Page 135 of Fighting Spirit

“I fucked it up.”

He sighs, and it seems like he might be about to give me shit, but instead, he comes out with, “Don’t be like me, Rowan, don’t leave it too late. You said that you didn’t want to wake up in ten years with regrets. Well, even after a couple hours with you two, I could see that letting that girl go would be the biggest mistake of your life.”

I sniff against the threat of tears. He’s right, losing Ruth for good would ruin me. I’m just scared I’ve made too much of a mess to fix.

“Don’t let fear, or pride, or anger, or whatever it is that’s holding you back. Don’t let it get in the way of what you two had because, let me tell you, you won’t find it again. I had it with your mom, and I nearly destroyed it. I’m just a lucky bastard that she’s willing to give me another shot, but you can’t wait the way I did. I know I don’t deserve to ask for promises, but you gotta promise me that. Don’t wait.”

“I promise, Dad.”

Chapter Fifty-Six

RUTH

At every other game we’ve played this season, I have a pretty good idea of the way that it’s going to go. I don’t claim to be any kind of expert, but if you spend enough time three feet from a football field, then you start to pick up on which way the wind is blowing.

But I can’t even begin to speculate on who’s going to finish this out on top.

Every minute it seems like a different team is gaining momentum, every player is leaving it all out on the field. My voice is hoarse from screaming and my shoulders kind of feel like they’re going to pop out of their sockets, but there’s a kind of high I experience here that I’ve never found anywhere else.

We’re almost at the end of the final quarter and Allbreck are down by six points. We need one final touchdown-and for our kicker to not fuck up the conversion-and we’ll take the championship.

I’ve spent the last three hours trying not to look at Rowan, but his presence is hard to ignore. It’s not just me who’s feeling it, either. At every break in the game, his team flocks to him, drifting into his orbit like planets around the sun.

Every time I’ve stolen a glance at him, he’s been serious, focused. When I look over now, I see him with a hand on some guy’s shoulders, staring into his eyes as he doles out instructions.

There’s a moment when, half a minute away from the final whistle, I think Beaufort has it. There doesn’t seem like a way for Allbreck to claw this back. But suddenly, our running back manages to break through the Beaufort defense and make it into the end zone. The noise from behind me is deafening, rattling around inside the mascot head until I want to scream.

I snap out of my stupor and go through the motions, running up and down the sidelines, waving and cartwheeling as the fans celebrate.

The officials get everyone into place as Bailey goes to take the deciding kick. If he gets it in, Allbreck will be the conference champions once again. I look over at Rowan, and the helpless look on his face, those wide blue eyes and the tension around his mouth, stops me in my tracks. This must be his worst nightmare, his whole year, the culmination of his entire football career up until this point are about to be decided, and there’s not a single fucking thing he can do about it.

I wish I could go to him, wrap myself around him and press my face against his chest until all that tension bleeds out, but I can’t. There’s a million reasons why not and each of them kills me.

The tension in the stadium is so thick that I feel like I can taste it, as sixty-five thousand pairs of eyes are glued to the ball sailing toward the end zone. We all hold a collective breath, everyone frozen in place. For a moment, it looks as though it’s going in. Cheers start breaking out from the stands behind me, but it’s only at the last second that its trajectory becomes clear.

It goes a foot wide.

Allbreck miss the conversion.

Beaufort wins.

Time stops, everyone around me disappears, and all I can see is his face. That furrowed brow smooths out and a grin bursts across his expression when he realizes they’ve done it. It’s not until my face starts to hurt that I know I’ve been smiling with him.

His head starts whipping around, his body turning like he’s searching for something. It jolts to a stop as he comes to face me, and there’s a long second when I think that he can see right through the mask, his stare burning into my eyes. I almost move toward him, hypnotized. I make it half a step before the moment is broken as a large body crashes into him, yanking him into a hug.

Before long, he’s surrounded by a flurry of blue as his teammates gather to celebrate. I can barely see him through the showers of confetti and what feels like hundreds of people who’ve rushed onto the field. It’s a good thing I’m firmly hidden inside the costume because I don’t think it’d go down well to have the Allbreck mascot grinning like a fool watching the Beaufort team hoisting the cup. I can’t help it.

For all that I’m mad at him, for all that he broke my heart, I’m so happy for him. He’s worked so hard for this moment, and nobody deserves it more.

The crowd around him intensifies, and I lose sight of him as everyone tries to get in a hug or a backslap. I’m frozen to the spot, so much so that I barely notice the people around me slowly filing away. One of the Allbreck players knocks into me as he goes, and I see the shattered expression as he realizes that for the first time in six years, Allbreck aren’t going to the playoffs. I should feel bad for him. I want to, but I can’t feel anything but elation.

Later, I’m sure I’ll feel worse for having seen him, especially seeing him so happy with the team that he chose over me, but for now, I’m just proud.

I turn to go, ready to get this costume off, when I pause. Somewhere over the crowd, I can hear someone yelling my name.

“Ruth!”

I wonder if I’ve imagined it and go to keep walking, when a hand wraps around my forearm. I spin, ready to punch whoever it is in the throat-I am not getting hoisted into the back of a van by these assholes again-when familiar blue eyes stop me in my tracks.

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