Page 85 of The Pass Protection
With my left hand hanging at my side, I grip my helmet and place my right hand over my heart. An up-and-coming country singer takes the field as she has the honor of performing the national anthem. As she belts out the lyrics, military members hold the giant flag on the field, and I stand tall as thoughts of my father and brother flash through my mind.
Even with all the distractions, the noise from the sold-out crowd, and the emotions of playing in front of the veterans we are honoring, we never wavered. As soon as the ball was kicked off at the start of the game, we played with heart and tenacity. We played the way we trained by putting on one helluva show for our fans.
As the referee blows his whistle, signaling the end of the half, we jog off the field. Sweat poured down our faces. The score is in our favor as we lead by seventeen. Our kicker hit a thirty-seven-yard field goal as the first half ended. I turn, ready to jog off the field as usual, but Coach stops us. Everyone looks around in confusion.
“We’re staying on the field,” Coach says. “It’s an extended halftime. Once the ceremony ends, we’ll go back for a normal halftime.”
Scanning the crowd, my eyes land on Bret. She’s standing in the front row of the student section with Gregg, Macy, Cody, Chloe, and Brynn. Quinton is home for the weekend, but he’s down here on the sidelines somewhere. Perks of being a famous alumnus. I swear she can feel me watching her from forty yards away. I watch her emerald eyes scan the sidelines until they land on mine. Our eyes connect, and her features soften.
The announcer’s voice echoes through the stadium, startling her. “Ladies and gentlemen, please direct your attention to the fifty-yard line. Please join me in welcoming our honorary veterans.”
The crowd falls silent as a respectful hush envelops the stadium. My heart pounds as I stand shoulder to shoulder with my teammates. My makeshift brothers. It’s been three years since I’ve seen my real brother, and the absence never fully fades away.
A familiar knot tightens in my stomach as anxiety starts to creep in. Having a loved one overseas never gets easier. Even though I’ve continued living my life, I never forget about him. I wonder what he’sdoing right now. Is he hunkered down in a bunker? Is he on a mission? Or is he at camp waiting for his next assignment?
Veterans begin to walk out from our tunnel and make their way to the makeshift stage. They’re greeted by a thunderous round of applause as everyone in the stadium thanks them for their service. I clap along as I feel a wave of sadness.
Three years ago, when Jett was home, he looked so different. Serving in a war will do that to you. But while he joked around the table, his eyes also showed sadness. Is he happy? Does he miss the family like we miss him? When he hugged me goodbye, he told me he would do better at staying in contact, especially since I was heading off to college. But life has a funny way of throwing a wrench in your plans. I’m sure he’s doing his best to keep in touch with the occasional email, and at least he wished me a happy birthday this year.
Photographers and members of the media shuffle around the field, capturing the ceremonious events. Some turn toward the team to capture us in our special uniforms.
The announcer’s voice cuts through my musings. His voice softens, filling with emotion as a wave of restless energy radiates around me. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, we have a special guest. Please welcome Staff Sergeant Jett Riggsby, returning home after eight years of service.”
My world stops. Did I hear him right? Did he just say Staff Sergeant Jett Riggsby? My breath catches as I try to swallow the lump of emotions that wells in my throat. My heart is racing, my palms are sweating, and my vision blurs. Blinking, I try to clear the tears that are gathering in my eyes. I’m not a crier, but goddamn, this might do the trick.
I’m so caught up in everything happening around me that I didn’t even see him step on the field. It’s not until Coach Campbell isclapping me on the shoulder pads, and my teammates are staring back at me as they move. The gap they make lets me see clearly.
My brother, dressed in his uniform, is making his way toward me. He looks just like I remember, only a little broader and with a little more wear on his face. My knees buckle as I fight to keep upright. Dropping my helmet, I pinch my forearm because there is no way that this is actually happening. My chest tightens, and my chin quivers as I keep the sobs from bursting.
Realizing that this is reality, I take off, pushing through the guys who clap me on the shoulders as I move past. My vision tunnels as I jog onto the field and eat up the distance between me and my brother. Everything blurs around me—faces, noise, everything is gone as I race toward him.
When I’m finally standing before him, Jett’s wide smile that matches mine takes up his face. Arms wide, we both pull each other in for a hug. Holding him tightly, he hugs back just as fiercely. “You’re really fucking here?”
“I missed you, little bro.” His voice is thick with emotion and has a raspier tone, which wasn’t there before.
I can’t fight the tears any longer and let them stream free. Fuck the crowd and anyone who sees it. All I care about is that Jett is here. He was home, on US soil, safe.
“Are you home for good?”
“Figured it was about time.”
A weight I didn’t know I was carrying slipped away. No more worrying about where in the world Jett was stationed. Gone was the gnawing fear if he was safe and in one piece. All of the worry was gone.
The crowd’s cheers funnel back into my ears, but only as a distant hum. We pull apart, our eyes damp from tears as we both take each other in.
“Fucking look at you.” He beams. “You’re not that tiny shit anymore.”
“Yeah, good luck with beating me up now.”
“I’m proud of you, Crew.” His voice cracks, and emotion clogs my throat.
“Need a tissue?”
“Fuck off.” He playfully shoves me. “Now go. You’ve got a game to win, and I’ve got a game to watch. It’s about damn time I caught one of your games in person.”
This is no longer just a game anymore, it is a reunion, a homecoming.
“This one time.” Jett pauses as he takes a long pull of the beer dangling from his fingers. “Crew was in a phase where he refused to wear pants.”
