Epilogue
CAL
The reporters crowd around with their microphones and recorders shoved in my face.
I blink against the bright lights. More than a decade in the league, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to being surrounded by cameras.
Especially not when I’m standing in the locker room stripped to my waist.
Fortunately, for the PR team, I’ve learned a thing or two about playing nice in the past couple years. These days, I answer with full sentences instead of single words and grunts.
“Calhoun,” one of the reporters calls out. “Your team made quite a statement in the second half, coming back from behind to win the game. How did you do it?”
“Second-half adjustments,” I say.
See? I’m using more than one word.
My phone buzzes in my hand. I glance down to see a new message from Jo. I can’t help but grin at her words.
That’s a good start. But maybe tell them what kind of second-half adjustments you made.
I shake my head and clear my throat. “We found a better rhythm in the second half. Our line really showed up with the protection. They gave us more time to push the ball downfield.”
“So they gave you more time in the pocket?”
“It did. And you guys know I need as much time as I can get to make the right read.”
There’s a light chuckle from a couple of the reporters and plenty of whooping from a rookie running back who scored his first touchdown.
My phone buzzes again.
Good. That’s my funny, self-deprecating husband.
Answer two more questions like that, and I’ll give you a reward.
I can only imagine what she might have in mind. Some sexy texting on the flight home. Maybe she’ll meet me at the airport wearing nothing under her coat again.
My dick twitches.
On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t speculate. I’m in front of live cameras wearing nothing but a jockstrap and pads.
I clear my throat again and adjust my stance. And think of the long, cold shower I’ll take once I wrap this up.
Another reporter steps forward.
"Calhoun, there were a lot of questions coming into this season about whether you still had another playoff run in you. Does tonight feel like you answered some of those critics?"
"I don't spend much time thinking about critics." I shrug. "I'm more interested in proving the people who believe in me right."
Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of my teammates exchange knowing smiles.
Smartasses.
My phone buzzes again.
I don't look.
Not yet.
One more question.
"One last thing," another reporter says. "You seem... happier this season. Is that fair to say?"
I can't help the smile that erupts across my face. “Yeah. I am.”
“So, it’s safe to say marriage agrees with you?”
I think about the woman waiting for me back home. The wrong number that somehow led me to the right person—the only person—who settles me and makes me better.
“You can definitely say that. I have a pretty incredible wife.”
A chorus of exaggerated “Awws” erupts from somewhere behind the cameras.
Great. More commentary from the team.
I shake my head. “On that note, I’d like to get back home to her as soon as we can. That's all you're getting for today.”
The reporters laugh.
"Thanks, Cal."
I nod, already reaching for my phone as they begin packing up their equipment.
Three unread messages.
The first one makes me grin.
Much better. I knew you had it in you. I’m proud of you.
The second makes me laugh.
See? Full sentences. You're basically a PR master now. You’ve earned your reward.
I chuckle under my breath. I open the third. It's a picture.
I frown. Night quite understanding what exactly I’m looking at.
It looks like one of those COVID tests we had to take. With two pink lines. My heart hitches. This is the surprise?
I’m about to bark at one of the assistants that I need to get back home NOW, when I take a second look.
My brain stalls.
Then, everything clicks. Beneath the photo, she’s written one short sentence.
You’re going to have another fan cheering you on next season.
For a full five seconds, the entire locker room disappears. The noise. The reporters. The cameras.
Everything.
My vision blurs as unexpected tears burn the edges of my eyes.
A laugh escapes me.
I read the message again. Just to make sure I didn't imagine it.
I didn't. Warmth fills my chests and my smile spreads so wide, I wouldn’t be surprised if my space split.
We’re having a baby. I’m going to be a dad.
“What’s that?” A voice beside me clears his throat.
I look up to find the rookie running back peering over my shoulder. His eyes go wide. “No shit.”
My head snaps toward him. “You weren't supposed to see that.”
“Holy shit!” He jumps backward like someone lit him on fire. “Hey, Guys!”
Panic slices through me. “Stop it!”
It's too late. Half the locker room—and damn near every reporter—looks over.
The rookie points at me with both hands. “Cal's gonna be a dad!”
The room erupts.
Helmets fly.
Someone starts whooping.
Another teammate tackles me into the nearest locker.
Beau appears out of nowhere, laughing so hard he can barely stand. “Welcome to the club, Daddio.”
Heat rushes into my face. I shake my head. No surprise, I don’t know what to say.
He claps me on the shoulder. “Congratulations, brother.”
Around us, the celebration somehow grows even louder. I glance back down at my phone.
Still smiling. Still staring at those two little pink lines. Then I type the only response that feels big enough.
Best wrong number ever.
Three dots appear almost instantly.
Best grumpy player ever.
I don't think I've ever smiled this hard after a football game.
Then again, I’ve never had a better reason.
Thank you for reading!