18. Archer
ARCHER
I have four seats reserved for every home game, but most weeks, they’re empty. Or I gift them to other members of the team who need extras. My parents fly out a few times a season, and the rest of my family comes at least once a year.
This week, it’s empty. The final play is called, and I watch from the sideline as Alabama’s quarterback takes a knee, the clock running out the last twenty-five seconds of the game.
Though, this wasn’t a bad game to miss. We lost—exponentially.
It’s been a tough season. So many of our strongest players graduated or were drafted last season, so now we’re in a rebuilding year with a lot of rookies. I’d imagine in a season or two, they’ll be back in the championship like we were my second year of college.
I’m still ranked the top quarterback in the country, and an assumed first-round pick in the draft, even despite our team’s poor performance this season. I don’t have much to complain about, and yet, as team captain, it guts me that I can’t get us all the way through the playoffs.
It’s my responsibility to keep the team as strong as possible, and when we can’t hold our own on the field, we fall apart everywhere else too. I fear how scouts and professional league coaches are going to view me as a leader if I can’t at least carry my guys to the playoffs.
It cuts deep. For how much I fear failing myself, failing those around me is worse.
I blow out a breath as the game comes to a close, expelling all the anxiety coiled deep in my bones as I twist side-to-side and stretch out my back. I can’t help but crane my head behind me and peer up at the stands.
My gaze drifts to those four seats at midfield after every game, even when I know that nobody I love is sitting there.
An impulse, I guess. I scan the crowd, blinded by the flashing lights, thinking of how three times the population of my entire hometown could fit inside this stadium, and yet it’s filled entirely with strangers.
Eyes snagging on that section of seats again, I blink before my brain has the ability to register my sight. I do a double-take, head snapping back, heart stopping entirely.
Standing there, by herself in the middle of my empty row, is Allie.
I rub my face, clearing the mirage. There is no way she’s here, especially not alone. It’s hard enough to get her on a damn airplane, not to mention by herself. I must be overexerted. Didn’t eat enough before the game. I’m hallucinating now.
When I blink, she’s still here. Beautiful in her red TU sweatshirt, hair framing her pretty face in wild ringlets. The smile she sends me is soft—sparkling even from this distance. Allie lifts a hand, waving at me.
I do the same, dumbfounded by her presence, elastic as the warmth of her smile fills every cold crevice inside me. Lighter—floating.
“What the hell are you doing, Seven?” Coach claps me on the back, and my mind lurches to the present moment.
Registering my surroundings, I realize the rest of my team is lining up on the field to greet Alabama, and as captain, I’m supposed to be leading that charge. “Fuck,” I mutter beneath my breath, falling behind Hudson, my top receiver and closest friend.
“Distracted?” He laughs, glancing back at me.
“Allie is here.”
He pauses, turning completely. “Really? Were you expecting her?”
I shake my head.
A shit-eating grin spreads over his face. “Shit. Well, at least one of us is getting laid tonight.”
“Fuck off.” I shove him, and he stumbles into a player from the other team.
We walk through the line of players and coaches, and I congratulate their captain on the win before returning to my sideline.
They open the gates from the stands and allow the field to flood with spectators.
Some players stay around to greet their friends and family, most mosey back to the locker room, heads hung low.
It’s going to be tough to keep morale boosted after this loss—another responsibility that falls on my shoulders.
Another checkmark on the list of places I’m falling short in life.
I find Allie again, still standing in her seat, glancing around nervously like she’s unsure of what to do. Sticking my thumb and forefinger into my mouth, I whistle, catching her attention.
I wave her down before realizing I don’t want to fucking wait that long to touch her.
I still cannot believe she’s here. I don’t know why, but she traveled all this way for me, and my heart’s thundering gallop has me on the brink of fucking exploding.
The pressure on my shoulders is threatening to blow out my eardrums and…
I need her. Need my arms around her waist and her breath on my neck and her whisper of my name.
I break into a jog. Dodging the crowd as I maneuver around them and up the stadium stairs, still in my cleats and pads, my helmet abandoned at the bench.
She’s only halfway down when I reach her, eyes fixed on her feet and not noticing me until my arms are sliding around her hips and hauling her off her feet.
I could swallow the surprised gasp that leaves her lips as I lift her.
