December 31st #4
“I think that’s probably a good thing,” Jadyn says.
“Especially after that guy from the accident,” I agree.
“Pace?” Dani says. “What about him?”
My eyes get big, like I just said something else I shouldn’t have. “Uh, he didn’t talk to her after,” I say, hoping they will think after means the accident and not the sex.
“Did she sleep with Pace?” Dani asks me.
I shrug like I don’t know. But I have a terrible poker face.
“Oh, that makes so much more sense now. Why she took their breakup so hard,” Dani goes on.
“It was the night of the accident. The first, uh, interaction, is what Damon told me.”
Jadyn puts her hand over her face, and Dani looks incredulous.
“I’m such an idiot,” Dani says.
Jadyn stares at me. “How do you know all this?”
I look back in Haley and Daine’s direction, finding them coming down to take the seats just behind us, next to Damon’s mom.
I say loudly, “Hey, looks like it’s time for the pregame ceremony!”
“Saved by the band,” Dani quips.
Jadyn elbows her. “Watch out, or you might stop being my favorite daughter-in-law.”
“I’m your only daughter-in-law,” Dani fires back with a smile as the opposing team’s band marches out and starts performing.
“I’ll just say one thing on the subject. Go, Damon!”
Their band plays, our band plays, people sing songs, and then it’s time for the national anthem.
We all stand, put our hand over our heart, and sing along with the vocalist.
Things start moving fast after that. The captains meet center field. We win the coin toss and choose to receive.
Two minutes later, Chase throws a touchdown pass to Treyvon for the first score of the game.
While we got off to a great start, so did the other team.
The game is close.
We score. They score. Repeat.
Damon’s dad is complaining a lot about our defense not playing tough enough. Jadyn keeps braiding and unbraiding her hair. Something she did in close games all year. I personally think that Damon has had a great game. He’s already got over a hundred yards and scored two touchdowns.
But I know that he won’t care about his stats if they don’t win the game.
No flag.
Damon
It’s the middle of the third quarter. Score is tied.
I go up for a pass, snatch it out of the air, come down in bounds, and get blown up by a defender. He launched his body at me like a rocket, and I go flying down, my back and head hitting the turf.
I don’t get up quickly, like I normally would, hoping the refs will call targeting on the other team.
When there’s no flag, I slowly get up. A trainer is at my side, helping me off the field, and I play along.
They have to look at the replay.
I stand on the sidelines and watch the hit a couple of times on the screen above the field. And it looks pretty nasty.
The good news is, they do call the other player for targeting. The bad news is, they tell me to take off my helmet, then pull me into the tent to check for a concussion.
Inside the tent, our team doctor says, “Look at me.”
I do.
Then he pulls a pen light out and asks me to follow the light.
Pretty sure I pass that.
He checks my pupils some more, then starts asking me rapid-fire questions.
“Where are we?” he asks.
“Cotton Bowl,” I reply.
“What quarter is it?”
“Third.”
“What just happened?”
I smile. “I caught the ball, held on to it all the way to the ground, and scored. And lucky for us, their starting end got disqualified from the game.”
“Okay, stand up,” he says. “You have a headache. Dizziness? Seeing double?”
“No, no, and no.”
“Hop on one foot,” he says, so I do.
He studies me for a second longer, then nods. “You know what we have to do.”
“Yes, sir,” I say. “Win.”
Two thumbs-up.
Ainsley
“I’m freaking out,” I say, worried about Damon. “It was a hard hit, and I hated seeing the replay of his head hitting the ground.”
“He should be fine,” Damon’s dad says. “He got up and walked to the sideline of his own accord.”
“Remember when I took a softball to the head when stealing second base?” Dani says to her dad. “I played the rest of the game, went to get into my car afterward, and didn’t know where to drive to.”
“And you had a concussion?” I ask her.
“Yeah. But it wasn’t bad.”
“You were lucky,” her mom says. “It hit you right in the temple.”
“So, why’s he in the tent if you think he’s okay?” I wonder.
“Concussion protocol. They have to check him out before they can let him back out on the field. It’s for his own safety.”
I nod, understanding, but I’m tapping my foot on the floor anyway.
There’s commotion in the suite, and I panic, thinking it’s like a doctor coming in to tell his parents something is wrong, but when I turn around, I see that more food is being brought in.
The chicken and waffles have arrived, along with a massive cheesecake and some kind of chocolate delight in a skillet.
I get up and fill my plate. Hoping eating will make me less nervous. Because I feel like he should be out of that stupid tent already.
