Page 116 of The Late Hit
“You made it,” she says, clutching the folders tighter against her chest.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, Eliza. None of my dreams would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you and all of the hard work you put into making them come true.”
“Now don’t get soft on me now. You’ve got a ring to win.” She pauses, looking around the stadium. A look passes over her face as the smallest amount of moisture gathers in her eyes. “Thank you for taking a risk with me.” Clearing her throat, she continues before I have a chance to respond. “Now go kick some ass.”
“I second that!” my favorite voice exclaims from beside us. I turned to find my wife making her way over to us.
A low growl escapes my throat—Eliza chuckles—as I take in my wife’s appearance.
Her long blonde hair is curled in waves, pulled up in a high ponytail. The blue and black jersey is customized with my number thirty-one stretched across her chest in Swarovski crystals. Yeah, somehow, I managed to keep my high school number through college and into the NFL. It’s pretty exhilarating.
My eyes continue trailing down her body, landing where the jersey stops mid-thigh on her tan legs. Bright blue cowboy boots cover her feet, but I can’t take my eyes off where the skin of her legs is exposed.
“Fuck, baby,” I rasp out.
She smiles, a blush taking over her cheeks. She throws her arms around my middle and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her in as tight as I can with my full pads on. She lifts onto her tiptoes, I move my mouth down to meet hers. Our lips find each other, and I can feel the nerves escape me and flow into her.
That’s the thing about Brynn. She’s a feeler, always taking on what everyone else is feeling.
Ending the kiss, I look down at her, still so lucky that I can call her my wife. “I love you, Wilder.”
“I love you too,” she says, grinning back up at me. “Now go kick some ass.”
Leaning down, I brush my lips against her forehead one last time before turning and jogging away. But before I get out of arm's reach, a hand slaps against my ass. Looking over my shoulder, I find my wife with the biggest shit-eating grin on her face.
“Love you, thirty-one!”
Goose bumps erupted over my skin while moisture lined my eyes as one of the country’s biggest performers belted out the National Anthem. It was chilling to stand on the field before the game, but nothing compares to how I feel right now, mere minutes away from kickoff.
“And the home of the bra-a-aaave,” the country singer finishes, just as a roar of F-16 engines rush overhead causing the stadium to rumble. Hands start slapping my shoulder pads as we turn to huddle up on the sideline before kickoff.
Hands dropping to my side, I shake out my limbs, opening and closing my hands. I tilt my head from side to side, cracking the bones. I take one last glance up in the stands toward the suite where I know my family is watching. Bringing my fingers up to my lips, I blow a kiss toward them while our team awaits the kickoff.
The Minnesota Grizzlies kicker sails the ball, but our returner is able to easily catch the ball. He takes off like a rocket, dodging and weaving through the mob of players rushing toward him. Following his blockers, he makes it to the twenty-seven-yard line. And just like that, my first Super Bowl game is underway.
The offense makes our way out onto the field. I find my position to the right of our quarterback. Clapping his hands, he waits for the snap. Dropping back, he finds one of the best receivers in the league for a quick fifteen-yard gain. In the huddle, he looks at me and gives me the play.
Breaking the huddle, we rush to find our spots. I wait for the snap and once our QB has the ball, I take off to my left, running behind him as I await the handoff. The offensive line holds off the defensive, and I pick up a quick seven-yard run.
Slow and steady, we take our time making our way down the field. Our team is good, damn good, but so are the Grizzlies. The game plan is to take advantage of the clock as much as possible. Short runs to pick up quick yards. It’s working as we find ourselves inside the five-yard line after taking five minutes and clicking down the clock.
Once again, I find myself lining up to the right of the quarterback.
“Hike!” our quarterback yells, stepping back and waiting for the play to start.
Starting toward my defender like I’m going to block, I quickly drop back to receive the ball. Juking right and then propelling to my left, I cut and weave until I’m inches from the end zone. The defense is closing in, but not fast enough. Stretching my body out, the hand holding the football crosses the goal line before I’m brought to my knees.
Touchdown!
Jumping to my feet, I’m met with the rest of the offense. Finding our quarterback, I point my finger toward him in a show of respect, thanking him for giving me the ball. Helmets smack together, cheers erupt, and the vibe is celebratory as we make our way over to our sideline.
The rest of the first half and the third quarter go off the same way with us taking a slow and steady approach to the game. The Grizzlies are looking to make it a fast-paced game, their strategy isn’t working for them. In fact, it’s making them flustered. The Grizzlies have three interceptions and two fumbles, yet they’re still within a touchdown of tying the score.
Halfway through the fourth quarter, there’s an electric current running through our sidelines. The fans can feel it too. We are up by two touchdowns with six minutes left. Coach gathers us around.
“All right, boys, you ready?”
Grunts of agreement envelop us.
