Chapter - Nate #2
I try to follow the game, but my eyes keep drifting to New York’s sideline, scanning for Carter.
And then, I see him. Helmet on, jaw tight, pacing like an adrenaline-filled maniac.
He’s so locked in that I doubt he even notices the insanity around him.
Boston may be wild, but they are in a different division.
This kind of Philly insanity? It’s probably a new and disturbing experience.
“Damn,” Rachel murmurs. “Even the way he warms up is hot.”
“I’m choosing not to respond to that,” I say, though I’m grinning because she’s not wrong.
By the end of the first quarter, Carter’s already racked up 30 scrimmage yards, mainly from a series of five-yard rushes and one smooth ten-yard tiptoe sideline catch. The game is tied 3–3 and has been a defensive battle so far. Both offenses are struggling to get anything going.
As the second quarter begins on Philly’s 30-yard line, Ian finally makes his way back to his seat. We all look at him and shout together, “What the fuck? I forgot you were even here.”
We’re mostly joking, but also, what was he even doing the entire first quarter?
Ian chuckles. “Aww, my siblings love me. I had to help my oldest with a meltdown over a bad grade.”
Evan looks over at me and flatly says, “Remind me never to have kids, thanks.”
The second quarter continues, with a handoff to Carter, who bursts up the middle for 15 yards before getting absolutely annihilated. I shoot to my feet, heart racing. My siblings all have the same wide-eyed look of terror. After a few tense seconds, Carter jumps up like nothing happened.
Rachel shakes her head. “I have no idea how he’s not dead. That hit was insane.”
I exhale and say, “It’s all these guys. They take huge hits. I hate it when it’s him, but it’s part of the game. It’ll happen again and again.”
The next two plays are long 20-yard completions to Jalen Briggs, who’s finally having a solid game. The crowd quiets as New York enters the red zone. Meanwhile, I’m silently begging for Carter to get his first touchdown of the season.
New York’s quarterback, Josh Miller, hikes the ball with seconds left on the play clock and scrambles to his left. I lock in on Carter, who breaks free into the end zone with just one defender trailing him.
Miller, under pressure, throws high off his back foot; Carter leaps, snags the ball midair, and crashes down hard in the end zone. Touchdown!
The stadium explodes in noise, but all I can think about is how excited Carter must be feeling.
Miller runs to Carter and jumps on him while Carter starts shimmying, Miller’s signature celebration. I burst out laughing.
Then, mid-celebration, Carter glances up and winks directly at me.
It happens so fast I almost think I imagined it, and no one caught it until Bex screams from two seats down, “I saw that! That’s your man! He’s killing it!”
I can’t stop smiling. “He’s mine.”
Right before the half ends, Philly’s running back breaks free up the middle for a 30-yard score, tying it 10–10. The crowd goes ballistic. Even I can’t help but jump with excitement.
On the New York sideline, I can see Carter and the rest of the offense looking pissed like they might actually lose this game. Still, Carter closes the half with 35 rushing yards and 40 receiving. He’s having a great game. I know he’s going to be pumped up after this game.
During halftime, we hit the concessions. I grab tenders and another drink. I buy Ian a beer, and he smiles like I admitted he’s my favorite sibling.
“I’m the favorite sibling. I knew it!” Ian yells.
“Not even close,” I say. “I just owed you a beer, idiot.”
When we get back to our seats, Carter’s already back on the field. My jaw clenches with every snap. On the first play of the second half, he takes a huge hit again, and I find myself gripping my seat like it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
“He’s fine,” Evan says calmly, clearly reading my face.
“Yeah,” I nod. “He’s tough. He’ll pop back up.”
And sure enough, he does. Carter shakes it off like it’s nothing and keeps moving.
New York drives down the field but stalls at the goal line and settles for a field goal.
They drain eight minutes off the clock, though.
The rest of the third quarter flies by in a blink of an eye, ending in another tie. 13-13.
The fourth quarter opens to roaring cheers from every corner of the stadium. My siblings start chanting, “Carter Elliott! We’re your biggest fans!”
I’m dying of laughter. No one around us knows what the hell they’re talking about, but Carter hears it. He turns toward us, grinning, forms a heart with his hands, then waves.
Rachel and Bex, in perfect harmony, sing, “I’m obsessed with him.”
The last quarter continues the defensive battle. Neither team can break through the defenses. With one minute left, the Hawks with the ball call a timeout, just enough to give the players a breather.
