If he did this for another three hours, I was going to toss him out that window. Most of my family went over and claimed spots on the couches to watch the game. The kids were seated on the floor to eat so their food would have a shorter distance to fall.
Since Aubrey’s kids were situated, she came around to my right and stared at the food selection. “This is all so bad for you,” she murmured, but I didn’t notice her gravitating toward the vegetable tray. “I really love buffalo wings.”
“You know what they say. If you like it, you should put a wing on it.”
I heard my dad go, “Ha!” behind me.
“Really?” Aubrey asked.
“I’d say no pun intended, but I knew what I was doing.” I added some pepperoni pizza to my plate.
“What’s happening right now? Has Dad infected you with his cheesiness? I didn’t realize it was contagious. Or genetic. Am I going to start saying stupid things?” she asked.
“You made your point,” I said, nudging her with my elbow. “But maybe I’m just feeling a little giddy because of this.”
I showed her my ring, and she gasped, much as I had done when I first saw it. “Ashton! This is gorgeous! And it’s just so you. Nothing too frilly or fancy, you know?”
I did know. I wondered how Evan had known it would be just what I wanted. “Just play it cool. Let’s join the others.”
We found spots on the couch, Aubrey curling up next to her husband. The announcers, Scooter Buxton and Keith Collinsworth, were chatting about the Jacks. A moving picture of Evan flashed up on the TV screen. I paused, my slice of pizza halfway to my mouth.
“What are we thinking will happen today with Number 4, Evan ‘Awesome’ Dawson? Do you think his game against the Raiders will be at all affected?” Keith asked.
“What Keith’s talking about is the fact that Dawson recently got engaged,” Scooter explained to the audience. “We’re hearing the lucky lady is ISEN intern Ashton Bailey. He recently cheered her on at a local intramural basketball game.”
I nearly dropped my pizza when I saw the clip they put up next. It was a video of Evan at my game, yelling, “Way to go, Ashton!” Somebody had recorded it on their cell phone. It was wobbly and a bit blurry, but there was no mistaking Evan for anyone else.
Why were they showing this? No NFL fan cared.
Present company excluded.
“She’s here in the Forest today with her family. Do you think she’ll be a distraction for the nearly flawless ‘Awesome’ Dawson?”
“That’s hard to predict,” Scooter responded. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Interestingly enough,” Keith interjected as they went back to showing the inside of the stadium, “Ashton Bailey is the granddaughter of Harold and Evelyn Bailey, founders of the Jumping Jacks charity, which so many of our players and Lumberjills support. It raises money to help pay for treatment of sick children and for their families to be able to stay on-site with them. The Baileys lost their oldest daughter to bacterial meningitis when she was eleven, and they formed the charity in her name.”
I turned, my mouth hanging open, to stare at my dad. He didn’t like to talk about his older sister, Jennifer, and her death. My grandma had nicknames for everyone, and they’d called Jennifer their jumping bean, which became part of the name for the charity founded in her honor. My mom had her arm around my dad, her head on his shoulder.
It had never occurred to me that the media would bring my family into this. I had thought it would just be me. But now they were talking about my grandparents and my aunt. Who would it be next week? My parents? My sisters? Charlotte and Joey? I really hadn’t thought this through. What would be the effects of me pretending to be engaged to Evan?
“I’m so sorry, Dad.” My words felt inadequate. There was no way to make this up to him.
“For what?” He looked legitimately confused. “Everything they just said is public knowledge.”
“But what happens when they start sharing not-public knowledge?”
My father contemplated this and then said, “I get to see my little girl happily married and get Evan Dawson as a son-in-law. Which means he’ll be part of the Baileys. And we’ll figure out a way to deal with it. The Baileys stick together, no matter what.”
Guilt, which seemed to be my primary emotion lately, filled my chest and made me feel weighed down. I didn’t know what I would do if the media tried to hurt my family.
I needed to talk to Evan about this.
The announcers were discussing the Raiders’ starting lineup, and my mom asked Rory how she’d done on her most recent art project while Aubrey and my dad talked about a case they were working on together. Normalcy resumed, and I was finally able to eat my now-cold pizza. Still delicious.
The players took the field, and the stadium went nuts when the Jacks ran out from the tunnel.
Mario came over and began to clear our dishes, which we all immediately protested. We got up and helped clean our own mess with him showing us where to put our emptied plates. He then took our drink orders and reminded us that the game was about to begin.
Then it was time for the kickoff. Everybody else sat back down on the couch, but I wandered over to stand near the windows, not blocking anyone’s view. I was not watching the special team come out onto the field.
I was scanning the sidelines for Evan.
Finn MacNeil ran up to kick the football, and at the moment his foot connected with the ball, everyone in the stadium shouted, “Tim . . . ber!” It was thrilling as always to hear seventy thousand people yelling the same thing at the same time.
“Even the way he kicks is hot,” Rory said with a sigh.
“Come sit down,” my mom said to me.
But I was too anxious. Edgy. And I didn’t know why. “I’m fine.”
