan it. She always remembers my birthday, just like I always remember hers.
Sitting up in bed, I can’t help but wonder if she’ll mention our pact tonight. It’s definitely on my mind today, but I won’t say a damn word.
Hours later, it’s kickoff. The stadium has the preseason energy that’s lighter than a regular season game, but still loud enough to get under my skin and get me game ready.
The turf is perfectly manicured. Fans shout from the stands, like it’s a playoff game. Coaches pace, and rookies bounce on their toes with nervous energy, wanting to prove they belong here.
I roll my neck, adjust my gloves, and stare across the line of scrimmage like the offensive guard personally insulted me.
He’s new. Big kid with a strong base. I can tell he’s nervous by the way he’s leaning too far forward. A weakness.
I can work with that.
The ball snaps, and the rookie guard comes at me hard, hands wide, trying to lock around my chest.
It’s cute, really.
I knock his right hand down and drive my left shoulder into his inside gap and rip through before he can reset his footing. The running back cuts right when he sees me in the lane and tries to bounce outside. But it’s too late.
I grab him low and drive him two yards behind the line.
The crowd roars.
Aston comes flying at me, smacking the side of my helmet. “Birthday boy! That’s what I’m talking about.”
I laugh, and we jog back to regroup.
Second down.
Their offense lines up in shotgun formation this time. Three wide, with the tight end flexed.
They’re going with a pass.
I can feel it before the snap. The way the center glances left, the shift in the quarterback’s stance, the tackle setting too deep … easy tells.
The ball moves, and I explode off the line.
They try to double-team me to wall me off. I drop low and use my legs to split them with enough force to make the center stumble backward. The quarterback steps up.
Big mistake.
I get a hand on his jersey just as he releases the ball, but enough to make him wobble and make the throw short.
Incomplete. Third down.
The crowd is awake, and so am I.
I look toward the sideline out of habit.
Presley stands there in team gear, arms folded, eyes on the field. Her hair is pulled back, face serious, stance all business.
But her gaze catches mine, and she smiles. Just enough that I can see it.
“Let’s go, Saint!” Aston shouts from behind me.
I turn and line up again.
Third and eight.
Their quarterback calls the snap, and this time, the guard stands firm, expecting a bull rush. I give him power for a second, then spin off his outside shoulder. It’s clean and too fast for him to recover.
The quarterback sees me coming and panics, throwing the ball to the ground.
Our punt team comes in, and I jog off the field. I’m met with helmet slaps and shouted insults disguised as affection.
Presley waits near the bench with a water bottle, even though that’s not her job. “You look thirsty.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking it from her.
“Looking good out there, old man.”
“Old man.” I spit out my water.
She smiles sweetly. “Drink the water, Grandpa. Can’t have you cramping out there.”
I lower the bottle and point it at her. “I think you’re enjoying this too much for someone older than me.”
She throws her head back and laughs. “Touché.”
Her eyes move down my body quickly, but clinically. “Knee holding up okay?”
“Yep.”
Coach yells my name, interrupting our teasing.
The rest of the first half is clean football. Controlled, but enough contact to sharpen our skills. I hold another run, collapse the pocket twice, and knock down a pass that their quarterback made the mistake of trying to get over my head.
By halftime, my jersey is just dirty enough, my body warm, and my day is done.
When we get into the locker room, I take a quick shower and change into team sweats and a clean jersey without pads.
The rookies take over in the second half.
I stand on the sideline, watching the young guys try to prove they belong here.
Aston is a rookie, too, but he’s already proven himself. He was drafted early in the first round and is already one of the best defensive players in the league.
He drops beside me and leans into me. “Ready to retire?”
“Fuck off.”
“But you’re, like, a veteran now.”
“Veteran, my ass. I can still put you through this bench, Griff.”
He grins. “You flirting with me, Saint.”
“You’re such a dick,” I say, laughing.
I look behind him and see Presley checking on a receiver with a leg cramp.
Aston looks over his shoulder. “Doc wish you a happy birthday yet?”
I don’t look at him. “Huh?”
He snorts. “Happy birthday from Presley?”
I don’t answer.
“Oh … she did. Look at your face.” He leans in. “Is that a smile?”
