December 31st #5
“What a throw,” Damon’s dad says to Phillip.
We kick an extra point, and it’s time for our opposition to line up and try to score.
“Hey, look,” Dani says to everyone. “Treyvon is playing with the defense.”
“He played both sides of the ball in high school,” his dad says proudly. “Doesn’t hurt that he’s grown since then.”
“He’s definitely bulked up this year,” Damon’s dad says.
“We just need to stop them,” Van says.
“Agreed,” I chime in.
The team starts with a running play, which we shut down, actually tackling their back for a loss.
Dani commentates. “They are all spread out this time, which usually signifies a pass play, but sometimes, they do it to make the other team just think that and then run it right up the middle.”
They don’t. They pass the ball.
And I want to close my eyes because it’s clear they are going to score. Their receiver is wide open in the end zone. He’s literally just standing in the middle of the end zone, waiting for the ball to come to him. No one around him.
Where is our defense?
I don’t even see where Treyvon comes from. There’s just a flash of him flying in front of the pass, hands closing around the ball like it was meant for him.
Interception.
For a split second, no one reacts. We can barely believe it. Then the noise hits all at once.
Our fans cheering.
It’s over. The game is over.
And we just won!
Everyone runs to Treyvon and is jumping up and down around him.
Our bench storms the field, rushing out and cheering.
Helmets are taken off.
Treyvon is hoisted on someone’s shoulders.
His dad is crying and hugging everyone in the suite.
The band plays our fight song. The cheerleaders have their pom-poms in the air.
The crowd—well, our fans, which is the large majority—goes crazy.
Everyone in the suite is hugging and high-fiving, but I’m watching Damon. I can see the smile on his face from up here.
We head down to the field to celebrate as the confetti starts falling. Bowl game champion swag is handed out to the players.
Coach is drenched in Gatorade.
When I find Damon in the crowd, being interviewed by a reporter, he’s got a champion ball cap on backward. And he looks darn good in it.
There’s a lot going on postgame. The trophy presentation. Lots of interviews. MVP presentation, which to no one’s surprise, Chase wins.
Damon finishes an interview, then finds me in the crowd.
He picks me up, twirls me around, and kisses me.
“Congratulations,” I tell him.
“Thank you. Were you freaking out when I had to go to the tent?”
“A little,” I say, which isn’t completely accurate. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I think you used a little magic to make this happen,” Damon says to me with a grin. “Looks like I might get to kiss you at midnight after all.”
“Of course I did since, clearly, I was playing in the game and missed the catch that caused us to go to overtime to make the game longer so that I could kiss you at midnight.” I smile at him. “No, wait. I think that was you.”
“I guess, technically, it was. Although my preference would have been to catch the ball.”
“Consciously, sure, but … you don’t miss often. So, I think it’s a little suspect.”
He kisses my nose and chuckles. “I’ve got to go in the locker room for our celebration, but I’ll be back out before we leave for the hotel. Just in time.”
We’re allowed to go into the players’ tunnel to wait.
And I will say that the tunnel is amazing. It goes from the home team locker room out to the field. And right before the pro team that plays here takes the field, they gather under a big, illuminated star in the ceiling.
There’s music playing, giving it a club vibe.
Everyone is happy.
My phone buzzes with a text. I look at it, thinking it might be Damon, but it’s not.
Not everyone is happy about the game.
Dad: I lost. Not only did I lose, but I also lost everything. Literally everything. All because of some stupid game. And it’s all your stupid boyfriend’s fault.
I don’t want to take the bait, but I do. Because I need to say something. I need to reply. I need him to know.
I’m shaking as I type.
Me: It’s not Damon’s fault. It’s yours. You choose to gamble, and you’ve been gambling away your future since before I was born.
It’s almost the new year, Dad. You’re going to be a grandfather.
But I promise you this—you won’t meet your granddaughter if you keep gambling.
And you won’t see me again either. I’m done. Until you are. For real.
Uncle Tripp comes over to give me a hug, but he takes one look at me and says, “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?”
I close my eyes tightly and shake my head. “Dad texted me.”
He pulls me into a hug. “He lost, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did.”
I show him my phone.
He reads the exchange and says, “You did the right thing, Ainsley.”
“I know, but it still hurts.”
He grabs my shoulders and turns me around, back toward the happy faces. “Enjoy this. Don’t let him ruin your happiness.”
I smile at him and nod. “You’re right.”
Three. Two. One.
Damon
I’m enjoying our locker-room celebration. It’s loud and chaotic. Joyful. Booming music is playing. Guys are dancing around. Screaming. Hugging. Making social media videos.
Coach congratulates us. Talks about our great team effort and that we’re still going in the playoffs. Which means we’re on the path that we wanted. To play in the National Championship game. And to win.
We all cheer and chant about that.
The captains give victory speeches.
The game ball is given to Treyvon.
Reporters are still doing interviews.
And while I’m enjoying it, I’ve got one eye on the clock on the wall.
When it’s almost time, I yell out, “It’s almost midnight. Let’s go out and celebrate with our friends and family.”
Everyone cheers. I think most of them never looked at the time. Or realized the new year would be here soon.
Chase and Treyvon grab me, and Chase says, “Let’s go, bro!” as we rush out of the locker room.
We find our families in the hall and give them hugs. My dad is super emotional, as is Trey’s.
But when phones come out, and someone starts shouting, “Ten. Nine. Eight!” I turn toward Ainsley.
“Come here, Champ,” I say, pulling her into my arms. “Looks like you’re getting your wish.”
“My wish was that you would win.”
“Well, you got that!” I grin.
Six. Five. Four.
I haven’t gotten emotional over the game. Over the win. I was super happy, of course, but not like this. Not like when I’m staring into Ainsley’s eyes.
“Three. Two. One,” we say to each other, and I feel like we’re the only ones in the room.
And then we kiss.
“Happy New Year,” is shouted all around us.
Someone plays “Auld Lang Syne,” and the group starts singing.
“Our baby will be born this year,” I say softly.
“We’ll officially become a family.”
“And we won.”
“You did,” she says.
Tears fill my eyes. “Thank you for what you did for me this season.”
“You’re welcome. I love you and want what’s best for you.”
“You’re what’s best for me,” I tell her.