54. Abigail – “Music is powerful. As people listen to it, they can be affected. They respond.” — Ray Charles
54
Abigail
“Music is powerful. As people listen to it, they can be affected. They respond.” — Ray Charles
“This hotel is off the charts. My dad would even be impressed,” Mel says as she rolls in her suitcase. I had already met her downstairs, and she insisted on doing a little tour before coming to my room.
“You’re only here for two nights. Did you really need to bring that much luggage?” Josh says as I continue to apply my makeup.
“Do you not know me?”
“Yea Josh, is that even a question?” I say with a laugh.
Josh and Mel convinced me to stay for the Super Bowl since I was seconds away from clicking purchase, for a ticket to fly home early.
After Naomi sent text after text the other night, I didn’t want to be here anymore. And the fact that I had to defend myself through text, without Colt backing me up, made me feel even more alone.
Josh told me to delete the messages and then to block her. I did block her after she sent what felt like a hundred texts. I know she was drunk, but Josh is right—it’s not an excuse. I pick my phone up as Mel and Josh chatter away, drawing them out. Being the martyr I am, I read the messages one last time.
Naomi: You slut! I know you and Blake fucked. How could you!
Naomi: Taking my sloppy seconds. I knew you were always jealous of me. Always wanted what I had.
Naomi: You should have stuck to starving yourself. No one in the family loves you. They will always love me over you—demon child.
Naomi: Do yourself a favor and go back to binging and being anorexic. Hell, do us all a favor. You’re a waste of space anyway.
Naomi: I can’t believe you fucked Colt. You know I still had feelings for him, and you fucked him anyways! You fucking whore!
Naomi: Don’t even bother coming around family events. You were already irrelevant, now you’re no better than the dirt on my shoe.
Naomi: He’ll regret you. You wait and see. I know he loves me. Clearly, he’s blinded by all the trash in his way right now.
Naomi: Fuck you, Abigail. I never considered you blood anyway since you were created from pure evil.
I let out a deep sigh to help ease my nerves. A tear falls down my cheek, and I angrily brush it away. Something must have happened, or words were said between those two after I left the bar Friday night, or maybe it was yesterday when Mel and I met with the music producer. All I know is Colt hasn’t reached out to check on me or explain what set Naomi off so severely.
Josh was right. I needed to delete the messages and enjoy the game. It’s not like I’ll ever get to go to a Super Bowl again.
When I walked out of the bathroom, Mel and Josh had drinks in their hands and engaged in conversation. Mel looks up and scrunches her nose up at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Yeah?” I look down at my jeans, which have holes cut out at the knees, and my off-brand vans.
“It’s comfy.”
“Nuh uh, I was afraid of this,” she says as she walks over to the bed and picks up a shopping bag. "And that’s why I came prepared with goodies. You’re welcome,” she says, handing me the bag of a brand I can’t pronounce.
“I’m not trying to be uncomfortable during a football game that will last hours, Mel”
“Just go put it on. And the jeans, I already know your ass will look amazing in them.”
Mel never let me down with her choice of clothing. These clothes fit perfectly, and she had a red Arizona Cardinal Jersey made for me with the number 11 on it. I loved it so much that I never wanted to take it off. It was a bit chilly, so she got me a matching jacket that had the Arizona Cardinals logo on the front and number on the back.
I’ve seen stadiums on TV, but even a high-definition view of the stadium doesn’t do SoFI Stadium justice. It was huge. Luckily, Naomi, Jenna and friends would be in the luxury-level suite next to us instead of with us. I could already feel my adrenaline pumping, causing me to feel lightheaded since so much blood was rushing through my system at once. Josh told me that I’ll be fine. There are bathrooms right outside the hallway of the suites in the stadium, and Mel offered to go with me at all times.
“Look at the view,” Mel says as she places her tiny purse on one of the tables. “That’s Brian Whiteheart. Brian is stretching on the field. I can see him clear as day, along with that ass.” Mel fans herself as she throws herself on one of the couches in the suite.
