57. Rosie
Chapter 57
Rosie
T he parking lot is already packed by the time Nash pulls into the lot at the high school stadium for the Spring Fling game. That’s not surprising since it’s one of the main attractions of Founder’s Week. The game doesn’t actually count for anything, but our team competes most years at the state level, and this game is kind of like the omen the town uses to predict another good year of football.
It’s Dane’s first game as a coach, and I know from studying game film with him that they’re up against the team that won second in the state championship last year. Knotty Pines High lost to them in the semifinals and came in third. Dane’s not nervous like I would be though. He’s focused. This morning was my first time seeing pregame Dane up close, but I remember it from my time watching him. It’s as though his eyes get sharper and his face becomes stone. It’s kinda hot in a domineering way.
“That way, by the side gate,” I say, my nerves flaring as Nash weaves the truck through the parking lot foot traffic.
For about five minutes while I was getting dressed this afternoon, I debated the merits of being a flopping chicken and bailing. Practically the whole town will be here, and last night, Marigold made it clear she was on the warpath.
But then I grabbed my combat boots because I remembered the way we got through yesterday. It was messy, but we made it, and I feel as though I reclaimed a small part of this town I lost a long time ago. When I think about it, she didn’t actually ruin the night. Marigold proved how much I bother her just by being happy, and that’s really not my problem. Last night also reaffirmed that my mates are really hot and deeply overprotective.
Watching them stand up for me didn’t make me miraculously like crowds or most of the people I went to high school with, but I’m hoping that tonight at this game, just like everywhere else, I can carve out a niche that is just ours.
Quinn takes one side and Nash the other as we move the opposite way of the crowd toward the side gate, our haul in hand.
“How do you know the super-secret back way in?” Quinn asks as we duck under the fence and through the unlocked side gate.
Nash can’t leave it, blurting, “The answer is always lube.”
“At least I’m not alone in walking into those,” I say.
Quinn just laughs. “I’m serious.”
“She used to film our games and break down the stats with her grandpa. He was one of our coaches,” Nash explains.
I whip my head in his direction. “You remember that?”
“Sweet Raven, when will you learn?” Quinn teases.
“Apparently not yet,” Nash says, shaking his head. “But she’ll figure it out at some point, and then we’re really in trouble.”
I ignore their banter, looking across the busy field to spot Dane on the sidelines, talking to one of the assistant coaches. It’s a little bit surreal that this man I watched and wished to be mine actually is. Even more surprising is that the real Dane Daniels is so much more than I hoped for.
“You really like football? How did I not know this?” Quinn asks, his tone scandalized.
“I used to.” I shrug before admitting, “The view of the coach is also nice, so I can be persuaded to again.”
Quinn cackles. “Yes. I learned a whole lot about football when I tutored for the team in college. Before that year, I didn’t know what I was missing.”
“You wanna pick the spot?” Nash asks softly, and I can hear the smile in the sound.
“Up on that hill.” I point it out. “I used to skip class and come hang out up here in the afternoons. We’ll be able to see.”
The guys follow me until we select a place on the hill, and we spread out our camping chairs.
Is this spot exactly sanctioned? Probably not. Do I care? Not one damn bit.
We get settled in to watch the game. Quinn and I are in the camping chairs while Nash paces behind us, tossing a football. When they take the field for the handshake, Dane looks our way and tips his hat, which makes Quinn and me throw our hands up and cheer.
We keep that energy through the first quarter.But by halftime, I’ve joined Nash in pacing. The score is nothing to nothing, and both teams' defenses have shut down any attempts to score. Dane doesn’t seem fazed, running with his team into the locker room while the other coach drills into his kids as they huddle up on the field.
Nash says the same thing he’s been saying for the last several minutes. “He needs to switch it up, start passing the ball.”
“Something,” I groan.
“All right! Keep the bond stress down. You two are giving me heartburn. I need snacks and a stretch break,” Quinn says, pulling himself from the chair with a groaning stretch.
I abandon my pacing to walk with Quinn. “Shit. I didn’t think about the fact that he can feel us.”
I’m gonna have to learn how the heck to keep my shit in check or figure out how to send him Morse code through the bond and demand he sub out number fifteen.
“Wait up,” Nash calls.
We get past the dance team and band, both getting ready to perform, only to be sucked into the throngs of people vacating the stands. People wave and say hello, and I recognize many people from Dane’s dads’ party.
Nash tucks me under his arm, and Quinn walks ahead, making sure I don’t get too crowded. The line takes forever, but I barely notice, we’re so busy discussing the game.
