Page 140 of The Trade

The ride to the stadium is a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, punctuated by Cam’s erratic driving and an unending stream of music blasting through the speakers. The nerves in my stomach tie themselves in knots, one over another, a tangible manifestation of the excitement I’ve been trying to keep at bay.

“I think your heart’s about to jump out of your damn chest,” Cam points out, a teasing lilt to his voice.

I let out a small laugh, my fingers unconsciously tracing the hemline of my jersey. “You’re not doing any better. Don’t even try to hide it.”

The retort earns me a smirk and an exaggerated eye roll. But all conversation stops as the stadium finally comes into view. The transition from nervous anticipation to pure, unabashed joy is almost surreal.

And now, it’s been hours since we parked and found our seats, hours since the initial excitement gave way to a colossal tidal wave of pride.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of West than I am in this moment.

Well, except for that time when he passed his English Lit course. Or when he graduated from Dayton with a degree in Social Sciences, subverting the low expectations he set for himself. But this is definitely a close third.

Both my boys are killing it on the field tonight. West is rushing the ball like his life depends on it, while Mica dominates the defensive line. At the end of the fourth quarter, West lines himself up, takes two steps toward the line of scrimmage, and throws a quick pass to their team’s tight end.

The completion lands him his first regular-season pass for a touchdown. The sounds of celebration are ear-piercing, nearly drowning out the announcer’s voice. “And that’s the game, folks. The Carolina Bobcats take home the win, with a score of—”

It’s complete chaos in the family box. Cam and I are losing our minds, cheering and screaming alongside the ear-piercing crowd. When I glance over, West’s mom, Aileen, has tears streaming down her face. I wrap my arms around her, embracing her small frame as she cries into my hair.

Aileen is not only one of the kindest women I know, but she’s also filled to the brim with adoration for her one and only son. Although my parents couldn’t make it to today’s game, they’re watching it live and incessantly texting us all in the group chat. I swear my phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since the start of the game.

Aileen tilts back, fingers braced around my body while she holds me at arm’s length. “I’m so proud of our boy,” she says, projecting her voice through quiet sniffles.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?”

She finally releases me, turning to embrace Cam with similar vigor. My eyes drift around the crowded box, latching onto the faces of dozens of team spouses and significant others.

They’re all cheering for their partners in equal measure. And although it’s endearing to see their smiles, there’s a pang in my chest at the thought of what’s missing.

I’m the only person here to represent my brother, for what feels like the hundredth time. No wife and no semblance of a girlfriend, not even the promise of one. Because Mica Jennings is still . . . himself. Jumping from girl to girl, partying after away games, and having his name plastered in the tabloids.

No plans for settling down anytime soon.

He says it doesn’t bother him, but I know, deep down, he wishes he had someone to come home to at the end of the day. I can see it every time he looks at West and me—happily in love and moving through the next chapters of our lives together.

And when we’re all around Shannon, he barely even glances in her direction. I know he doesn’t want to upset me, but we’ve all moved on except for him. It’s like he can’t even stand the sight of her now.

As for Shannon’s feelings on the matter, well, it’s clear she’s no longer impressed by my brother. She’s happily partnered up with someone else and has been for the last six months. Regardless, I wish Mica could find his own version of a happy ending, and sooner rather than later.

By the time the team filters into the box, I’m a giddy ball of anticipation. Player after player saunters through, each with a well-deserved swag to their step. They hug and kiss their partners, happily chattering away about the game.

And it’s not long before I catch West’s eye.

His face carries the brightest smile I’ve ever seen from him, gaze laser focused on mine. He takes a few long, purposeful strides toward me, pushing through the crowd with one mission in mind.

It’s obvious from the look in his eye—West is about to kiss the shit out of me.

I pop up from my seat to meet him halfway, our lips crashing together. This isn’t just a game-winning kiss or a simple victory peck. It’s a pride-filled declaration of love for the person I can’t live without.

When he pulls back, his hands are still cupped around my face.

“You were incredible out there,” I murmur.

He kisses me again, this time a gentle press of his lips to my forehead. “God, I fucking love you,” he says.

I return the sentiment, nodding to his mother on my right. He takes a moment to collect himself, as if he just remembered that he’s in a room filled with his teammates and their family members. It’s not just the two of us here, existing in our own little world.

He embraces his mom, then his best friend, then it’s right back to me. “Where’s Ace?” I ask, eyes darting around the box.

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