36. Chapter 36
I ’m standing on the sidelines, headset hanging around my neck, iPad tucked under one arm, and the stadium is packed. The roar of the crowd and buzzing energy can’t keep me focused on the field.
Instead, I’m thinking about my wife and daughter.
They’re here. At the game today.
It’s our seventh game of the season, but the first one they’ve come to.
And somehow, it feels even more important than any rivalry game or championship game I’ve ever played.
I scan the box seats along the side of the stadium, counting over until I’m sure it’s their box.
It’s the same box my mom sits in with the other coaches' families. The sun is high enough to make the glass glare, so I can’t see inside.
But still, I picture them. Lennon is in Savannah’s arms, and both are in the custom jackets I gifted them this morning.
When Q mentioned our friend Macy was still making custom designs, I reached out immediately. She was thrilled to create something for my girls. There’s something caveman and possessive about knowing my wife is walking around the stadium with my name across her back.
Dad claps me on the back as he walks by. “Let’s do this, Son.”
I nod and move toward Hawke. He’s standing on the sidelines watching the other team warm up. I cross my arms and stare at the field. But my mind drifts back to Savannah and the last two weeks.
It’s been two weeks since Q, Brynn, Cody, and Chloe came to town. Since then, it’s been a long stretch of late nights, therapy appointments, coursework, midterms, and everything in between. But for the first time since Lennon was born, it feels like we’re moving forward instead of backwards.
Savannah has been putting in the work. The raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable work.
Brynn held to her word and referred Savannah to someone in her clinic who specializes in postpartum depression.
She’s been doing twice-weekly virtual therapy appointments where her therapist has started digging into Sav’s childhood.
They’re focusing on her abandonment issues and how the trauma is affecting her role as a mother.
It wrecks me to see her emotional after her sessions, but it’ll be worth it in the end. I hate that she’s hidden her pain for so long, but she’s finally unpacking it.
I’ve noticed a difference. I know it’s not going to be an overnight fix. No one expects that, but witnessing the progress has been incredible. My wife is healing, and I’m getting a glimpse of the Savannah I fell in love with, with even more passion and drive.
Last night, when I went to do the 3 a.m. feeding, Sav was already in there with Lennon.
She was in the rocking chair, feeding her a bottle, and of course, she was tired, but her eyes were alive.
I saw a glimmer of her spark as she sang a The Lumineers song.
Standing in the doorway, I watched until she smiled over at me.
God, I can’t get that smile out of my head.
My phone vibrating in my pocket snaps me back to reality. I dig it out and find a text from Mom. Weariness flashes through my mind, but it’s quickly replaced with relief as I swipe open the text.
Mom: [1 Attachment]
The second I tap the image, my heart warms.
It’s a photo taken at the back of the suite.
My wife is standing near the glass with our daughter propped on her hip.
They’re both wearing their matching denim jackets.
A large blue bow sits on top of Lennon’s head, and Sav is tilted slightly like she’s pointing at something down on the field.
I wonder if she was showing our daughter where I was on the sidelines.
As I stare at our last name on their backs, I can’t contain my smile. I save the image to change to my wallpaper another time. Locking my phone, I slip it back in my pocket as the players start running off the field.
It’s game time.
The first quarter is a damn mess. We’re flat out there, and it’s not how I wanted to start the game, especially with my Peach and Lemon in the crowd.
Between missed routes, busted coverage, and a fumble, I nearly threw my clipboard.
Glancing up, I scan the suite window, hoping for a glimpse of my girls.
I need to see their faces to remind me of why I’m standing on this sideline.
I want to make them proud, but the offense is sputtering.
As the second quarter rolls around, we’re still shaky, but starting to settle in.
The defense is bailing us out, but we can’t keep leaning on them.
I watch Jeremiah, who earned our starting wide receiver position, drop a clean slant across the middle.
The ball hit him in the hands, and it’s like he forgot how to catch.
Nerves and pressure are radiating off him as he jogs past me, avoiding eye contact with his head down.
After years of observing my dad, I do what comes naturally. I jog over and match his pace, slow and calm.
“You know what happens when you drop a pass?” I ask, voice low.
He glances at me, confused, bracing for a lecture.
“You line up,” I start, firm but calm, “and go catch the next one. That’s it.”
He gives a tight nod as I slap his helmet, sending him back on the field. No yelling or scolding. Only a reminder he has what it takes. Sometimes, players don’t need a coach—they need someone to believe in them, louder than their doubt.
Halftime rolls around, and all of us coaches are fired up in the locker room.
Adjustments are being called out as we get our boys focused, dialed in for the second half.
He digs deep, shifting into a second gear we all knew he had, tearing down the sideline for a crucial third-down catch before toe-tapping in the corner of the end zone to seal it.
As the final buzzer rings, I throw my hands in the air before clapping Harris on the shoulders. I let out a shaky breath. The win feels good, but not as good as what I see next.
Jeremiah kneels at the sideline, helmet off, his chest rising and falling fast. He’s not celebrating; he’s soaking it in.
Jogging over, I crouch beside him. “I knew you could do it.”
His eyes flick to mine, wide and glassy. “You didn’t quit on me.”
I shake my head. “Never.”
Jeremiah nods once, slowly, like it’s hitting him, and stands up a little taller than before.
This moment?
This is why I chose coaching over playing.
Glancing up at the suite again, I shield my eyes from the sun. Sav’s holding our daughter, both of them watching and cheering. A win never gets old. Especially this one. My first game with my girls here.
This is one for the memory books.
It feels like forever as we go through post-game discussions and press interviews. Even though I don’t sit in on the interviews, I like to stand in the back to observe. It’s good practice to learn the eloquent way to answer the pushy questions, when I’ll be the one answering one day.
I finally head toward the hallway toward the exit, but come up short.
They’re there, waiting for me.
My eyes trail up my wife’s legs wrapped in faux leather leggings.
A red CTU shirt hides beneath her denim jacket.
Her blue eyes are alive, with the corners creasing as she smiles.
She looks beautiful when she smiles at me with warmth and desire.
She looks like fucking mine, and it makes me feral.
This need to consume her right here in the hallway, where anyone could see us, is overwhelming.
“Great game, Coach.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. “Thanks, Peach. How’d my girl like the game?”
She glances down at Lennon cradled in her arms. “She loved it.”
“Did she?” I ask, closing the gap between us.
Sav chuckles. “Well, as much as she saw. She took a good nap during most of the game.”
I cup Lennon’s cheek as I peer down at my sweet girl. Eyes that remind me so much of her mother’s stare back at me. This, right here, is everything.
“Let’s go home, Peach.”
We walk together, her hand in mine, my daughter against my chest, through the hallway toward the exit.
People shuffle around us, waiting for their players to leave the locker room.
Reporters linger but give us space. I can hear the clicks of camera shutters, but I pay them no mind.
With the university in full support of our marriage, there’s no longer any fear of being seen together.
I stop before the door and turn to her. She peers up at me through her lashes. “Thank you.”
Her eyebrow quirks. “For what?”
“For being everything,” I say softly. “For supporting me, loving me, giving me this life.”
Her eyes well with tears as she smiles up at me.
“You’re welcome, Sunshine. Thank you for giving us hope, safety, and a family.”
I press a kiss to her forehead and push open the door. With another win on the game schedule, I can’t help but think about how I’ve already won the most important game of my life.
They’re right beside me.