Page 100 of Your Play to Call

I love getting excited about something, even as trivial as game-day details. It’s fun when other people join in on something as simple as picking out an outfit.

Today, I’m wearing a white Cosmos jersey, obviously #17, black leather skirt, and custom thigh-high boots. They are Cosmos blue, with Swarovski crystals, and Tripp’s number on the side. You may not notice his number if you weren’t looking for it, but I know it’s there, which makes it perfect.

Our suite is packed with friends and family of some of Tripp’s teammates. Everyone, as always, has been so kind and welcoming. There was even a young fan, probably about nine years old, and when she saw me in the hallway she started screaming one of my songs. I made sure to go back and take some pictures with her. I live for moments like that.

“Look who it is!” Erik says as he enters the suite. He followed through on his end of the bargain, getting my tour closer to what I wanted, so I had a ticket for him. He told me he only needed one.

“Glad you could make it,” I say, giving him a friendly hug.

“Go Cosmos!” he shouts in the suite and everyone starts to clap for him. The man loves attention.

“It’s going to be a good game, I can feel it,” I say, tipping my drink in a cheers to Erik. He heads to the bar to get his own. People clap and cheer their drinks in response.

I love the few minutes before the national anthem. The stadium radiates energy, fans feed into the atmosphere, no matter where they’re sitting.

I find Tripp on the sideline and I wait for him. He turns to the suite, finds me, and I put my hands on my chest. He copies me. We starteddoing it after our weekend getaway to his hometown. I know people make fun of us, but I don’t care. Not even a little bit.

It’s him saying he loves me, in front of his team, in front of the whole stadium.

They do their best to catch our moment on the Jumbotron. When people see it, they go wild. It feels like this is the first time I’m on the right side of public opinion when it comes to a boyfriend. It doesn’t really matter, but I love hearing people cheer for us during this sweet moment.

My heart races as the game kicks off.

The Cosmos are unstoppable. Today is their day. The offense is completely in sync and the defense is quick all over the field, not allowing a single point from the opposing team.

It’s the third quarter and the team is up by twenty-one points. Tripp has a ton of catches, but no touchdown yet. I know it’s eating at him because he wants to be the first person who hears a live version of a new track.

Tripp is lined up on the outside of the formation, and he runs a slant route, one of his favorites. We’ve been going over football terms and play calls in length, as of late. He’s only a couple strides in but I have a feeling he’s going to get open.

And he does. The quarterback sees him right away, throwing a pass which Tripp catches, in stride, right in the end zone. It feels like the entire suite, maybe the stadium, is holding their breath.

Touchdown!

Before we can scream in celebration, a defensive player tackles Tripp. A late hit. That will be a penalty and 15 yards.

Instead of jubilation, the tone is different. It’s a collective groan, anger at the late hit. The player who delivered the hit stands over Tripp. Goosebumps ripple down my neck and arms. Something isn’t right.

He’s awkwardly on his stomach, one arm underneath him and the other to his side. He’s going to pop up any minute or roll to his back. Tripp says sometimes you get hit and lose your breath.

He doesn’t do either of those things.

When the medical team sprints to the field and his teammates move everyone away from where he is in the end zone, that’s when it clicks.

Something is terribly wrong.

Tripp isn’t moving.

The suite is too quiet. Wendy stands next to me and squeezes my hand so hard it hurts. We try to get a better look at what’s happening, but we can’t see anything. The people around him are quick and meticulous. I’m frozen. This doesn’t make sense in my brain. Tripp gets hit all the time; he pops right back up.

All the players are kneeling. Not just Tripp’s team but both. There’s nothing on the Jumbotron.

Then I see an ambulance start to drive out on the field. Why is there an ambulance?

“We need to go.” Seth comes up behind me, lightly putting his hand on my shoulder. He speaks softly but with clear direction on what we need to do next.

“Go where?” my voice sputters and cracks.

“Willow, they’re taking him to the hospital. Emilie, grab their things.” He points to me and Wendy.

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