Kicked (30 page)

“Mom?” I couldn’t read her face.

“Come here.” Mom opened her arms and gave me a hug, the powdery smell of her perfume familiar and oddly comforting. I returned her embrace, surprised by how much I’d missed her in the short time since our falling out. She pulled away first and squeezed my elbows. “Have a safe trip back.”

“We will.”

She walked us to the door, and Cordy threw her arms around Mom. Mom’s eyes widened in surprise, but then she patted Cordy on the back as if she were an over-friendly pet that my mom didn’t quite know what to do with. I’d take it.

Cordy didn’t seem to mind. She stepped back to my side and beamed. “Thank you for having us, and Merry Christmas.”

Mom’s chin trembled slightly. “Merry Christmas to you, too.” She straightened her back. “And thank you both for coming.”

Holy shit
. I was too dazed to respond as Cordy led me out onto the porch and to the driveway. Mom closed the door, but watched us through the side windows.

“Did you put something in her drink?” I asked as I opened Cordy’s door for her.

She looked at me through her lashes, her amber eyes dark in the low light. “Oh ye of little faith.”

I closed her door and hustled around to the driver’s side. “Don’t get biblical on me, country girl. What did she say to you in the sitting room?” I drove down the driveway, the lights below twinkling through the wood smoke that blanketed the valley on cold nights.

“Did you know that your grandfather had a problem with alcohol?”

“What?”

“She said when she was growing up, he’d drink himself into a stupor at least a couple of nights a week. She didn’t say he was violent, but I assumed it from the way she spoke about him.”

“No.” I ran a hand down my face. “She never mentioned that. I had no idea.”

“He never overcame his problem. She wanted to tell me that she was glad my father wasn’t going to go down the same path as hers. I told her it was all because of you. That you paid for his rehab and didn’t even tell me until after the fact.”

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. She just gave me that look. You know the one where it’s like she’s looking straight down into your soul, but you can’t tell if she’s happy or angry with whatever she’s found there?”

I knew that look plenty well. “Yeah.”

“And that was it, really. I wanted her to see me, the real me. Warts and all. It’s the only way she can make a decision on whether she wants me in her life or not. I can tell she’s sad, still grieving over your dad. Hey.” She reached out and took my hand. “Are you okay? I know it must have been hard without your father with you this year.”

“It was.” I quieted when I felt my throat close up.

“I understand.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek, then turned on the radio to a local station. They played only holiday tunes this time of year.

By the time we were on the interstate, she had me singing along—and completely off-key—to every Christmas song that came on.

When we reached the apartment, we sat in front of our twinkling Christmas tree, her in my lap as I played with her hair. She was perfectly snuggly in flannel pajamas, which I planned to remove before we got in bed.

She turned to look at me, and took my face in her small hands. “This has been the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

I smiled and nuzzled her nose. “Same here.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

C
ORDY

T
HE MASS OF BODIES
behind me felt like a single organism, one bent on crushing the life out of the Eagles’ season. I stood at the head of the line, Trent at my side, as we listened to the music pumping through the stadium. A steady roar of the crowd rolled through the newly built venue, and anticipation thickened the air.

The Bobcats were pegged as the underdog, with the line in Vegas giving the Eagles a seven-and-a-half point advantage. But the bookmakers didn’t know us. They didn’t know our team. We would end this game with a win, and the Eagles would return home empty-handed. After that, we would play on the biggest stage of all—the National Championship game.

“You ready?” I bounced at Trent’s elbow, excitement coursing through me.

Trent looked down at me, a smirk creeping up under his eye black. “Not as ready as you are.”

“Shut up. I’m excited. It’s okay to be excited.”

“Don’t be a hero out there.” He patted my ass as our fight song played. “Let’s go!”