“Can you control yourself? Seriously, the game hasn’t even started yet. Plus, I don’t want to sit on a wet spot on the couch.” Josh says.
She swats at Josh when he plops beside her, popping a beer open. “Cliff and Nora should be here soon with Bodie,” Josh says as he sips his beer loudly.
“This sport makes so much money,” I say as I look around. “It’s disgusting. Just think of all the waste and food going in and out of just one game. That’s not even including the people at home watching it.”
“I know, isn't it wild?” Josh says with a laugh.
Mel rolls her eyes at me as she stands up, walks towards me, and grabs my shoulders. “We are not going to overthink shit. You,” she points at my chest hard. “Are going to have some mother-fucking fun and just be a normal American for once. It’s football! It’s about winning, sweat, men in uniforms, getting drunk, and eating hot dogs. And I know you don’t eat that stuff, but today is the day everyone gets one Weiner in their mouth.” I can’t help but smile.
“My wiener is up for grabs, ladies,” Josh says with a wink.
I shook my head with a smile at the same time, Mel scoffed
“Let the games begin.” I grab a drink from the counter and salute it in the air, popping open the top and taking a swig.
The halftime show was amazing. Maroon Five, Usher, and Alicia Keys, my all-time favorite since her voice was up there with Whitney Houstons, put on a hell of a show. It was hard not to think of Blake during the show since it was one of his wishes in his journal to perform at the Super Bowl while his brother played. I worked hard to get his album into the right hands, but it took work. If you didn’t know the right people, getting noticed in a flooded market was nearly impossible, so I was thankful for Mel’s dad. He may not have been a music agent, but he knew several people working together to help me pull this off. Even though all his songs are top-hit-worthy, in my opinion, I know one of them will hit the charts and become one of the most-known songs around the world. That’s been my wish ever since I found out about his journal anyway, and I wouldn’t stop until I knew I did everything I could.
It’s fifteen minutes until the game ends, and we all have been on edge. This game has been neck to neck between the Cardinals and the New York Giants. I would be lying if I said I’m not getting into the whole thing, either.
“Go, Go, Go!” Nora screams as Troy zooms down the field, the ball tucked into his side, as he weaves through the defenders aiming to take him down. He was freaking fast. He ran nearly forty yards until the opposing team took him to the ground. My heart was in my throat as I looked up at the score, the time shining back at me. We were down by four with only twenty-two seconds left—and not a single time-out. I thought the Arizona Coach would chew Colt’s head off as he watched him scramble back to the line. Troy hadn’t gotten out of bounds, so the clock was still ticking.
“Holy shit, this is intense,” Mel says. She’s standing next to me when I look over at her and smile, catching a glimpse of Naomi in the suite next to us. She flips me off as she mouths, Fuck You . I ignored her as I drew my attention back to the game. Josh complained about her since she threatened me whenever I stepped out on the patio deck. He was right. I will let her make a fool of herself on national television while I keep watching the game, pretending she doesn’t exist.
The ball was snapped as soon as the players lined up, and Colt was pinned to the ground. The whistle blew, the clock stopped, and now we had 11 seconds.
“I can’t fucking breathe,” Cliff says.
“Don’t curse around Bodie.” Nora swats at his arm.
“Oh, sorry, but when the game is this close to being over, I think Jesus will forgive your Grandpa,” Cliff says as he looks down at Bodie.
“Grandpa, don’t worry,” Bodie says as he rubs his forearm. “Daddy knows what to do to win. He always does. That’s my dad.” Bodie beams, pride glittering in his eyes as he looks back on the field.
“That’s right, bud, he’s a Killian,” Cliff says with a smile.
“No, that’s not why. It’s because my dad is Bolt Colt. He’s really fast.”
Cliff starts to pace back and forth as he clasps his hands to his head. I felt the same way, but I couldn’t move.
Bodie tugged at my hand. “What’s wrong with Grandpa?” he asks as he pulls me down to whisper in his ear. “He’s just a little stressed because the game is almost over, and the score is tied, so he just wants your daddy to win. That’s all.”
