Page 130 of Blitzing Emily

John picked up the telephone next to the seating area and asked to be connected with the coaches’ booth above the field. He must have been patched into the coach’s headset on the field.

“We’re not going to lose this goddamn game,” John said. “They’re driving on our 20, and you’re punishing the entire team over something one guy did? Put McKenna in.” He listened for a few moments. “Just do it. I’ll handle it later.” He hung up, turned to face Emily, and said, “You’re about to get your wish. In the meantime, let’s have a drink. What would you like?”

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Hopefully he wasn’t drinking Jagermeister.

He beckoned the server. “Two scotch and waters, please.”

Their drinks arrived unbelievably fast, along with a variety of snacks—one more perk of owning a pro football team. John gestured to the seats. “After you, Miss Hamilton.”

Down on the field, the coach made his way over to Brandon. Moments later, Brandon put on his helmet and ran onto the field. The ovation was deafening.

Emily threw her arms around John. “Thank you.” To her surprise, he looked a bit embarrassed and gave her a shy grin.

“Oh, no, thankyou.He’s going to win me a Super Bowl.”

John laughed, and clinked glasses with Emily. She wasn’t typically a Scotch drinker, but she sipped. It wasn’t bad. Then again, they weren’t drinking the cheap stuff, either.

Brandon played like a man possessed. He’d once told Emily that if he was ever actually in the Super Bowl, he feared he’d freeze. It had been his goal for so long. He visualized running onto that field so many times that it must have been like home to him. He had two sacks before halftime. He was menacing, and he was all over the Minutemen’s quarterback. If he didn’t make the sack himself, he helped his teammates by knocking offensive linemen out of the way, or getting his arms up to deflect New England’s passes. He rallied a team that had spent most of the first half letting New England run all over them. The offense was still having some trouble, but the defense was making opportunities.

They’d destroyed New England’s ability to run the ball. The Sharks secondary managed to intercept the New England quarterback’s passes three times, too. The TV commentators were predicting this could end up being Brandon’s greatest game as a pro. The others in the owner’s suite were cautiously optimistic, wondering if the Sharks could win their first Super Bowl.

Just before the halftime show came on the field, the network commentators broadcast the footage taken by the camera guy Emily saw earlier from the corner of her eye—a few seconds of her blowing Brandon a kiss. Another photographer had filmed Brandon pretending to catch it, and winking as he did so.

“Brandon McKenna’s catching everything that’s coming his way today,” the commentator said.

Shane Falcon, former Super Bowl-winning quarterback of the Pittsburgh Steelers and part of the announcing team, responded, “Hey, guys, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t understand what’s happening here. He’s trying to impress the lady in his life, and he’s doing a damn fine job.”

One of Seattle’s former running backs was providing color commentary this afternoon.

“Maybe she should always be on the sidelines.”

“Hell, yeah. Let’s hope there’s more where that came from, Seattle fans.”

At halftime, while Beyonce and Jay-Z’s music echoed through the stadium, Emily got up to stretch her legs. Maybe she should go out and walk in the corridor. A little exercise might settle her world-class case of nerves.

The moment she ventured out of the suite, she was surrounded by cameras and reporters. Don, a reporter Emily recognized fromThe Seattle Times, led the group.

“Don, do we have to do this now?” she pleaded. “I’m a mess.”

He grinned at her. “A couple of questions, okay?”

She heard another producer count “three, two, one,” the bright lights of television cameras shone in her face, and a female reporter Emily hadn’t met before said, “Surprisingly enough, there are some things more important than the Super Bowl. The Sharks’ Brandon McKenna announced three weeks ago that he would retire from the NFL after today’s game. He’s been working toward this goal over his thirteen-year career. McKenna was reportedly so unhappy about missing his ex-fiancée Emily Hamilton’s debut at the Metropolitan Opera today he considered leaving the team and flying to New York to see it. Emily was scheduled to sing the role of Musette inLa Bohemethis afternoon. Instead, she’s here in Miami. Emily, what made you decide to come to the game?”

“I had to be here. It’s the biggest game of Brandon’s life.”

“Are you worried about the effect on your own career?”

“Yes. I am.” The realization sat in her stomach like a lump of lead, cold and heavy. She’d tossed away years of hard work today. Emily chewed on her lower lip. “I ... I just had to come, though.”

“Does this mean you’re back together?” another reporter asked.

“No comment.” She fingered the ring in her pocket.

Don’s smile got even broader. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Brandon, Emily?”

Emily looked into the camera. She wanted to tell him again that she loved him. She wanted to tell him she couldn’t live without him. She wanted to wake up every morning and go to sleep every night in his arms. She wanted his babies. Even more than that, she wanted his heart.

That wasn’t what she said, though.

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