Epilogue
College football eligibility: Year 4 of 4
Avery gazedat his face and held what might have been meaningful eye contact had Jordan Ackerman been a man and not a canvas. “You again,” she whispered as she unfolded the protective paper from the panel. “First, we can’t find you. Now, we can’t stop bumping into each other.”
“Where does that one go?” Sarabeth MacMillan held out her hands for the canvas.
“That’s number eight,” Avery said, pointing at a sticky note on the wall.
Sarabeth situated it on an easel and plucked the note from the wall before returning for the next piece. They unwrapped and placed the other nine panels as the media room next door filled with conversation and tension while the media waited for Cameron and Coach Keyes to arrive. The folding wall panel between the two spaces would remain closed until the end of the interviews.
Her toes twitched.
Sarabeth stepped back from panel number two—Jordan with a half-open briefcase shedding money and jewelry as he bolted down the Las Vegas strip—and sighed as she held up Avery’s hand so their engagement rings caught the light together. “Why does it feel like everything’s ending when we’re supposed to be excited for new beginnings? Today is bittersweet, and even a little sad.”
“We are excited for new beginnings,” Avery said. The pale blue diamond on her left hand twinkled, casting a rainbow on panel number three, a solemn scene in a bubblegum-pink hospital room with puzzle pieces of cut-up CT scans scattered on the wall. “Today was Cameron and Isaac’s last game here, but there’s a lot to celebrate about that.”
Sarabeth grazed a fingernail lightly over Jordan’s forehead in panel ten. “I’ve always been supportive of Isaac’s dreams, and I always will be, but?—”
“But Isaac has the safest gear available, and the best reason to stop playing if he ever feels the risk is too great,” Avery said. “There’s no shame in leaving because you don’t want to risk another injury. He knows that. We’ve seen some high-profile players quit after just a few years because they’d rather not chance their health. Isaac’s smart. He’ll know when it’s time to go.”
“I’m a little jealous, Avery. You and Cam will go right from graduation into happily-ever-after in some twee little cottage in France. I’ll go from my wedding to wherever Isaac gets drafted, and I won’t know anyone while he’s off to training twenty hours a day. I don’t even let myself think about the craziness that might happen if he doesn’t get drafted and we have to deal with free agency.”
“It’ll all come together. You’d be deathly bored playing lazy tourists and tracking down Cam’s distant relatives. I bet you’ll have a dinner party roster in no time. And if Isaac’s really gone that much, come stay with us for a while.”
Sarabeth squared her shoulders. “I’ll come visit with him in the offseason. Wherever we land for his team, I’ll make us a home and I’ll make us some friends, because God knows he will not want to make friends on his own. We’ll have an adventure, even if I have to drag him to the parties kicking and screaming.”
Avery grinned. “Atta girl. He’ll come home and tell you about all the fun people he met at work and then panic when you want to invite them to dinner. Probably afraid they’ll regale you with impressions of him singing in the locker room.”
“Do you know what he said to me the other day?” Sarabeth straightened panel number two. “He told me that today, this game, was his last locker room concert, because he knows how much I love when he sings for me and he wanted something to be ours alone. He wants there to be some part of him I don’t have to share with anyone else. And he just threw that out there out of nowhere, but it’s kind of sweet.”
“I mean, I can think of something he’s definitely not sharing with?—”
A familiar voice cut her off.
“Are we late?”
Avery’s jaw dropped, and she clapped her hands in amazement before darting across the room for a hug.
“What the hell?” asked another voice. “Only Cory gets the hug. It’s like I’m just a backup or something.”
“You’re the best backup in the league, Ethan.” Avery punched his shoulder. “Does Cameron know you guys are here? Is it a bye week? He didn’t say a word.”
“It’s not a bye. We’re head-to-head in Detroit tomorrow evening.” Cory inclined his head and smiled. He tapped his UND hat. “We’re traveling incognito. Surprise party for our boy.”
“You are incognito.” Ethan rolled his eyes. “No one cares who I am. At least I don’t have to wear some shitty school’s hat to disguise myself when I want to go watch an old buddy play ball.”
“Some shitty school.” Avery knocked on the brim of his orange UT hat, brighter and newer than Cam’s. “You guys haven’t met my friend. Cory Thatcher, Ethan Engel, this is Sarabeth MacMillan, Isaac Fields’ fiancée. Sarabeth, the guys.”