“Oh,” he perks up as if it’s no big deal. “Daddy will. I already told Grandpa that.”
A chuckle rumbles from my chest. When I look back at the field, my eyes fixate on the number 11.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I mutter under my breath.
He huddled up the offense, tucking through the route he had on his forearm play holder. He clapped, and they all hustled back to the line.
Colt was up, his last chance to prove himself since he was soon approaching retirement. And although the crowd was split fifty-fifty between the Arizona Cardinals and New York Giants, it felt like the stadium was rooting only for him. The Cardinal fans roared for the defense to hold us. The ball was snapped, and it had no sooner landed in Colt’s hands before he had it flying towards the back corner of the end zone, where Aaron was waiting. But it was tipped and bobbled in the air, almost snagged by safety before it flew out of bounds.
“Fuck,” Cliff cursed under his breath.
“Cliff,” Nora says in a high-pitched tone, but he shrugs her off as he stops pacing and meets us back out on the suite deck, leaning over the iron rails.
“C’mon baby, play your game.” I hear Nora say under her breath.
The team huddles, and I watch Colt take off his helmet. He had black smeared under his eyes. Sweat dripped off his nose and chin. His bright blue eyes shined as he talked. He called what would be his last play. When they clapped and got back on the line, for the first time in my life, I saw why this sport was so damn addictive. America lived for this shit. The adrenaline rush. I felt that same emotion intensify because I knew one player. I could only imagine if I had been a fan my whole life.
Everyone expected the Cardinals to run the ball with the team only a few yards from the end zone. I’m no expert, but it just made sense. But when the ball was snapped, the team's receivers zigged and zagged as they tried to get to the end zone. Colt retreated deep into the pocket. Eyes scanned out, right arm locked back and ready to throw. No one was open. Aaron was completely covered. Troy had tripped over his feet trying to scramble up, and number forty made it clear it would be impossible for Colt to throw to him. We were out of time. The clock ticked down, and I saw Colt looking left and right while watching where his offensive line was struggling to hold the beastly men desperate to sack him.
“He’s done,” Cliff says as he hangs his head low, unable to watch.
“No, he’s not,” Bodie says, eyes wide, unable to take his eyes off his dad.
I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t look or do anything except close my eyes and envision this all going differently. A second after my eyes closed, the crowd turned wild. My eyes shot open. Colt found a hole, and I screamed. Throwing my arms in the air, jumping up and down as he sprinted through the break in the defense on the far left side of the field, the defenders caught on to his movement just a millisecond too late. One of the players managed to wrap Colt up, bringing him down to the ground with enough force to break a bone. Not that it mattered because he was taken down inside the end zone.
Tears stung my eyes as I saw Bodie jump up and down, along with Nora and Cliff. Half of the stadium went bonkers. The Giants hung their heads in defeat and disbelief. Confetti and loud noises popped a second later. When I saw what Naomi was doing, she had her phone hung high above her head as she took selfies’ making sure to get the football field in the background. Nora wrapped me in her arms as we jumped up and down together, and for a brief moment, I let myself make this dream my reality. Nora was my mother-in-law, Bodie was in my care, Colt was mine, and I was his.
Cliff and Josh were already talking about how incredible Colt was and how the team was so attuned to each other, but none of it was possible without the all-mighty quarterback. He did it. He won his third Super Bowl.
“Now you know there’s going to be one hell of an after-party, and you bet your ass I’m going to be there,” Mel says as she hugs me. “How about we go back to the hotel, freshen up, and get our party on.” She sways her hips from side to side. And right as I’m about to speak, a man comes on the speaker that protrudes throughout the stadium.
“Is that Adam Levine?” Mel says, letting go of my hands and walking through the suite's sliding doors onto the patio.
“Good evening, I’m back.” The crowd quieted as people saw Adam Levine return to the stage. “That was one hell of a game.” He claps his hand on Colt’s shoulders and asks. “How the hell did you get the player's heads in the game like that again? I for sure thought it was over during those last 6 seconds.”