“How long does it take?” I finally ask when I sit back down. “Don’t they just shine a light in your eyes or something?”
“We’d rather have Damon out of the game than playing with a concussion,” his mom says.
His dad winces slightly, and I can tell he disagrees—at least a little.
Of course, when he was playing, they probably asked him if he was okay, and if he said yes, he was back out there. Things have changed a lot in that regard.
I look down at my food, not sure if I can eat it.
A chicken tender is sitting on a mini waffle, covered with spicy maple syrup, whipped honey butter, and a sprinkle of powdered sugar.
The brownie is warm with marshmallows and sea salt caramel on top.
It all smells delicious. But the longer he’s in the tent, the sicker I feel.
I stare at the tent, willing him to come out, willing him to be okay.
It didn’t help that due to the targeting call, they showed the play over and over. His head snapping against the ground.
Once that’s all taken care of, the team goes back out, and we kick the extra point, putting us up by seven.
Our defense holds our opponent to a three and out, and then they punt the ball back to us.
Chase and the team are taking their positions on the field when Damon walks out of the tent. He pretends to swing a golf club, then looks straight up at me—or at least our suite—and gives us two thumbs-up.
He puts on his helmet, walks over to his coach, and runs out to the field.
I close my eyes tightly and let out a sigh of relief.
Then I eat the whole brownie.
I swear, this game …
Has been so stressful! So wonderful.
So much scoring by both teams.
It’s the fourth quarter now.
Game is tied.
Only a few seconds on the clock.
It’s too far for a field goal, so Chase takes the snap, rolls out, and throws a beautiful, long pass to the end zone.
Toward Damon.
We watch the pass float through the sky. It’s a pretty pass, perfect spiral, but just a little bit high.
Damon leaps into the air, practically taking flight, and the ball touches his fingertips. Then bounces upward.
Damon doesn’t give up though. He’s trying to gain control as he’s falling down. He juggles it again.
But the ball ends up on the turf.
Everyone in the suite lets out a collective sigh.
Because he almost had it.
We almost won.
“Overtime,” Dani says as the teams go to their respective sides during a TV time-out.
“Shit, remind me of the overtime rules,” I say to her.
“It starts with the coin flip,” she says, pointing to the field. “Which you can see the captains are lining up to go back to midfield for the overtime toss.”
“We want to win the toss, right? Always?”
“Ideally, we win the toss, so we can choose to go last. That way, we know what we have to do.”
I narrow my eyes. “I would assume you’d know you have to score.”
“Sure, but if we get a touchdown, then the other team knows they need one. If we get a field goal, they can win it with a touchdown or hit a field goal and go to another overtime. Each possession begins at the opponent’s twenty-five-yard line.
Each team gets a shot at the end zone. At the end of that, whichever team has the most points wins.
If they are tied, they go into a second overtime. ”
The coin toss happens. We choose wrong, and the other team wants us to go first.
Our team gets set up, and on the first play, we run the ball for eight yards.
A quick slant pass gives us a first down with the ball on the eleven-yard line.
“Damon’s going to score,” I say. “He has to since he’s number eleven.”
“Hey, whatever works,” Haley says with a chuckle. “We’ll take it.”
I look back at her, noticing Daine has his arm around the back of her chair and they are sitting close together. I don’t know what he said to her, but it seems to have worked.
The team huddles up, then takes their positions. Damon is lined up out wide right.
The snap is quick, and he’s off the line just as fast, the defender right there with him, hands on him, not giving him any space.
And while I thought Chase would throw to him, I know he’s going to have to see if someone else is open.
But he doesn’t.
The ball is already in the air.
It arcs higher than I expect, hanging there just long enough to make my chest tighten. Because I’ve seen this before, I know how this can end.
Just like it did at the end of the game—without a catch.
Damon turns into it anyway, twisting back as the defender hits him. Hard. I hold my breath.
He leaps up for it, higher than I think he can, one hand reaching up, fingertips just barely catching the tip of the ball.
It doesn’t even look possible.
But then his other hand comes up, securing it, pulling it tight against his chest as the defender crashes into him midair.
His body twists as they fall, and I swear time slows as his toes stretch for the ground.
Both feet hit the turf at once, just inside the end zone, before he falls out of bounds.
I wait for what feels like ten minutes before the ref’s arms go up in the air.
“Touchdown!” Jennifer screams out.
“What a catch!” Phillip pats Damon’s dad on the back, and I watch as Chase runs down to the end zone to high-five Damon.