Page 102 of Ancient History

The crowd leapt to its feet. I screamed and clapped so hard my hands turned red. We took the lead. Thirty seconds remained in the game, and if we held our ground, South Rock would win. On the sidelines, I found Hutch, as I always did. He was poised like he was playing, too, deadly focused on the field. His body tensed as he watched his players, and I wanted to give him a massage. Maybe I would later.

“You got this. You got this,” I said under my breath.

The crowd was a mix of ravenous cheers and those watching in silence, holding their breath. My friends were on the ravenous cheer side, screaming “Go Huskies” at the top of their lungs. Including Everett. So much for thinking all sports were useless.

The buzzer went off. The bleachers exploded with noise. I screamed until my throat went raw.

Everyone got to their feet, cheering and clapping and making noise anyway they could.

The Huskies jumped for joy on the field, running into each other in a big group hug.

Hutch looked over his shoulder at me, and I wanted to remember that face forever. Pure joy radiated off him. I gave him two thumbs up. He winked back at me.

Someone was getting lucky tonight.

Before we could continue our telepathic foreplay, his players dumped the water cooler of Gatorade on his head.

Hutch’s white polo shirt became see-through, so really, we all won tonight.

* * *

The bustling atmospheredidn’t die after the game. People mingled in the bleachers and celebrated on the field. I could only imagine the parties that would be going on tonight. I hoped students were responsible!

I eventually meandered to the locker room to wait for Hutch.

I waited outside with the other family members. I’d seen Bud in the bleachers for a little bit, but he went home shortly after the game.

Hutch appeared in a fresh shirt. Streaks of Gatorade lined his pants, though. He walked my way and scooped me into a kiss.

“Congratulations! How does it feel?”

“I’m exhausted, scared shitless about regionals, and have dried Gatorade in my hair. I’m amazing.” His hands cupped my waist perfectly, as if they were manufactured explicitly for this purpose. “I saw you getting into it. Yelling from the stands.”

“Guilty.” I flitted my fingertips through his sticky hair. “So where’s the afterparty?”

“Your bed.” He growled.

“Oh?” I felt myself blush.

“For sleeping. I’m wiped.”

“Oh.”

“But I might get a second wind later.”

“Love it.”

Someone cleared their throat behind us. It was a pack of someones that I recognized from high school. Hutch’s old teammates. The guys had more adult looks to them, but their faces were etched in my memory. Seth Collins stood in the back, stone faced.

I tried to pull away. Instinct kicked in, and we were back in high school and found out. But Hutch wouldn’t let me go. His hands remained stubbornly in place.

“Hey guys! Blast from the past!”

“Hutch, amazing game,” said Spiegelman, whose freckled face had more weight, as did his gut. “I recognized some of those plays. Holy shit, that was awesome!” The other players concurred. Except for Seth, who remained stoic as ever.

“We didn’t know you were coaching. Hell, we didn’t know you were back in town!” said Laken, another former teammate, whose blond locks were starting to recede.

“Yeah, it all happened pretty fast,” Hutch said.

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