Page 81 of The Comeback

Several Weeks Later

Charlotte

The crowd in the suite roars to life as Weston breaks past the line of defensive players from the opposing team, crosses the goal line, and takes our team to a six-point lead. Piper grabs me in a bear hug as she screeches loudly in my ear. We laugh and cheer as the potential of winning the game increases.

After the extra point, there will only be twenty-nine seconds left on the clock. Without Gunner on the opponent’s team, they don’t stand a chance of coming back.

I’ve watched the back-and-forth scoring with rapt attention. Growing up in a football family, I’ve been to countless games through the years, but this is the first one as a football player’s fiancée, and it holds a different meaning. I’m filled with pride, love, confidence, and a heavy dose of nervousness.

The videographer pans in on Weston as he holds the ball over his head, clenched inside his hand. Beside me, his mom paces back and forth in the aisle. Her anxiety is palpable.

She pats the graying hair in her bun. “Lord, this takes years off my life.”

“Mom.” Piper shakes her head. “You worry too much.”

She stops on her heel. The toe of her bright red shoe tips upward as she twirls around to face us. “You’ll understand when you have children. It doesn’t matter how old they are. You’ll be a nervous wreck when they’re performing.”

“What if my kid becomes an accountant?” Piper smirks. “Should I sit across from him in his office and wring my sweat-coated hands together as he balances a spreadsheet?”

I laugh until my sides hurt. Shit. I grab my side and cringe. My body is a hot mess. One second, I’m nauseous. The next, I’m starving. Then, the next, I’m back around to the thought of eating, making me murderous.

Where’s the closest trashcan? I scan beyond the crowd of onlookers, watching the game and over to the table of food and drinks. There, under the table, is an overflowing trashcan. Oh, God. I gag at the sight of food and the trash sharing the same space.

“Young lady, you’re not too old to take over my knee.”

“Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.” The crowd chants and then goes silent.

I glance out of the floor-to-ceiling windows to find the two teams gathered around their respective coaches. The opponents are on their thirty-six-yard line with only six seconds left. The game should be in the bag.

“I’m sorry, mom.” Piper presses her lips together and gives her a hangdog expression.

“That’s better.” Andrea marches over to me and grabs my upper arms. “Are you okay? You look a little sick.”

“Yes, I’m okay.” I nod even though I’m not. I’m nearing the end of my first trimester and praying the end of nausea is right around the corner. Weston was right. The condoms were out of date, and we likely got pregnant the first night.

“No, you’re not.” She chuckles and gives me a quick hug. “But I love your determination.” Andrea is great. I couldn’t ask for a better future mother-in-law. “When I was pregnant, the morning sickness disappeared at the end of the twelfth week.”

“I hope your situation proves true for me, too.” I cringe. “Actually, I wish it would happen today.” The crowd grows hushed as they stare in unison out onto the field.

The ball is snapped from the opponent’s center to their quarterback. He drops back into the pocket three steps with his head swiveling from side to side as if he’s searching for a viable target.

Two of the wide receivers sprint down the field as he bounces from foot to foot, but they’re covered by our defensive players. The space in the suite feels devoid of air as everyone holds their collective breaths. A touchdown here could lead to a two-point conversion and hand us a loss. But they’d have to go 60+ yards.

Seconds later, their quarterback is lying on the field as the football squirts out of his grasp and rolls from end to end down the green grass. The clock on the jumbotron above the field flashes zero, and the crowd erupts with jubilation.

The players meet on the fifty-yard line clapping each other’s backs. One of the things I love about sports is that one second, you’re furious competitors, and the next, you’re asking about the family.

Piper throws her arms around my neck. “Yay! We did it.”

“Yes, we did. It was a great game.” This is another thing I love. The fans get to say we even though we didn’t do a damned thing.

Someone opens the door and slips out, stirring up the air in the room. My nose is filled with the scent of BBQ. Sweet, tangy BBQ. Oh, please, make it stop. I’m going to die. I swallow over the excessive saliva flooding my mouth like someone broke the handle of a running faucet.

****

Twenty Minutes Later

We’re standing outside the locker room waiting for Weston to complete his team obligations when a photographer and reporter step out into the hallway and zooms in on me. Oh, fudge. One thing I don’t miss about being in the basketball spotlight is the media. I hated giving pre- and postgame interviews.

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