“Don’t worry about the Raiders,” my dad said. “The Jacks have got this handled.”
The Raiders were stopped on their forty-three-yard line and had possession. The defensive line did their job and only let them gain about six yards.
“Fourth down,” I murmured.
“I told you the Jacks were a better team,” my dad said. “And here’s my case in punt.”
The Raiders did indeed have to punt the ball, and Evan ran out onto the field with his offense.
And I couldn’t breathe.
I had watched him play a million times before. Why was this different? What did I think was going to happen?
I’d only just started to breathe normally again when Evan turned his head, looking up at our box. Was he looking for me the way I’d been searching for him? He raised one hand, and I held mine up against the glass. Could he see me all the way up here?
Evan called the first play, and his team got into position. He had set up to pass the ball, taking his time in the pocket to throw it exactly where he wanted it to go.
One of the Raiders’ defensive linemen found a hole in the offense and broke through, running straight for Evan. Evan released the ball and threw it downfield to his wide receiver. Two seconds later the defensive lineman tackled Evan.
I was only vaguely aware of the announcers’ voices as I watched the foul being committed. Scooter announced, “Dawson is being rushed, and—oh! Terrance White has got him.”
“That had to hurt!” Keith replied.
“Where’s the call?” I demanded, yelling out the open window.
“What call?” my brother-in-law asked.
“White took two steps after Evan released the football. Where’s the ‘roughing the passer’ call?”
Scooter said, “Dawson is down but looking none the worse for wear as he gets back on his feet.”
I felt this rush of relief when Evan got up and went back over to his huddle, ready to set up his next play.
Still no call for him.
“Come on, Ref!” I shouted, knowing he couldn’t hear me but unable to contain my anger.
I used to like watching Evan get sacked. There had always been something cath
artic about it. Now? It kind of upset me.
A lot.
They weren’t going to call the penalty, and I lost it. “Hey, Ref! Do you know what a football player does when he loses his eyesight? He becomes a referee!” I was literally shaking my fist out of the window. What was happening to me?
“She’s going to get us banned from another sport,” Rory said.
“You seem awfully protective of the QB,” Aubrey added. “Maybe you should go down there and be one of his offensive linemen.”
“Hilarious,” I muttered sarcastically and turned to see my sisters exchanging satisfied glances.
“We think so.”
I whirled around and went back to the food table. I’d get a bunch of carbs and then sit in the corner where I couldn’t see the game. Maybe it would be better for my family and my blood pressure if I didn’t watch.
I focused on my niece and nephew, who were running in big circles in the open space behind the couch. Aubrey was cuddled up with Justin, and they both looked extremely relaxed. Usually they had to spend most of the game trying to keep their kids entertained and in one spot so that they didn’t bother the other fans. But here in this enclosed space, the children could run around to their hearts’ content, which they did. They were going to pass out like little blackout drunks on their ride home.
Evan got another first down according to Keith, and I pulled out my phone. Part of me wanted to text him to be more careful. Because stuff like your spleen, rotator cuffs, and knee cartilage? They were useful in your everyday life. But mostly I wanted to thank him. For giving my family this amazing experience. I knew it would be hours before he saw it, but I owed him my gratitude.
Just as I sent off the text, I heard that Evan had gotten another first down. I put my phone back in my pocket and headed over to the window. I couldn’t stay away. I had to watch.
Evan had been doing what he always did—he slowly drove the ball down the field one play at a time. And it made me think of the night of our dinner and how he’d told me this was his specialty. Wearing down his opponents until he got what he wanted.
I was starting to get the sneaking suspicion that he had been a hundred percent right in his assessment and that it was going to work on me, too.
“Why doesn’t he throw it?” Justin asked, and of course my dad was ready with a quip he’d probably been holding on to for years.
“Don’t worry. Right now is the calm before the score.”
His statement turned out to be prophetic. The very next play Evan handed the ball off to Curtis Mattison, who dodged two defenders and leaped over the goal line to score a touchdown.
It was like I had made the touchdown myself. I was jumping up and down, whooping and hollering along with the rest of my family and almost every person in the stadium.
But while everyone else was watching Mattison doing a lap in the end zone, I saw Evan turn and point at our box. Like he was saying he did it for me.
Little arrows shot through my heart, clearing my personal defensive line.
“That is seriously the cutest thing ever,” Rory said. “Good thing you locked that down.”
The Jacks made the two-point conversion and went on to score once more in the first half, while the Raiders got one touchdown.
Scooter’s voice carried over the loudspeakers. “We’re heading into halftime with a score of fifteen to seven in the Jacks’ favor. And there seems to be some disturbance down near the Jacks’ tunnel.”
The cameras focused in on the area where the Jacks fans were lined up, holding out their hands or things to be autographed. A Raiders fan ran along the stairs, yelling unintelligibly. He was followed by three security guards, who were closing in on him. Then the fan turned, squeezed his way past the waiting Jacks fans, and threw something at Evan. A water bottle?
It hit Evan in the head while the security guards tackled the crazy fan. Stunned, I sank onto the couch to watch. It was either that or run out to help Security. Every camera in the place focused on Evan. He wore a shocked expression.