“What are you doing here?” I laugh, a giddy fucking kid.
She laughs back, breathless. “Wanted to see you.”
“You’re crazy, Allie Cat.” I bury my face in her hair. “I can’t believe it.” I remember checking the stands at halftime, and she wasn’t here then, so the question dawns, “When did you get here?”
“Start of the third quarter,” she says. “My flight landed around seven, and then I had to get a ride here. I called your mom from the airport and had her send me a link to the reserved tickets.”
We finally untangle, and I realize a small crowd has gathered—including a cameraman who’s got us broadcasted on the Jumbotron and who knows how many networks right now.
I take Allie’s hand, leading her back to the field, chuckling. “I hope you don’t mind being the center of attention for a hot second.”
She tsks. “Can’t believe you’d have the gall to assume otherwise. I was born for attention.”
“I know, Amor.”
When we reach the turf, I pull her into my arms again. “So, what? Did you decide to just catch a plane on a whim?” I step back, grasping her face and tilting it upward. Her eyes glisten in the stadium lights—so goddamn beautiful. “I still can’t fathom that you’re standing in front of me.”
My life in Texas is so far removed from my life back home.
Sometimes, I think that’s the only thing getting me through the distance.
Mostly from Allie, but from everyone else too.
It’s easier to block out the love and responsibility I feel in California when I’m a thousand miles away, and it gives me the ability to hyperfocus on the responsibilities I have here.
When they clash together like this, it’s overwhelming, the reminder of how much life I’m missing out on. How lonely I truly am. Yet, when Allie’s eyes meet mine, I’m languid. The edges around me soften, and I’m suddenly reminded of the being inside me—the core of who I am.
“Yeah,” she breathes, smiling. “I was actually hoping we—”
“Allie!” The wind is knocked out of me as I’m shoved aside, and fucking Hudson takes my place, wrapping my Allie in his arms. “Look at you! You’re even hotter than the last time I saw you.”
She bursts with laughter. “You have no idea how much that means to me, Colton.”
“Prick,” I mutter.
He flips me off, arms still wrapped around my girl. Pulling back, he shoots her that charming ass grin that grinds my fucking gears. That grin gets him away with goddamn murder. Fucking dimples. “You’re coming out with us tonight, right? To the Honky Tonk?”
“Oh.” Her eyes widen, and for the first time in my entire life, Allie looks like she’s not stoked about attending a party. “Were you guys going to…” Her gaze darts to mine.
“Yeah, but we don’t—”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to alter your plans.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That sounds fun. Let’s do it.”
Hudson throws his arm around her, leading her toward the tunnel. “You gonna ride the bull again?”
“Oh, I don’t know…I’m a little queasy from the plane ride.”
Their conversation continues as I follow behind them, and once we reach the locker room entrance, I grab my teammate Dylan’s girlfriend and ask her to walk with Allie over where the players exit is so she can wait for me there.
I give the team the best pep talk I can muster, promising we’ll get back to work Monday and make next week our best yet. I don’t think a single one of them believes me, and I feel like shit about it. Coach promises I’m doing great, and that we’ll recover. I don’t believe him.
By the time I make it outside, Hudson, Allie, and a few of our other friends are waiting for me.
Luckily, our favorite bar—which really is named Honky Tonk—is directly across from the stadium.
It’s the only place we can go after a game and not be fucked with by fans.
The staff only really allows regulars on game nights, and the regulars don’t give a fuck about us.
As we enter, peanuts crunch against the floorboards beneath my feet.
The place smells like beer spills that haven’t been wiped for thirty years.
Colored string lights frame the bar top, with a few tables and booths lining the perimeter of the building, and a dance floor in the middle.
The place could fit about fifty people comfortably, but packs in closer to a hundred.
We huddle against the bar as Hudson orders drinks, and I lean into Allie’s ear. “Dirty Shirley?”
“No, actually…” She shrugs off her jacket, shouting over the loud country music. “I’m not going to drink tonight, so a regular old Shirley temple sounds good.”
“Not drinking?” I ask, popping a brow.
She bites her lip, appearing almost bashful. So unlike her. “Like I said…” She shrugs. “The plane made me queasy. Don’t want to risk…anything.”