Page 36 of Fate in Motion
“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” I yell.
They don’t even look at me. Evan’s screaming at the field like he’s coaching, while on millions of stimulants, and Rachel’s already lost her voice, yelling for the first pass, which wasn’t even completed.
I try to follow the game, but my eyes keep drifting to New York’s sideline, scanning for Carter. And then, I see him. Helmet on, jaw tight, pacing like an adrenaline-filled maniac. He’s solocked in that I doubt he even notices the insanity around him. Boston may be wild, but they are in a different division. This kind of Philly insanity? It’s probably a new and disturbing experience.
“Damn,” Rachel murmurs. “Even the way he warms up is hot.”
“I’m choosing not to respond to that,” I say, though I’m grinning because she’s not wrong.
By the end of the first quarter, Carter’s already racked up 30 scrimmage yards, mainly from a series of five-yard rushes and one smooth ten-yard tiptoe sideline catch. The game is tied 3–3 and has been a defensive battle so far. Both offenses are struggling to get anything going.
As the second quarter begins on Philly’s 30-yard line, Ian finally makes his way back to his seat. We all look at him and shout together, “What the fuck? I forgot you were even here.”
We’re mostly joking, but also, what was he even doing the entire first quarter?
Ian chuckles. “Aww, my siblings love me. I had to help my oldest with a meltdown over a bad grade.”
Evan looks over at me and flatly says, “Remind me never to have kids, thanks.”
The second quarter continues, with a handoff to Carter, who bursts up the middle for 15 yards before getting absolutely annihilated. I shoot to my feet, heart racing. My siblings all have the same wide-eyed look of terror. After a few tense seconds, Carter jumps up like nothing happened.
Rachel shakes her head. “I have no idea how he’s not dead. That hit was insane.”
I exhale and say, “It’s all these guys. They take huge hits. I hate it when it’s him, but it’s part of the game. It’ll happen again and again.”
The next two plays are long 20-yard completions to Jalen Briggs, who’s finally having a solid game. The crowd quiets as New York enters the red zone. Meanwhile, I’m silently begging for Carter to get his first touchdown of the season.
New York’s quarterback, Josh Miller, hikes the ball with seconds left on the play clock and scrambles to his left. I lock in on Carter, who breaks free into the end zone with just one defender trailing him.
Miller, under pressure, throws high off his back foot; Carter leaps, snags the ball midair, and crashes down hard in the end zone. Touchdown!
The stadium explodes in noise, but all I can think about is how excited Carter must be feeling.
Miller runs to Carter and jumps on him while Carter starts shimmying, Miller’s signature celebration. I burst out laughing.
Then, mid-celebration, Carter glances up and winks directly at me.
It happens so fast I almost think I imagined it, and no one caught it until Bex screams from two seats down, “I saw that! That’s your man! He’s killing it!”
I can’t stop smiling. “He’s mine.”
Right before the half ends, Philly’s running back breaks free up the middle for a 30-yard score, tying it 10–10. The crowd goes ballistic. Even I can’t help but jump with excitement.
On the New York sideline, I can see Carter and the rest of the offense looking pissed like they might actually lose this game. Still, Carter closes the half with 35 rushing yards and 40 receiving. He’s having a great game. I know he’s going to be pumped up after this game.
During halftime, we hit the concessions. I grab tenders and another drink. I buy Ian a beer, and he smiles like I admitted he’s my favorite sibling.
“I’m the favorite sibling. I knew it!” Ian yells.
“Not even close,” I say. “I just owed you a beer, idiot.”
When we get back to our seats, Carter’s already back on the field. My jaw clenches with every snap. On the first play of the second half, he takes a huge hit again, and I find myself gripping my seat like it’s the only thing keeping me sane.
“He’s fine,” Evan says calmly, clearly reading my face.
“Yeah,” I nod. “He’s tough. He’ll pop back up.”
And sure enough, he does. Carter shakes it off like it’s nothing and keeps moving. New York drives down the field but stalls at the goal line and settles for a field goal. They drain eight minutes off the clock, though. The rest of the third quarter flies by in a blink of an eye, ending in another tie. 13-13.
