I kick it back.
Maybe he’s right about his rituals. They do seem to keep him one hundred ten percent focused. He nails another catch in the third, and our running back, Rand, drives it home on first down.
We finish with a twenty-four to fourteen victory, and it’s both a thrill and a relief. After my last year of uncertainty with the Devil Sharks and their payroll slashing,andgiven the Mercenaries’ hot mess of a season, the tight game play is all anyone could ask for, the coach included.
“You’re looking good, Adams. Keep it up,” he says, his voice gruff. It’s always gruff—he’s such a coach.
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
After I chat with a sideline reporter, I jog over to the fifty-yard line, beaming when I find my faves inthe stands in the seats I snagged for Mom, Mira, Sophie, and Tom.
“Hey, Mom. What did you think?” I say, asking the question I’ve asked her after every game I’ve played.
“Loved your focus,” she says as she gives me a big hug.
“Any tips?” I ask. That’s part of our routine too.
She laughs. “There was less traffic on the way to this stadium, so my tip is keep playing well so we can keep coming here.”
“I’ll second that,” Tom says, then drops a kiss to Mom’s forehead. That guy really loves her. It’s so good to see.
“Also, the popcorn here is really good,” impish Sophie remarks, and I lift her up and onto the field, giving her a big hug.
“I told them to make it special for you,” I say.
“I like the pretzels better,” Mira weighs in, not to be outdone.
I grab her, hoisting her into my other arm. “Because I said the doubles need the best snacks.”
Sophie raises a doubtful brow. “I don’t think you did that.” She’s all stern and serious.
I nod, big and long, staring up at her. “Sure did.”
Then Mira nods toward the field. “Can we play now?”
“Maybe later. The grounds crew need to do theirmagic to the field, but I can take you out for ice cream if Mom says yes.”
They beg her and she gives in, then snaps a pic of me holding them on the edge of the field.
Then, I take them all out for ice cream.
Yeah, I’m glad I was traded across town. I am lucky. I don’t want to give this up.
When I post the shot on social that night, captioning itCelebrating with my faves, it hardly feels like a good-guy routine. I just love these little stinkers.
The fact that Stephen texts me in the morning to sayGreat game, and great shotis the icing on the cake.
And I do like icing in the form of making him happy.
I’m happy, too, that night when I return home, flop my exhausted body on my couch, and grab the remote to find a movie to watch.
Right when I’m about to click on my Webflix queue, my phone dings with a text.
Brooke:Nice game!
Not gonna lie. I was hoping she’d say something. Truthfully, I was hoping I’d have seen her at the stadium.
Drew:Thanks! Felt good to win the first game. Now I just need to win, oh, say, sixteen more.