37. Cassandra
Mila,Lena, Cici, and I pressed tight to each other in the freezing stands. November had felt chilly, but January was torturously cold. Despite bundling up in enough clothes to make it difficult to put my arms down, the biting wind penetrated the layers with ease.
“We should have played in Arizona.” Lena’s teeth chattered together, and she pulled Mila closer, tucking the girl under her arm like a baby duck.
“If you’d just let me tell the head honchos you’re pregnant, maybe we would have gotten a pity box seat,” I said, my breath making wispy clouds with each word.
“If he wasn’t offering boxed seats to Mila, we weren’t getting a seat,” she replied.
“Go, daddy!” Mila screamed as her father piledrove a center into the turf with a painful thud. “Get those bad guys!”
“She seems real torn up about it,” Cici said. “Screw it. I’m about to freeze to death and I’m not impregnated by anyone on this team, so I don’t care if we’re losing. I’m getting hot chocolate. Who wants one?”
“I’m coming, too,” Lena agreed. “I can’t feel my fingers and I need a space heater. Mila, coming in?”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay with Cassie.”
The little girl clung to my side as Cici and Lena left for warm drinks.
After a four and out, the Breakers’ offense returned to the field. Between the cold and the seemingly inevitable imminent loss, the crowds were restless, eager for the last minutes to count down so they could climb into their heated cars and get warm at home.
I stood up, cheering for the offense as they crawled down the field, each play only gaining two or three yards at a time, all of them hard earned and gritty. The minutes in the final quarter counted down and the crowd perked up, sensing a shift in the game. One touchdown and a two-point conversion, and the Breakers would slip into the lead, clinching their first Super Bowl appearance since the formation of their team.
When Cici and Lena returned with drinks, Noa placed the ball five yards from the end zone. Third down. Diego clapped, and Noa threw the ball between his legs. Diego caught the ball, falling back two yards. Frankie crossed in front and Diego pitched him the ball. Frankie cut ninety degrees, sliding by Noa and making a break for the end zone.
He approached the line, wide open turf in front of him.
Until a defender stepped out of nowhere and mowed him into the ground.
The cheers turned to shocked silence as the clock hit 1:59. Two victory formations later, the Breakers lost their first conference championship.
Disappointed groans erupted from the stands as the season concluded with a loss.
“Next year,” Lena said confidently. “We’re definitely going to the Super Bowl next year.”
“Alright, that’s enough freezing. I’m getting preggers and the baby out of the cold. You staying out here to do your thing?” Cici asked.
“I’m not a baby!” Mila protested.
“In her belly. Not you.” Cici squeezed Mila’s shoulder as she mouthed, “totally talking about her!”
“I’ll be in soon,” I promised. “Save me a spot somewhere warm.”
They retreated inside while I made my way down to the tunnel.
On the field, the wave of reporters flooded the opposing sideline, leaving the Breakers’ tunnel oddly empty. A few familiar fans peppered the tunnel, a few crying, most frowning, all freezing.
“Hey girl,” Poppy called. Her cerulean blue hair had faded into a light powder blue, and despite the loss, she smiled brightly as she approached.
“Good to see you.” I pulled her in for a hug. Mostly since I hadn’t seen her since week fifteen and partially for the body heat.
“I hate when the season ends. Even if we got two extra weeks this time.”
“Three next season,” I promised.
“Definitely three extra weeks next season. Not that I can afford Super Bowl tickets…” She frowned.
“Please,” I snorted. “Don’t act like the Breakers aren’t desperate for you to cover their players.”
“The PR team, for sure. The players? Not so much. And Coach Simmons has flat-out declared that partnering with me is a complete no-go.”
“That’s a shame.”
Diego wandered off the field, clutching his helmet in one hand and a towel in the other. He caught my eye, and his concerned frown morphed into a smile. He gripped the handrail, pulling himself up to eye level with me in the stands. “Hey, gorgeous.”
“Brutal loss out there.” I gripped his shoulder pads, brushing my lips over his. “I’m afraid my good luck is running out.”
Diego pursed his lips before shaking his head. “Nah. Absolutely not.”
“You don’t think so? Because I felt a definite lack of luck in this game. I’m losing my touch.”
Diego pressed his sweaty brow to mine, the heat sending a chill down my spine. “You know what I heard?”
“What did you hear?” I whispered. I ran my mittened thumb over the neckline of his jersey.
His eyes flit to either side of us and he leaned in. “Cahoots.”
I bit back a laugh. “Cahoots?”
“Yep, with the groundskeepers. I’m pretty sure they slanted the field.”
“Slanted the field? Yeah, that makes sense.”
“The other team’s been practicing on a slightly uneven field all season, just waiting for their shot at the Super Bowl.”
“Damn groundskeepers,” I grumbled. “Always making trouble.”
“But you?” Diego brushed his nose against mine. “Lucky as hell.”
“Don’t I know it?”
Poppy cleared her throat. “Not to break up this love fest, but I was hoping for an official statement about the state of your relationship for my readers. Everyone is curious if we should expect Cassie back on the sidelines next season.”
I bit my lip, eyes on Diego as I searched for the right response. In the whirlwind weeks between signing the NDA and moving back to Norwalk, we hadn’t discussed what we’d say to anyone else. My presence at all the post-season games spoke for itself, but with the Breakers undefeated final six weeks of the season and a dominant performance in the divisional championship, my presence on the sideline was barely a footnote. I turned up on the occasional crowd shot and the fans who gathered around the tunnel knew me by name. But interviews? Pap shots? Gossip articles? Other than an occasional update by Poppy, Diego and I were old news.
“Is Cassandra going to be here next season?” Diego repeated. “Hell yeah. And the season after that. And the season after that. In fact, Pop, you better get used to seeing her around the stadium.”
She grinned, tapping madly on her phone. “I love that, I’m quoting it, and I can’t wait to see you next season, Cas!”
Poppy waved goodbye, but Diego’s focus had already shifted back to me.
“Sorry all your dreams are destroyed,” I said apologetically. “Even if it was vengeful groundskeepers, I feel a little guilty my good luck couldn’t get you to the Super Bowl.”
Diego shrugged.
“Not going to the Super Bowl sucks, but I wouldn’t say my dreams are destroyed. If anything, I got something a hell of a lot better than a Super Bowl ring this season.” My cheeks burned despite the cold and my stomach flipped as Diego gripped the railing tighter and cupped my chin in his palm, running the pad of his thumb down my cheek. “A golden chocobo.”
I snorted. “What more could a guy want?”
“Other than a gorgeously fun girlfriend to come home to? Absolutely nothing.”