Coach Sterling had already taken off, heading for the sideline. We followed, running through the smoke to the sound of eighty thousand people cheering or booing. I ran straight for the practice net behind the benches and began to set up my kicks. Hawthorne was there doing a few extra stretches. Trent huddled with Coach Sterling and his linemen, double-checking strategy for the game and getting ready to go to work.

We won the coin toss, and opted to defer to the second half. The Eagles swarmed the opposite side of the field, their red jerseys painting the sideline.

“You’re on.” I clapped Hawthorne on the back as he ran out with the kickoff team. The band seemed louder in the professional stadium, and the sound echoed. The crowd noise receded to a low hum as Hawthorne got set. The hum grew into a yell, and then into a deafening roar of “go Cats go” as he kicked the ball to the Eagles.

Their returner caught it at the five and gained ten more yards before being brought down at the fifteen. We settled in for a grueling game. The loss of Ethan had weakened the defensive line, and the Eagles took full advantage. On their first possession, they drove down the field with a series of running plays. When they got to our twenty, they fumbled and we recovered. Bobcat nation breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Trent took the field, and so it went, team against team. The game remained scoreless after first quarter. Trent threw a bomb in the second quarter, and we moved close enough to try for a field goal. Hawthorne trotted out. I held my breath as he lined up the shot from the thirty-one, a forty-eight yard field goal.

The snap went well, and he managed to get it up and high, but it veered barely left, missing by only a foot, if that.

Trent patted Hawthorne’s helmet as he ran past. Coach Carver didn’t even say a word of correction to him; his execution was perfect, but the ball didn’t go his way. Nothing to be done.

“Don’t sweat it.” I punched him in the arm.

His wry smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That pretty much sucked ass.”

“Next time. You’ll hit it next time.”

He nodded and plopped on the nearest bench. “Right.”

“You just needed to warm up a little. You got this.”

He stared up at the closed dome over our heads. The temperature was a perfect seventy degrees or so, no matter how frigid it was outside.

“You can stop now.” He ran a hand through his bright red locks. “But I appreciate it.”

We soldiered on through the second quarter. Trent got the team into scoring position again. On the next play, he handed the ball off to our running back. A defender shot a gap and tackled the runner immediately. The ball came loose. The Eagles fans shook the stadium when the ball was scooped up by another defender. Trent made the tackle and kept him from running it back for seven points, but the damage was done. What little momentum we had was gone, dissolved under the harsh stadium lights.

I dashed out to the edge of the sideline as Trent ran in. He went to Coach, and they argued for a few moments before Trent stalked off. Then he stopped, put his hands on his hips, and stared at the ground for a few long seconds. Then he seemed to shake it off and motioned at our running back to keep his head up. I smiled. He was pissed, but he was a leader above all. They put their heads together as our defense worked on holding off the Eagles onslaught. The clock ticked down until only thirty seconds remained in the first half.

If we could get to halftime without a score, we could start fresh when we received the ball first thing in the second half. The Eagles had made it to a first down in Bobcat territory, but the clock wasn’t on their side. With only a few seconds left, they sent out their kicker.

I whispered all sorts of jinxes, and Coach Sterling tried to ice him with a time-out. Despite all that, he kicked the field goal as time ran out.

We went to halftime down by three points. I stayed with the guys and hurried into their locker room. We milled around, some of the coaches going over assignments with certain players. I downed a cup of water and walked over to Trent.

“Feeling okay?”

He wiped his face with a towel. “Making it. I think we have a strategy figured out. Throwing it in the flat seems to work best, and they have a hard time—”

“Take a knee!” Coach barked.

We all hit the floor, Trent on one side of me and Hawthorne on the other.

“No one thought we would be in this situation. Those bookies in Vegas? They’re sweating us right now. The Eagles? They’re sweating us right now. Three points? I could wipe my ass with three points and flush it down the goddamn toilet!”

A deep yell went up around me. Since my main function was to make three points, I took a slight bit of umbrage, but I decided it wasn’t the best time to broach the subject.