“My head never left the game. I’m Bolt Colt, so not only am I fast, but I think on my feet, too.”
Adam laughs along with the crowd, and I can’t ignore the warm butterflies swarming in my stomach as Mel nudges my shoulder, seeing my reaction.
“You had me on my toes, that’s for sure,” Adam said
Colt smiled as he looked down and back up, searching the field before his eyes landed on me. As if he was looking for me. I thought my heart was going to stop as I felt my throat close up, making it hard to breathe.
“I’ll leave the questions to the reporters. But for now, I’m ready to give these guys a show.”
“That’s right.” Colt nods.
“Is there anything you want to say before I sing?”
Adam holds the mic up to Colt’s lips, and for the first time, I see something on Colt’s face that I’ve never seen before. Shock? Fear? Guilt? I can’t make out what it is, and I’m sure standing in a crowd of thousands of people with millions watching on television doesn’t help.
“The world doesn’t know this. But, I had a younger brother,” he starts, and I swear my heart beats even faster, if possible. Mel looks at me as if I had something to do with this. I shrugged, pulling my eyebrows together.
“He was eighteen, and he died the year I got drafted into the NFL. The night he died, I won my first NFL game.” He hung his head down low as if that night would forever replay in his memory, hurting just as much as the first time. He lifted his head back up, and it was hard to tell if there were tears in his eyes since they were already bloodshot, and sweat was dripping down his face as if he just got out of a sauna.
“His birthday was November eleventh. Eleven, eleven. Wish time. And I recently discovered that one of his wishes was to perform on stage with his guitar at a Super Bowl I was playing.”
I watch as he swallows so hard I see his Adam's apple bob up and down. “So, in honor of him and my third championship win, I want Adam Levine to play one of the songs he wrote. Toxic Wishes.” he hands the mic back to Adam, and the crowd is silent as if they are genuinely honoring Blake up in the sky. Cliff stands by me.
“Did you know anything about this?”
“No, I didn’t. I-I had no idea.”
Clif slightly jerks his head to the side before saying. “That’s Colt, full of surprises.”
Drums and a band come to life with backdrop lights, and the beat and melody spring into action as Adam brings it all together with the guitar. Tears burn my eyes. Adam starts to sing, and you can feel the energy from the crowd pick up as people start clapping, swaying, and holding up lights in the stadium. And when he finally gets to the chorus, the stadium goes bonkers. Deafening, Adam drops to one knee as he buries himself into the music, his black hair flipping slightly. For a brief second, I can see Blake on stage. His jet-black hair flew as he jolted his hips with the guitar, feeling the music, feeling the pain that went along with the lyrics. A tear slips down my cheeks as I smile wide, and I think Mel squeezes my hand, but I’m mesmerized. I can’t take my eyes off of Adam. I can picture dimples on Blake’s face as he smiles when the crowd goes wild again. When he gets to the second part of the chorus, people are dancing in the stadiums now. I glance over at Cliff, and at first, I think he’s laughing, but when I see him wipe his face, I realize he’s not laughing but crying. Tears streaming down his face as he mutters, “My boy, my boy, my boy, my boy.”
This song no doubt would be hitting the charts soon, and although I was disappointed I wasn’t the one making this happen for Blake, it only gave more recognition for the album, and I would be a fool to think Colt didn’t have a part in this. I watched as he stood in the distance, staring at Adam with his hand behind his back as if he genuinely was saluting to Blake and giving him this moment in time like he wished for all those years ago.
I placed a gentle hand on Cliff’s shoulder, letting him know it was okay to cry and that it was okay to feel the pain and loss, as well as the pride and joy that came with it. Because that’s how I felt, too. They say tears are the silent language of grief and that grief is the language of love. In that case, we’ll never stop grieving the absence of Blake. I look up in the sky and close my eyes, grateful. Because now, whenever this song plays on the radio, it will forever fill the void he left.