Sarabeth stared as Cory took off his hat, raked his hand through his golden-blond hair, settled it back on his head, and shot her the same smile he flashed in toothpaste advertisements. His height and build and the swagger of a national championship caught attention in college. Even with his bright gaze tempered and his cheeks drawn tighter by finally learning to lose a game, he was the face of New York football, and drew glances in every room he entered. Ten Jordans seemed to watch him from the panels.
“I’ve heard all about you,” Cory said. “Your fiancé’s brothers adore you. You are the standard by which Luke and Eli Fields measure all women. I have stories.”
Ethan folded his arms and tapped his foot. “I’ll have you know, we named your future husband after this clown,” he said to Sarabeth. “He was the pseudo-Cory. I think from now on, Cory should be the pseudo-Isaac. We need to take him down a peg.”
Recovering her poise, Sarabeth nodded agreement. “Yeah, I think Isaac’s a little taller.” She scanned Cory head-to-toe. “He’s got better shoulders, too. I hear pseudo-Isaac can’t sing.”
“Can’t sing for shit.”
“I feel like a piece of meat,” Cory complained. “Avery. They’re so mean.”
“Get over yourself and check out the panels,” she said, shoving him and Ethan toward the first easel. She checked her watch and strained to hear through the thin wall separating them from the media room. “Everyone can come see them after the press conference, but you get the first look. We only have a few minutes. When Cameron goes up, we’ll stand in the back to watch.”
“I’m ready for this.” Ethan rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “God, I am ready for this. Someone hold me back if I start pumping my fist and yelling.”
Cory shrugged. “That’s one way to blow our cover.”
“The big man-hug at the end isn’t going to do it?”
“I don’t think they’ll be interested in my face so much at that point, but if anyone wants to attach my name to this, they’re welcome to it.”
“Thatch, look.” Ethan gestured at one of Avery’s pieces. “You can add ‘artist’s muse’ to your stat sheet now.”
Cory clamped a hand over his mouth and turned pink with restrained laughter as he took in panel one: Surrounded by a ticker-tape of posts praising him in UND social media, Jordan kicked back in his football jersey, martini in one hand, a golden helmet at his side, with gold leaf over his entire right arm. “GoldenArm,” he murmured. “I remember thinking that. This is the ‘before’ picture, huh?”
“You’ve got it. Cam mentioned that once. I hope you don’t mind.”
She led them down the row of displays. Number two was the Vegas strip—Jordan on the run. Number three was a hospital room bedecked with cut-up CT scans where Jordan, his features blurred, faced a window into the dark. Panels four through seven were more cheerful, and took him on journeys to South America, the Badlands, Canada, and Monaco. Avery’s signature washes of pink snuck into every composition.
Ethan stopped in front of a bright green panel and shook Cory’s arm.
Panel number eight was overlaid with green plastic turf, and Avery had used field paint begged from the grounds crew to make tiny yard line markers for a section of the field. In the drawing, Jordan rested on a lounge chair made of thousand-dollar bills as though he were poolside, arm cocked to throw, wearing nothing but a mouthguard and football pants.
“Shadows and angles,” Cory snorted.
Ethan elbowed him. “Remember when Cam freaked out about that? I thought it was just one and done with that photo shoot, but the jokes just kept coming for weeks, and—” He cleared his throat when he saw Avery and Sarabeth staring. “I mean, Avery, that’s a very keen observation on the way men’s bodies are objectified as part of marketing the game.”
“I call that one ‘The show-off, silenced.’”
Ethan gulped.
“Marshall North really liked that panel,” Avery continued. “Cam sent him all the pictures, and Marsh said stuff like this is the reason he’s going to law school. There’s no one advocating for athletes like Jordan. Not yet.”
On panel nine, a collage of news articles about the disappearance framed Jordan in UND warm-ups, seated on a bench in the locker room, unlacing a football. The viewer’s angle, looking at the seated subject from a standing height, showed the unlaced cleats next to his feet. The original sketch for the panel showed the laces draped over the bench in an approximation of a noose, but Cam suggested a change after a conversation with his friend.
“It got dark for a while,” he said. “And Jordy worked really hard to make sure it didn’t get that dark.”
The final panel, with its halo of helmet shards tipped in gold, stopped both men in their tracks. Draped in a tattered practice jersey, Jordan gazed at the heavens, palms lifted in supplication. A golden tear shimmered on his cheek. The face mask of the ruined helmet was spattered in pink paint, flattened, and bolted to the bottom of the frame to separate him from the viewer like a fence. A real practice jersey, torn and singed at the edges, framed the canvas like a curtain.