“Yeah, because I’m thinking about knocking you out, and that brings me joy.” I smile widely.
“Ha! Best friends, my ass.”
I elbow him hard enough to make him grunt, even through his pads.
Presley and I don’t flaunt our friendship, and we do try to keep our interactions at work professional, but anyone who knows us, including her family, knows we’ve been friends for years. And Griff has slithered his way into our circle. Like a gnat you can’t get rid of.
We won, not that it matters in the big picture, but it does show our coaches what we need to work on before regular season games start.
After the game, I change into jeans and a lightweight button-down shirt. Presley left in her sister’s car before me, and the guys are ready. Liam and Brody ride with me downtown to meet the girls for dinner. Aston is following behind.
Presley made all the plans, which means wherever we are going will be private but also casual enough for us to relax.
When we get there, I see her standing near the hostess stand in black jeans and a soft blue top that brings out her eyes. Her hair is down and tucked behind one ear. She sees me and smiles like she’s been waiting for me.
My chest tightens.
“Birthday boy,” she says. “Took you long enough.”
“Doc.”
“You look good, Saint. You clean up well.”
“Why do you sound surprised? You’ve seen me in suits.”
Her head falls back in a laugh. “I’m just surprised when you wear real buttons.”
I look down at my shirt. “Very funny.”
Brody claps his hands on my shoulders from behind and breaks the moment. “Better get this guy in a chair before his knee gives out.”
I close my eyes. “I hate you, Vaughn.”
“You couldn’t hate anyone, Wyatt St. Clair,” Alie says, standing beside Presley. “You love us.”
Liam walks up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, then kisses her neck. I’m so glad these two have worked out their relationship. They have an adorable daughter together, and it was a little rough going at first.
“Took care of the valet for you, buddy,” he says, looking at me.
Aston arrives last, wearing a t-shirt with one of my team photos of just my face, from my college years, printed across the front.
I just stare at it, while everyone else laughs.
He beams and runs his hand over it. “Custom, baby.”
“That’s from your sophomore year,” Presley says.
“Look at the hope in your eyes.” Aston points at my face on the shirt.
“How did you get that?”
Aston looks over at Presley. “Uh … found it online.”
Presley covers her mouth to smother a laugh.
Seeing her laughing makes it hard to be annoyed.
We make our way to our table, which is hidden toward the back of the restaurant. Drinks are served, food is ordered, and it’s exactly what I expected. Loud, a little obnoxious, and warm in a way that would normally make me uncomfortable.
Brody tries telling the waiter it’s my twenty-first birthday, mostly because he wants to flirt with her, but Presley interrupts.
“He’s thirty,” she says. “Very legal.”
Conversation flows. Liam talks about the upcoming season with a calm analysis that makes him a great leader.
Alie asks questions like she doesn’t already know the answers; she’s the one who makes the final decision on making offers, but I think she’s more interested in making sure the team has made smart investments.
Presley sits beside me. Not across. Her knee brushes mine under the table.
I keep my hand wrapped around my glass of water and remind myself that I’m a grown man with self-control.
Questionable control, but still.
The cake comes out and has a tiny football on top that reads ‘Old But Still Employed’ in blue frosting.
I look at Presley, who’s smiling into her wineglass.
“Did you do this?” I ask her.
“I would never.”
I chuckle and rest my arm on the back of her chair. “You absolutely would.”
“I mean, Aston pitched scarier options, so really, I did you a favor with this one,” she snickers.
Aston nods with a shit ass grin on his face. “There was one with a tombstone that was sick. But it was vetoed by all.”
I shake my head but smile.
Liam lifts his glass of sparkling water. “To Saint. Still terrifying offensive lines after all these years.”
Brody raises his. “You’re the best, buddy.”
Alie adds, “We’re lucky to have you on the team, and as a friend.”
Presley looks at her sister with a soft smile, then back at me.
“Still here,” she says quietly.
The table carries on conversation, but the noise between us fades.
Still here.
Two simple words.
But she knew what they meant to me.
After everything we’ve been through together. All the time apart. All the memories we’ve created and shared.
Still here.
I swallow and lift my glass to her.
“Thanks, Doc,” I say quietly because anything else would sound like it meant something more.