Carter returns to the field for what should be the final drive of the game. Miller takes the snap and hands it off. Carter dodges one defender, stiff-arms another, and he’s off. Fifteen yards.Twenty. Twenty-five. Thirty-five.
He finally gets shoved out at the ten-yard line.
My siblings are on their feet, screaming. I’m right there with them, cheering, losing my voice, screaming like a maniac.
All I can think is, that’s my man. He’s mine. Seconds later, Miller scrambles up the middle for the game-winning touchdown. The Hawks win.
The stadium erupts in anger; boos, groans, slamming cups, litter everywhere, but I can’t help smiling like an idiot. I throw on my best fake-frown just to avoid getting jumped by angry Philly fans, but inside, I’m freaking out.
As Carter runs toward the bench, he glances up, finds me in the crowd, and sticks his tongue out playfully.
God, I’m going to rip his clothes off later.
As the Hawks entire team is still jumping up and down, my family quickly decides we need to rush out of the stadium to beat the traffic.
There are still loads of fans around us, but I think we can slip out before the real crowd hits.
After a few minutes of exiting the stadium and walking toward the train station, we collectively decide we’re too lazy and order an Uber to Evan’s apartment.
Splitting it five ways is cheaper, maybe five bucks each.
The game started at 1 p.m., and it’s only around 4:30 now.
By the time we get to Evan’s apartment, it’ll be five, which means we can order dinner immediately.
Dinner won’t feel early anyway since it’s going to take at least an hour for delivery.
***
Carter’s meeting us at Evan’s, but first, he needs to change and grab his own Uber. Right on schedule, we pull up to Evan’s Fishtown, two-bedroom walk-up apartment at 5 p.m. exactly.
We pile out of the car, still bickering about what to order for dinner.
I’m craving Italian, specifically a chicken parm hero.
I know Carter will want that chicken parm as well .
We have a system: I get one thing, and he gets another, and we split them.
It's the best of both worlds. I despise ketchup and mayo, though, so anytime these condiments are added by mistake, Carter eats everything. Lucky him.
Rachel and Bex want Mexican. Evan and Ian want Chinese. It’s a full-blown standoff.
But I win, as I pull the “I want to impress Carter” card, which ends the debate instantly.
Rachel raises an eyebrow. “I think Carter needs to impress us, not the other way around.”
Evan and Ian nod in agreement, clearly messing with me.
I throw my hands up. “I completely agree. You’re all princesses, and the world revolves around you all.”
Ian bursts out laughing. “Bitch, you’re right.”
“When does Carter even get here?” Evan asks.
“He should be here within twenty minutes,” I say. “He told me to order now, so the food shows up around the same time he does.”
As soon as I say that, Ian whips out his phone and calls the local Italian spot. We all order sandwiches and heroes. I’m the only one who gets the chicken parm hero, though. Carter ends up getting the turkey club, but I secretly put in a request to remove the mayo. How devious of me.
We sit around Evan’s tiny kitchen table, catching up on each other’s lives, especially mine in Newark. Then my phone buzzes with a message from Carter: Here.
I light up, nerves and excitement hitting me everywhere. What if my family doesn’t like him? But I immediately shake that thought off. My family’s a bunch of lovable idiots. They’ll like anyone who’s even remotely nice to me. Honestly, they probably already love him.
I stroll to the door as my siblings turn to watch with anticipation. I open it, and there’s Carter. God, he looks so hot. He’s wearing a tight black V-neck that shows off his muscles. I swear I can see his abs sculpted through the fabric.
Rachel mouths, I want him.
I mouth back, Perv.
She’s always like this, especially when I bring a cute guy around. Makes sense, though. She’s single, finishing up her PhD, and hasn’t had time to date. She finishes this year, so that’ll definitely change.
Carter walks in way more chill than I expected and says, “Sup, fam?”
I beam. One by one, my siblings introduce themselves, coincidentally in order of age.
Carter looks at Evan, then back at me.“Wow, you two do look alike. But I can one hundred percent tell the difference. Evan, your face is more oval. Nate’s is rounder.”
“Thank God,” Evan says. “Having a twin is stressful. I grew up with people constantly asking, ‘Which one are you?’ Do you know how fucking annoying that is?”
Carter laughs as he pulls out a chair and joins the party.
One by one, they start grilling my boyfriend.
“What are your plans with Nate if you don’t get a new contract?” Bex blurts out.
“Um, good question. I, I assume I’ll get another contract,” Carter stutters, clearly thrown.
Then Rachel jumps in. “What’s it like being famous? Do you have boys trying to suck you off daily?”
“Woah,” I yell in Rachel’s direction.