Page 93 of Enemies Off Camera
“Yeah, I’m saying it. In the history of this game, nobody—and I mean nobody—has ever played up to the level Wild Man is playing tonight. Two touchdowns. 124 yards carried in the first half. He’s not just hot, he’s volcanic. Ever since that injury, it’s like he came back possessed.”
Wes:
“That’s true, Troy. They call him Wild Man for a reason. Two touchdowns, wow! And I think his lady might have something to do with it.”
The Jumbotron flashes a shot of Zara Morgan, bundled up in an oversized Bull Sharks windbreaker, front row, beaming.
Wes:
“There she is—Zara Morgan. Thumbs up. That’s their thing. Their signal.”
Split screen: Jaxon, on the sideline, spots her. His grin spreads, dimple deep. He flashes the thumbs up right back.
Troy:
“She’s been at every single game since he returned—homeandaway. Word is she’s basically part of the organization now. The players love her. The wives. Coaching staff. Everybody.”
Wes:
“And we do too. She’s been electric. Only person in this stadium screaming louder than her…”
Troy:
“…is her father.”
Wes:
“Great story there. Zara and her dad reconnected after he was hospitalized last year. Now? They’re tight. He’s been at practices. Games.”
Troy:
“Guy was on his deathbed—and look at him now.”
The Jumbotron cuts to Leo, face peeking from the hood of his heavy Bull Sharks parka. He flashes a proud thumbs up. Beside him: Zara, Trey, Linda, and Bloom all wrap their arms around him, smiling through the cold.
Wes:
“What a moment.”
Cut to Jaxon, clapping, focused. His voice carries all the way to the front rows:
Jaxon (shouting):
“Let’s go! Let’s finish the job!”
SIXTY-EIGHT
Two-Minute Warning
“Oh my God,” I keep repeating, fingers crossed inside the sleeves of my coat.
This game has been a nail-biter, and I’ve seen them all—haven’t missed one since Jaxon returned to the field. I made the decision early on not to sit in the luxury box, even though the team offered. It was too far removed from him. I wanted to be close, close enough to feel like I was in it with him without disturbing his focus.
The past seventeen weeks have been a whirlwind. A good one. And honestly, I don’t care what social media says—about me not having a life of my own, about me orbiting around a man. Let them talk. This is what Jaxon and I do: we show up for each other. Watching him out there now, helmet low, shoulders squared, Bull Sharks three down and thirty-three yards from the end zone, I finally understand what Genesis meant when she said our men need usinthe game with them. We’re supposed to breathe them, live them, ride with them. I won’t take it quite that far—not without equal energy in return—but Jaxon is my gladiator.
The first down begins.
There’s a charged silence in the air, like every person in the stadium is holding their breath.