Aubrey put her hand on my arm. “I’m sure he’s fine.”
He seemed fine. He didn’t pass out or anything. I didn’t see any blood.
One of the sideline network reporters ran up to Evan with a microphone. “Wow, Evan! That was awful. Are you all right?”
He flashed his blinding grin and turned to face the cameras. “I’m okay. I will say, though, that’s probably the hardest I’ve been hit so far in this game.” The crowd in the stadium erupted in cheers at his response.
“I’ll give him this. He certainly knows how to work his audience,” my mom observed.
Which was part of my problem in figuring out my Evan dilemma. I couldn’t tell what was real and what was fake. What was the Private Evan and what was the Public Evan. The lines kept blurring.
My phone buzzed a second later. I checked it and saw a text from Evan.
It took me a second to place what he was responding to. It was the text I’d sent him in the first quarter thanking him for all the special effort he’d gone to on my family’s behalf.
But was he for real sitting in the locker room and writing to me? Shouldn’t he be concentrating on the game and whatever the head coach was saying to him?
That made me laugh, drawing the attention of every single one of my family members. I ignored their curious stares and typed my reply.
Which was true. I didn’t want fan forums filled with how much they hated me because I’d ruined Evan’s game or to get booed in person every time I came to the Forest. More than one NFL girlfriend/fiancée had faced that particular form of wrath.
I wanted to giggle again when my mom’s voice stopped me. “Tell him we want to meet him after the game.” I realized she was reading over my shoulder. I’d been worried about distracting Evan, but I was the one who had tuned out the rest of the world while chatting with him.
“Mom! Boundaries!”
I got up and moved away from the others, into a corner where no one could eavesdrop. Or eyesdrop.
I saw the three dots, indicating that he was still typing. I waited and waited as the dots disappeared and reappeared. Finally, I had another message come through from him.
It was a good idea since we needed to get our stories straight. How we’d met, how long we’d been dating. The how-did-he-propose question was already taken care of, at least.
He already had the address, and it was much closer to the stadium than his huge house out in Lake Oswego.
Now I could truthfully tell my family that Evan was too busy to meet them.
And I tried hard to ignore how tingly and excited I felt at the prospect of seeing him again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I wondered if, despite his assertion to the contrary, I had distracted him, as Evan didn’t play quite as well in the second half of the game.
The Raiders were able to tie up the score, and as I watched, I alternated between being terrified every time he got hit and being impressed with him in his natural element. The power, the strength, the absolute grace he had while he played . . . why had I never noticed it before?
Then in the last minute of the game, when it looked like we’d have to go into overtime, Evan did something phenomenal. He couldn’t find an open man, the defensive line was closing in on him, and so he made a run for it. Thirty yards, all the way to the end zone. He got a touchdown, and the Jacks won by seven points.
I practically screamed myself hoarse watching that play.
Once the game was over, I walked out with my family, wondering what Evan was doing right then. If he was thinking about me or solely focused on his interviews. After lots of hugs and goodbyes, along with a blood-oath promise to my mother that I would ask Evan about Thanksgiving, I was finally able to drive home. I had a quick shower and changed into a T-shirt and yoga pants. I did not shave any body parts, I did not put on any makeup, and I did not get dressed up for him.
Since my internal walls had started to break down, I decided that m
aybe this was the best way to keep him at bay.
I turned on the TV and switched to ISEN. They were discussing the Jacks game and were showing some footage they’d taken of the players after their win. One of the interviews was with Evan. He’d been approached by a reporter from a local affiliate before he’d even stepped foot in the locker room. The reporter asked to speak with him, and I saw a flash of impatience on Evan’s face, like all he wanted to do was take a shower. He nodded and smiled, and I noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What was going through your mind when you made that run?”
“That I’d promised my girl I’d win the game, and so I did what I had to do.”
I wondered if the camera operator was female, since the person backed up, getting a full-body shot of Evan. He looked a mess—his hair sweaty and the black grease under his eyes dripping down his face, his uniform covered in dirt and grass stains.
But there was something oddly compelling about him. I paused the TV as I tried to figure out what it was.
Was it the way he’d so casually called me his girl? How that had made my heart skip a beat?
Or was it his pads that almost seemed like armor? Like he was a warrior returning home from the battlefield. Or from a battle he’d won in my honor.
I let out a sigh of disgust at my own stupidity. I had a seriously overactive imagination. I turned off the television.
To take my mind away from its crazy path, I decided to make a chicken-and-noodle dish that had been my grandma’s favorite. I wondered what she would think of what I was doing right now. Trying to get the dirt on Evan’s personal life. Would she be cheering me on, wanting me to get my dream career? Or would she think less of me?
I picked up my phone when it beeped. There was a text from Evan.
I fought off my natural urge to run to the bathroom and improve my current physical situation. We’re not really engaged, he’s not actually my fiancé, and I don’t care what he thinks of me, I told myself.
#Awestruck (A #Lovestruck Novel) Page 13