Page 116 of The Pass Protection
“How do you stay so calm?”
“At the end of the day, it will all work out.” A warm smile spreads across her face as she looks at me. “If you’re going to be with a man who loves football as much as your father and has the opportunity to play professionally, you need to learn to keep calm. When their world feels like it’s on fire with pressure, you need to be the one they lean on. Be the calm to their storm, sweetie. Remind Crew that no matter what, you love him forhim. Not him as a player or him as a coach or whatever he may be. Your love for him matters at the end of the day.”
I hum. “I was just comparing you to Dad’s calm to his storm in my head. And why did you throw Crew into the mix?”
She pats my leg. “Oh, sweetie, even someone who is blind could see how much you two love each other.”
Cheering from the crowd has both of us turning our attention to the field. Standing in the end zone, Grant throws his arms in the air in the touchdown signal as Crew sprawls on the field, his toes still inbounds. Jumping to my feet, I scream as I watch the replay on screen. The guys celebrate with claps on the helmet and shoulder pads as they jog off the field, passing the special teams.
The extra-point kick is good as the Eagles take a thirty-one to seventeen lead with a minute remaining. In a matter of sixty seconds, the Eagles will be winning a bowl game.
“Go.” Quirking my brows, I stare at my mom. “Go to the gate and show the security guard your badge. Be on the field with him. Tell him how you feel and celebrate this win with him,together.”
Blinking rapidly, I stare at the lights as I wish the tears away. Throwing my arms around her shoulders, I pull my mom in for a hug. “Thank you for everything, Mom.”
“I’m always here for you, Bret.Always.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She pulls away, a tear streaking her face. “Now go get your happily ever after.”
Standing from my seat, I move through the fans as I fight the rush of people leaving. Excusing myself through the crowd, I finally find the gate for where I can get on the field as the final seconds tick off the clock. Red fireworks shoot out of the endzone before multicolored confetti shoots from cannons.
The guard finally lets me on the field, and once again, I find myself moving through chaos. Scanning the field, I keep bouncing my eyes back and forth for number eighty-eight.
Pushing through bodies, I feel him before I see him.
Glancing up, I find familiar mocha eyes staring back at me through the masses of football players and media members.
Nibbling on my lip, I fight to keep the grin from covering my face as I make the trek to him. His eyes never leave mine. It’s not until I’m standing before him that I realize I have no idea what I will say to him.He stands there, sweat dripping down his handsome face as he holds his helmet in his hands.
“Hi.” The words come out sheepishly, and I mentally palm my forehead. Seriously, after everything, I’m going to start with “hi.”
Dropping his helmet to his feet, glove-covered hands cup my cheek as he pulls my face to his. Luscious lips find mine in a searing kiss, and I melt.
Crew Riggsby feels like home.
As the final whistle blows, I jump with my teammates on the sideline as we celebrate one last victory together.
It’s crazy to think that after three years of playing together, I’m saying goodbye to teammates who feel more like brothers. Goodbyes are the worst. They’re so definitive, so final. As if there isn’t modern technology and travel to allow us to see each other. It isn’t the same.
The thrill of winning helps ease that ache, especially when we played such a great last game together. This is how we should have been playing. We had chemistry among the team. Gone was the animosity and drama. Tonight, we went out there and played our game.
Turning to run out onto the field and celebrate with my team, I’m hit with a compulsion to look to my left. I can’t explain it, but my gaze moves from straight ahead of me toward where my team is running off the field to the sidelines.
That’s when I seeher.
Dodging bodies and searching the sea of faces, she moves through the crowd as confetti falls around her. Pieces stick to her hair and skate down her face, but they never once deter her from the mission she’s on. Standing in place, I mentally will her to look up.
Dazzling emerald-green eyes land on mine, and there is an explosion in my chest. The lights shine brighter, the noise is louder, and my heart beats faster.
She’s here.
With tentative steps, she erases all the space between us. No one obscures her view when she’s standing in front of me. That’s when I see what she’s wearing. Standing before me is Bret Addison Campbell, wearingmyjersey. It is a custom jersey, no doubt made by Macy. One side of the jersey is white with a navy eight, and the other side is powder blue with a red eight. I can only assume the back has my last name on it, and the thought of her wearing my last name sends a warm fuzzy feeling deep into my marrow. The idea of making her mine, giving her my last name, makes me feral.
Her eyes bounce between mine, and I wait with bated breath for her to say something.Anything.
“Hi.” The words come out sheepishly, and I smile at her nervousness. Only she has nothing to be nervous about. She’shere.That’s all that matters.