Coach stared hard at each player, stopping on every set of eyes as he looked around the room. “Now, we’ve had tough fights all year. We haven’t come through unscathed, but we will come out on top.” He whipped his hat off his head and shook it at one section of players. “The Eagles? Their schedule had more creampuffs than the bakery down the street.”

A few chuckles went up, and Hawthorne snorted.

“We have strength of schedule, strength of character, and above all, strength of team!”

A round of yells went up as Trent stood and walked into the center of the circle. There was no hint of nerves in his stance. Gone was the boy from speech class. In his place stood a man, a leader; our quarterback. “We’re better than these guys. Ever since our loss, I’ve watched each and every one of you grow over the course of the season. I’ve watched you scrape and claw your way to have a chance at this game. I’ve watched you have each other’s back.” His eyes lighted on mine, and the love I had for him filled every corner of my heart. “I’ve watched you sacrifice. All for this chance at redemption. Well guess what?” His voice rose into a thunderous yell. “That chance is here. That chance is now. We just have to take it!”

The entire team leapt to its feet, and raucous yells created a deafening din as Trent’s enthusiasm spread from player to player. I yelled right along with them, feeling the moment. Trent held up a hand, and we quieted, all eyes on him.

“We play for each other. I know who I’m playing for.” His gaze returned to mine before he swept it over every player in the room. “This team, all of you. You play Bobcat football, and I guarantee you they won’t be able to stop us. The season has come to this, our final choice between being nothing and being champions. I choose to be champions. How about you?”

I thought the roar before was deafening. But this one felt like it might pop my eardrums. We shook the walls with our desire to win, our need to right the wrong from earlier in the season. A new energy pumped through the room, and I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face.

Coach clapped Trent on the back. “Let’s get out there and destroy them!” He headed out of the locker room, the team at his heels.

We sounded like a freight train barreling through the tunnel and out onto the field. I’d never seen the team this amped up, and the same electricity flowed through me. I wanted to do just what Trent had said—play for him, play for my team, and crush the Eagles. The crowd seemed to sense it, and the noise grew as we hyped them by raising our arms and egging them on during kickoff.

We took the ball at the twenty and ran it to the fifty before our runner was tackled. Trent set up and dismantled the defense play by play until he was five yards from the end zone. On third and five, he threw a perfect spiral to the front of the end zone, and the stadium boomed its approval.

I ran out, lined up, and kicked the extra point. We were up seven to three, and it remained that way as we entered the final quarter of play.

“Hold them. We have to hold them.” Hawthorne and I stood beside each other and watched our defense struggle on the first set of downs.

Our defense gave up two first downs, then finally stopped the Eagles’ running game on the third set of downs. They kicked the ball away, and we gained good field position at the forty thanks to a shanked punt.

Trent ran out, the familiar number nine in control of the field of play. He went three and out, never even close to the first down thanks to a sack and a false start. The good field position didn’t help us, and Trent jogged back to the sideline. Our defense was tired, but had to get back out onto the field.

They were still fighting, but worn down. Play after play, the Eagles drove down the field. Then I watched as Ethan’s replacement missed a tackle and the runner cut up the middle, dodged to the right, stiff-armed a defender, and high-stepped it into our end zone.

“Shit.” I rubbed my temple.

Their kicker made the point after, and just like that, we were down by three points.

“Double shit.” I checked the clock. Their offense had whittled it away prior to the touchdown until only five minutes remained in the final quarter. That could be an eternity on a football field or a snap of a finger, depending on who had possession.

The Eagles kicked it off to us and pinned us down at our own eighteen-yard line. Trent methodically took the team down the field, keeping an eye on the clock as he did so. The Eagles had been double covering our best receiver the entire game, so Trent changed to more of a run-based strategy, employing short passes in the flat to get out of bounds and keep the clock from ticking away too much.

Four first downs later, and he was at the Eagles’ twenty-yard line.

“I can’t believe this,” Hawthorne said. “He may pull it—”