Without thinking, Ethan reached to touch one of the shards. “Was this the real thing?” he asked, dragging his finger along a sharp edge.
“We don’t have access to the real helmets. Cam got this one from the castoff bin in the equipment room and we beat the heck out of it one night outside of town. I got a few good smacks in, but I think it was cathartic for Cam to just crush the thing. It was about a lot more than Jordy for him. I bet it would be for both of you, too.”
Cory rubbed the right side of his ribcage while Ethan winced, holding his neck.
“I’ve wanted to crush a helmet or two,” Ethan said. “I’ve tried. You kind of have to hate loving this game sometimes. It’s brutal and pointless, and it’s consumed me for fifteen years.” He rubbed his eyes, then poked at the sharp edge of the helmet again. “Still, I’ll concede that Cam was right about a sweet backup gig. The paycheck is more than enough, and it’s safer this way. I need to get a trade to New York and hang out with this jerk.”
“Ethan wants to be Dad now,” Cory said. “He owes me a few lectures on losing.”
A burst of noise from the next room snapped Avery to attention. She grabbed Sarabeth’s hand and nodded to the door. “I don’t know who’s going first, Coach or Cam, so let’s go.”
“Coach doesn’t know?” Cory’s eyes went wide.
Avery winked. “It’s easier for everyone if he can say he had no idea.”
They shuffled into the back of the media room as Coach Keyes took questions. “I have a little news,” Cory said under his breath. “Has Cam kept up with our old friend Hayden Hamilton?”
Avery stiffened. “We don’t have a friend by that name.”
“Is your brother doing well?”
“He’s fine. Enjoying Nashville, and no lingering effects from the injury.” She paused. “Why? What’s the news?”
“I saw Dale Gellar last week. He caught me after the game with a tip on a little follow-up from the mess Hayden caused last spring. Dale loves a rumor, and this one’s true. I’ll send Cam the link so you two can lose your minds over it together. It’s good.”
“It’s so good,” Ethan interjected. “I sleep better at night already.” He turned to Sarabeth, who was fighting giggles. “What’s so funny?”
“The next dinner party is all of you, and Isaac’s brother Caleb. You know they played together. He has a story about Hayden you might like.”
The coach stepped away and Cam emerged from behind the backdrop, half-smiling as he approached the podium. A member of the P.R. crew adjusted a light to reduce the glare on his glasses.
“Thanks, Coach,” he said, then cleared his throat as shutters clicked. “First of all, thank you all for coming out today. This is an emotional last call for me. I’ve seen so many of your faces at every home game for four years now, since my first days behind a microphone. Thank you for your patience as I learned to put sentences together. I swear, if you want to trust me with your home addresses, I’ll send each of y’all a Christmas card.”
A warm laugh arose from the assembled media. Avery caught Pippa’s eye and waved. As the new crew chief, Pippa ran a tight, efficient ship. Her social media representative was at her side, thumbs poised to post a farewell graphic—pre-made with an action shot, no special photoshoot required—overlaid with some words from Cameron’s remarks.
“That was quite a send-off out there,” he said. “What a game to be my last game at UND. From the day I got called up to be a starter, this team has rallied around me through thick and thin. As a team, we have lifted each other out of some scary deficits and into some beautiful wins. We held each other up when the comebacks didn’t go our way. My teammates taught me leadership, loyalty, and accountability, and I hope I’ve shared those values with others.”
Cameron looked past the media and caught Avery’s eye. He smiled before turning back to his remarks.
“I can’t believe he didn’t notice you,” Avery murmured to Ethan. “He’s got a shitty poker face. We’d know if he noticed you.”
“No one notices the backup,” he said. “And it’s pretty all right that way.”
“It’s been the privilege of my life to lead this team for four years,” Cameron said. “My teammates have truly been my team, on and off the field. They helped me with my footwork, my homework, and one of them even accidentally helped me find the words to talk to the girl I’m going to marry. In addition, I owe tremendous thanks to Coach Keyes, Coach Glamis, and all the coaching and training staff for their tireless faith in me and my dumb ideas. I know you all are expecting an announcement from me tonight about whether I have decided to enter the draft.”
Avery squeezed Sarabeth’s hand and spotted Pippa bouncing on her toes. Cory breathed slowly, still manifesting peace, and Ethan stood like a statue as Cam continued.
“I’ll be happy to get to that after one last heartfelt thanks. I owe this entire experience to the man whose sacrifice gave me the opportunity to lead, and I’d like to turn the microphone over to him for a few minutes. Ladies and gentlemen, Jordan Ackerman.”