“Rosie?” a familiar voice calls, and I turn to see my fathers at the back of the line.
I’m sure my mother and aunt are somewhere—probably Marigold too. But my fathers are free now, and I step over to say hello. Our relationship may be strained, but I’m glad to see them.
Nash and Quinn follow me, and I introduce my fathers to my pack, explaining Dane is on the field. Nash shakes both their hands, and Quinn does a cute little wave while we accept their congratulations. My mates are respectful enough to be nice without asking any questions. I can feel their curiosity in the bond.
My father pulls me into a hug, his voice thick when he says, “I’m glad to see you settled and happy, Rosie.”
They excuse themselves, falling back into the crowd, and both my men look at me.
“It’s a long story that took years of therapy, but the gist is we’re good,” I say. “I’m no contact with Mom though, and that makes things messy.”
Nash looks the way my fathers went, and I can see the indecision on his face. He wants to have words with them.
“Seriously, I’m good.”
He nods, taking that in, but I can feel his overprotectiveness in the bond.
“Come on, alpha, we didn’t even get popcorn!”I say.
On our way back from our second trip through the line, I keep hearing my name and look up into the stands to see Grandma Lily’s bridge club. Next to them are Bambi and Vance, along with some of the girls from the shop.
“Wanna brave the stands with me?” I ask.
Quinn shrugs. “I’m game if you are.”
Nash answers by placing a hand on my back and guiding me toward the group huddled near the fifty-yard line. I feel eyes on us, but Quinn whispers something naughty about my ass in these jeans and I forget to be self-conscious.
We find seats just as play starts in the third quarter, squeezing into the row beside Bambi.
She huffs. “Woman, answer your phone! I was looking for you all over. I came for moral support and found these devious baddies instead.”
Ms. Marbella leans over. “Put it on. Your man needs the luck.”
She passes Bambi a button, which she passes to me. “They have gear. Don’t argue. I already lost.”
I bust up laughing when I realize Bambi has one attached to her sweater. It reads: “Rub My Beaver for Good Luck.”
As soon as I put it on, Quinn nudges me. “Where’s mine?” he asks, his dimple popping.
Nash has to have one too, and by the time we get ourselves situated, including hellos, the magic of the beaver seems to have worked. The next play, our quarterback fakes it off and passes it to number seven, who catches the ball by the thirty-yard line and makes it another few yards before he’s tackled.
I’m on my feet, yelling and screaming like the rest of the home side. That’s the most yards we’ve earned all game. The first down gets them the opportunity, and these players are as fired up as the stands. On the next play, they make it to the twelve-yard line but are unable to make any gains on the next two downs.
“Rub the beaver!” Quinn teases me, swiping a hand over my button. “Now you do mine.”
I make it look dirty, adding sound effects that get Nash laughing, but I do say a serious wish for Dane and the kids on the field.
Quinn squeezes my hand, and Nash stands, hands on his ball cap. All our eyes are glued to the field as the center snaps the ball. Number fifteen misses the hit, but the quarterback sees it and decides to run. As he dives for the endzone, he’s tackled but makes it over the line. The touchdown is called, and our stands lose it. Cannons blast confetti at the crowd, and music blares while the cheerleaders tumble on the sidelines.
But my eyes? They’re on Dane and how he’s giving out orders on the field. I can feel his determination in the bond, his excitement fueling mine.
He thinks he’s gonna win this, and I can’t help but shout, “You got this, Coach!”
My omega shouts with me as the special teams make the field goal.
We’re on the edges of our seats throughout the fourth quarter as the visitors try their best to move through our defense. They aren’t budging when we’re on offense either, and it’s still 7 to 0 with a minute and twenty-four seconds on the field.
The nail-biting brings everyone to their feet when the opposing team makes it within sight of the goal, but our defense holds them.
When the clock runs out, the broadcaster announces Dane’s first win while his team pours ice water over his head.
It takes forever before we get anywhere near the field. Dane will be stuck here for a while, but when we finally make it down by the short gate, our alpha jogs our way with a huge smile on his face.
“I fully concede on number fifteen. We pulled that out by the skin of our teeth, and I’ll never doubt your football wisdom again,” he says.
Nash makes an affronted sound. “Come on! I’ve been saying that for weeks, but when our pretty beta says it…"
Quinn and I lean over the fence, planting kisses on Dane’s cheeks.
“We did it!” Dane says, looking at me, a surge of pride hitting me in the bond.
I know he’s talking about more than the game, acknowledging that coming here was a victory for me too.
“Yeah, Coach, we did.”