Page 56 of Blindsided By the Spotlight
“Of course you do, Mae! You were the only one I didn’t get bored watching.” I choke back another laugh, and Hannah gives her daughter an appalling look.
“Carly, we can’t be saying rude things,” Hannah soothes, running a hand through her daughter’s hair.
“Benjamin says rude things all the time,” Carly says with a pout.
“I do not!” Benjamin calls, shooting out of his chair at the sound of his name.
“Oh hey!” I say loudly enough to break up the fight. “Look, it's your dad!” I point down at the field as the stadium lights come up, ready for the rest of the game. The kids’ bickering ceases when they see their father. Hannah shares her gratitude and then finds a seat in between her children.
The third quarter is a nail-biter. Literally. Everyone is caught up in their own circle of nerves. For me, that means chewing on my newly manicured nails. Not even Raleigh can take her eyes off the field to scold me.
You can practically cut the tension with a knife when the teams take the field for the final 15 minutes. I can only imagine what’s running through the heads of the athletes. In my profession, the winner is always chosen weeks before the award is given out. Here, nothing’s final until the clock strikes zero. I’ve tried to stay out of the camera’s reach for the game but with it on the line like this, I can’t help but get as close to the action as I can. Quite a few of my fans managed to get in; they’ve brought funny signs and have my merch on. I’m worried they might cause a scene if I’m shown. Slowly, I make my way down the stairs to our open-air seats. Thankfully, not even my presence can distract from the game. For once, I can just be invested in what’s set before me and not worry about being a disturbance for others.
We’re down to the final possession of the game. There’s less than a minute left on the clock, and LA is at the 40-yard line. The entire suite is standing arm in arm, busting at the seams with nerves and anticipation. A field goal won’t cut it; we need a touchdown. Ben connects with an open receiver but that player is quickly pummeled into the ground. Without any timeouts, they scramble back to the line for the third down. Ben scrambles and is able to run out of bounds beyond the first down line, stopping the clock. There’s enough time to get one more play off.
The team is quick to huddle up. As they take back to the line, I squeeze the arm of Hannah, who’s come down the stairs to stand in the aisle beside me. I’m sure my fingers are digging painfully into her forearm, but she doesn’t move a muscle; everything about her is focused on her husband.
The ball is hiked into play, Ben rears back and lets a throw loose down field. Some might call it a Hail Mary, but I know this pass has an intended target the moment it leaves Ben’s hand. I stretch to my toes as Wyatt hooks left and beats his defender to catch the ball in the end zone. The stadium erupts, and Hannah nearly knocks me over with her jumping and pulling. She turns to me, and we latch onto each other. Screaming, we leap up and down as the referees confirm the touchdown. As the field floods with the winning team –our team – the realization of Wyatt’s accomplishment washes over me.
Everything slows down as Wyatt and Ben’s faces light up the big screen across the stadium. All I want at this moment is to be with him and watch him soak up this moment. Turning back to the suite, I sprint up the stairs and through the private room. I run straight past Raleigh and Dalton, who don’t even try to stop me.
I grin at my new freedom and hustle to the elevators. One look at me, and the attendant hits the button for the ground level. Once there, I have to fight through a flood of field crew and past several security members who don’t give me much trouble.
I’m stopped at the edge of the field by a team representative, who explains that friends and family will be allowed out momentarily. His statement does nothing to deter me because I see Wyatt through the crowd, already adorned in a winner’s shirt and cap. He’s beaming with my favorite lopsided smile.
Wyatt’s happiness combined with the swirling confetti nearly stops me in my tracks. I stop fighting the attendant for a moment to admire him. It’s not long before his big, beautiful eyes flick up and he finds me. He takes two large steps toward me and then he’s running over. I feel the attendant’s arm move away from me and I sprint toward him.
When we collide, all the air is torn from my lungs, but I couldn’t care less. Wyatt has me wrapped in his arms,smothering me, and while I can’t completely tuck mine around him and his football pads, I can feel the crush of him all the same.
As the rush of those around us penetrates our reunion, I pull away and plant both hands on his cheeks. “You did it!” I exclaim. He lets out a breath, and I swear I see tears lining his eyes. “Oh, baby, you can’t cry,” I say with a laugh. Wadding up his jersey in my hand, I rock onto my toes and reach up to wipe the joyful tears away.
“Wyatt!” a reporter is calling his name but he doesn’t seem to hear because he has pulled me against him again. Reaching down gently, he places a hand against my cheek and leans in. His lips hit mine in a beautiful combination of the electricity all around us and the gentleness that he has always exuded.
“Wyatt!” the reporter yells again. This time, it’s enough to get him to release me, or at least partly. Still holding my hand, he steps up to the reporter and her camera.
“Sorry, I had something to take care of,” he says through a smirk. The reporter looks like she might swoon.
I resist the urge to punch him on the shoulder and instead try to step away. This is his moment; I want him to be the center of it all. He lets me get all of a few inches away. Locking his pinky firmly around mine, it’s as far as he’ll let me go.
I know I can’t hide my smile, so I take a step back toward him and his arm wraps around my waist as the interview continues. Thankfully, the anchor knows her mission. She only sends one question my way, and it’s easy enough to parry back to Wyatt and his success on the field.
“Wyyyyaaattttt!” Ben screams as he practically launches himself over his teammate’s shoulder into the interview. Hannah and the kids follow behind, and the reporter turns back to her camera to complete a funny sign-off. As she moves away,Carly scoops up a handful of confetti and tosses it over Wyatt and me.
Looking up at the glittering material fluttering in and out of the blinding lights of the stadium, I take in the shimmering crowd. Thousands of people are here to witness this accomplishment. A place not unlike this one in LA brought Wyatt and me together in the first place. I’m about to comment on the beauty of it when Wyatt catches my attention. He laces his fingers in mine and turns me fully to him.
“I love you,” he says simply.
It’s all he needs to say. It’s all he ever needs to say.
“I love you.” I soothe, stepping back into his endlessly welcoming embrace. He combs a hand through my hair. Though my face is tucked away from the spotlight, I hope he is taking every bit of it in for the both of us.
