Chapter 40
Archer
I love my family. I really do. They’re all amazing, wonderful people who shaped me who I am today.
I wouldn’t be where I am today without them.
But, holy fucking shit, I am relieved to be at The Den getting ready for the game.
It’s not much quieter here, but at least the noise can be tuned out like a white noise machine.
I make my way to the athletic trainers’ office to get stretched out ahead of the game when my phone buzzes and I see a call from Georgia Harrison, DJ’s sister, and my realtor.
“I know you have a game coming up and I’m sorry to bother you at a time like this.
But, you said to call as soon as I have a solid offer.
I think you’ll like this one. They’re offering only five thousand below asking, contingent upon inspection, financing, the usual.
They’re also good with the thirty-day closing timeline. ”
“They’re fine with all the major appliances staying?”
“Yes. They’re also willing to cover their own closing costs; you’ll just be responsible for your end. Overall, I think this is a very clean offer, and with the short closing timeline, you’ll be free to move forward quickly.”
I think about it briefly before telling Georgia. “It all sounds good; please tell the buyers I accept their offer.”
“Perfect! I’ll send the paperwork over to you for your signature, and we’ll be officially under contract. Congratulations, you just sold your house!”
“Thanks Georgia. I really appreciate your help in all of this.”
“Thanks for agreeing to work with me.” Deej was right, she really is the best at what she does. This whole process has been quick and painless. “Good luck today with the game. Tell Deej the same too please.”
We hang up and I resume my pregame routine.
I check my phone one last time and see messages from my family.
A video of my dad and brother doing their pre-game rituals.
A photo of Grandma, Mom, Ellie and Mari all wearing variations of my jersey.
Mom is wearing my high school jersey; Mari is wearing our away jersey and Elle is in the jersey I gifted her.
My grandma, she’s wearing a jersey she made that is a patch work of all my jerseys.
There’s my grade school jersey, my high school jersey, my college jerseys, and tying it all up is the Wolves’ orange and grey.
Smiling, I put my phone down and head to the tunnel with the rest of the team.
The tunnel is hot, claustrophobic, and humming with adrenaline. I can hear the crowd before I can see it. A deep thrumming that shakes through concrete. I can’t make out much but it’s a loud droning buzz that ignites my blood.
The light of the field is waiting. My teammates are pacing beside me, helmets on, pads creaking. Tyson jostles me with his shoulder. “Let’s give them hell.” He grins, teeth glinting in the dim light.
Then Garcia’s voice booms overhead: “And now - back at The Den, your Wolves!” His voice stretching ‘Wolves’ until it almost becomes a howl. The music hits. I take that one breath, the kind that is deep enough to burn.
And I run.
The noise hits like a tidal wave; 68,000 people cheering, flags whipping, cameras flashing.
The music’s blaring, the cheer squad’s dancing, the sideline’s a blur of motion.
But all I see for a moment is that green field stretching ahead.
Tyson shouts something I can’t even hear over the noise, but it doesn’t matter; everyone I love is here.
They’re here at The Den watching or out here on the field today.
I’m going to make every moment count.
After what seems like the longest four quarters of my life, we defeat the Grizzlies in a tough as nails fight to the finish, 27-24.
I ache everywhere, but it’s the good kind, the kind where you push your body to the limits and all the effort paid off.
I got hit hard by Trey Marcum and I’m sure I’ll be feeling it in the morning but right now, I’m riding a high that can’t be brought down.
I’m a sweaty mess when I’m stopped by a sideline reporter. I gladly answer their questions but I’m eager to get the grime off. I start to make my way to the locker room when I hear.
“Archer!”
Elle’s voice slices through the noise. I turn, and there she is standing just beyond the security rope, hair tousled from the autumn wind, Wolves jersey proudly displayed, her cheeks flushed from the cold.
She looks breathtaking. Behind her I see my whole family.
The entire Bell clan sporting my number.
Elle and Mom both insist on a photo, of course. We bunch together. Helmet, hats, and all my sweaty, stinky glory. Elle tucked under my arm, the kids making goofy faces, my grandparents smiling from the back. The flash goes off, and for a second, the world is perfectly still.
The scoreboard still reads 27–24.