Page 109 of Hail Marry
*Heart emoji*
Did you know it’s possible to stare at a single emoji for over two minutes?
Goingto the game without my family is more intimidating than I had anticipated. My seat is in the section reserved for player families, which already has a number of people in their seats, munching on concessions and chatting in their Admirals gear.
To my surprise, two of the women come over and introduce themselves. They’re the wife of the kicker and the girlfriend of the left guard, and they invite me to come sit with them and the other WAGs. Wives And Girlfriends.
It’s been a while since I’ve entered the terrifying waters of trying to fit in with an existing clique, and nerves reminiscent of junior high rise to the surface as I’m introduced to the other women.
They’re all welcoming and kind, even excited to have me there. It’s likeMean Girlsflipped on its head, and after half an hour, it’s abundantly clear to me that the Admirals WAGs are a tight-knit group. Babies are handed around freely and kids’ needs attended to by people other than their moms. It’s like a little support community. They get what it’s like to have a husband in the NFL, and they’re there for each other.
There’s a sense of disappointment in my chest as I realize this group probably isn’t in my future. Barring some miracle. Otherwise, the next time these women see me may be my mug shot in the paper.
My family text thread blows up in the minutes before the game. My parents must have passed on the information I gave them because my brothers and Jack are all expressing their support for us and wishing Luca a good game.
Like I said…best family.
Attention turns to the field, and after a quick glance at the heart emoji text Luca sent—just to make sure I didn’t imagine it—I put my phone away. The noise in our section is non-stop as the team runs out, with everyone cheering loudly whenever one of the husbands appears.
My heart skips when I see number 19 and Luca’s familiar physique emerge.
I cheer and dog-whistle as he jogs out to a stadium of electric excitement. Is it possible Siena’s right and this man thousands are cheering for really does loveme,of all people?
Once Luca gets to where all the Admirals are gathering along the sideline, he turns. I watch him scan the audience until his gaze settles on me.
My pulse races.
His helmet obscures his face, but I can see his smile despite that, and it sends my heart into a frenzy as he lifts his arm and points at me. The ladies around me all cheer, and I go cherry red as I point right back at him.
The Admirals win the coin toss and choose to kick off rather than receive, which means my heart gets a break before I have to watch Luca go helmet to helmet with the other team. The Ironhawks are projected to be really good this year—better than the Admirals, and they drive all the way to the twelve-yard line before we stop them. They kick a field goal, putting them in the lead on the first drive.
The Admirals bring the heat, though, with an answering drive to the seventeen-yard line and a follow-up field goal of their own.
The game goes like that, both defenses struggling while the offenses make play after play. At half-time, the score is 23-20 for the Admirals.
By the fourth quarter, Luca has five receptions for forty-three yards, at which point the score is 31-27 for the Admirals with 1:59 left to play.
The Ironhawks get the ball and before anyone can catch their breath, they’ve driven the ball down the field, and it’s fourth and goal.
Their quarterback dances, looking for a receiver while his offensive line blocks for him. He throws the ball, and I hold my breath while it zips through far downfield and is caught and run into the end zone.
My heart drops as I look at the scoreboard. It changes to 34-31 for the Ironhawks. There’s a measly 1:22 left in the game.
Historically, I’m not a nail-biter, but as of now, that has changed. The kickoff sails into the end zone, and our offense lines up on the thirty-yard line for a touchback.
We can’t catch a break, Luca included, as he gets taken down mid-catch without ever getting a good hold on the ball.
He shakes his head on the way to line up again, and I can’t stand or sit still. The last thing he needs is a loss he takes personal credit for on top of the immigration fiasco we’re in.
On third down and twelve, we’re all on our toes as DJ looks in vain for a free receiver. After what feels like a million seconds of pure torture, he tucks the ball and runs, dodging defenders and getting well past the first down line, finally sliding to the ground before he can be tackled.
The stadium explodes with cheers, but we’ve still got thirty-five yards to the end zone, a running clock, and fourteen seconds until a Ironhawks victory. You could choke on the tension in the stadium as our offense lines up and DJ spikes the ball, stopping the clock and costing us a down.
It’s second down, and my eyes are on Luca, who’s in position on the line of scrimmage as he waits for the ball snap. He charges forward, blowing past a defender and running until he gets to the fifteen-yard line. He turns back toward DJ.
The ball arcs through the air, and Luca puts out his hands for the catch, but there are three defenders nearby. The ball flies into his hands, and he tucks it into his arm, dodging one defender, who leaps after him and grabs his foot. Luca shakes him off, sidesteps the next cornerback, then jumps over a safety and into the end zone.
I jump up and down like a maniac, clapping and screaming. Tossing the ball to the nearest ref, Luca turns his body toward me and starts dancing. My goofy, ridiculous dance. He only gets in two seconds of it before his teammates clobber him in celebration, but those two seconds will be ingrained in my memory for time and all eternity.
