by Kira Ward
“I follow the news articles on my son. I’ve seen your picture a half dozen times.”
I pull my sweater even tighter around me, more to have something to do than because I’m cold. But he takes it as a sign that I’m cold.
“Come in. It’s freezing out here.”
He steps out of the way and I go inside, again surprised by how clean and orderly everything is. From Magnus’ stories, I was expecting chaos and disorder. The furniture is old, but it’s in good repair, clean and dust free. There’s no clutter and the smell of disinfectant is strong, like he just scrubbed the tile floor this morning.
“Can I offer you something to drink? I only have water and apple juice. My stomach can’t take anything stronger anymore.”
“I’m fine.”
He gestures for me to take a seat on the couch. The television is on to the playoff game.
“You’re a football fan?”
He smiles. “I wasn’t. But when you have a son in the NFL, you learn to like it.”
“He’s done well this year.”
Malcolm Fuller takes a seat in the armchair beside the couch, his torso twisted so he can see me.
“He’s always been talented. I was just too drunk to notice.”
I look down at my hands, not sure what to say to that.
“I’m sure he’s filled you with stories. I was a shitty father, a shitty human being. It doesn’t surprise me that he wants nothing to do with me.”
I study him for a second, his matter of fact tone a little strange in my mind. I don’t know why I feel that way. He’s clearly changed. He just doesn’t match up with the image Magnus portrayed. But that was why I was here, right?
“We’re having a baby.”
He grins a wide grin. “I’ve heard.”
“And we’re getting married. And I thought that it would do Magnus some good to talk to you before all that happens.”
“Did you? Does he know you’re here?”
“No.” I play with the end of my sweater, worrying a loose thread. “He would probably be upset if he knew. His memories of you…but I found your letters in his desk drawer.”
“Did he read them?”
I shake my head. “But I read one and I think it’s important for him to know that you’ve sobered up and you want to try again.”
Malcolm regards me for a long moment. “I want a relationship with my son. I feel like I have a lot to make up for. But I don’t want it on anyone’s terms but his.”
“I know. But he won’t come to you on his own. But it would mean a lot if you came to him.”
Malcolm leans forward a little. “What’s your plan?”
“Magnus is flying into Dallas on the 23rd, after the NFC championship game. I thought maybe you could come by my place the following day to see him.”
“I guess that’s assuming the Giants go all the way in the playoffs.”
“It is.”
He sits up again. “I want so desperately to see him. I just don’t want him to assume I’m coming out of the woodwork because he’s done so well for himself. I know I had no part in that and deserve no joy in it now. I just…” He stops, his eyes welling with tears. “I hate the man I was when he was a kid. When his mother left, I was devastated. She was the love of my life and I thought…but it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that I made mistakes and I’ve been hoping and praying for a chance to make it right.” He reaches for my hand and holds it tight. “Thank you for this opportunity.”
I slide my free hand over his and smile. I know I made the right choice when I see the sincerity in his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Magnus
We play the Packers in the divisional round of the playoffs. I find myself standing in the middle of the field, my heart pounding as I look up at the scoreboard. 24-20. We’re four points behind, and there’s only five minutes left on the clock. We need this touchdown.
I call the play and move my offensive line into position. I’m behind the center, praying I won’t fumble. I know Cricket is home watching the game with her dad. I feel this pressure to do well to impress my future father-in-law. I yell the count and wait for the ball, my eyes already scanning the field. We’re sitting at our own thirty, so much field spread out in front of us. I see an open receiver and throw my trademark rocket pass and watch it spin through the air. It hits the receiver square in the chest. He gets control and turns to run.
Everyone runs down the field after him. A couple of our guys surround him, defending him from the other team’s defenders. He runs a little faster, rushing down the field like he’s got some sort of animal on his tail. And then…I can’t believe it! He’s going to make it!
We’re celebrating before he’s even over the goal line, yelling to each other on the field and off. We have to catch ourselves, wait to make sure the referee doesn’t call it back for some reason. But then it’s ruled as a touchdown. I run off the field, slamming my hand against many, many other hands, high fiving all the way to the bench. Then I watch as the kicker makes the extra point.
The Packers get the ball, but time runs off the clock before they can do more than set up a field goal. They miss and we win the game 27-24.
The first thing I do when I get into the locker room is call Cricket. I can hear the laughter and the celebration still going on at her dad’s place. He invited friends and neighbors and co-workers over to watch his future son-in-law kick some ass.
I can’t even begin to describe what that means to me.
“We’re going to the championship game!”
She laughs. “You are, babe. You’re going all the way.”
“I want you at the game next week.”
She doesn’t even hesitate and that’s what I love so much about her. “Of course,” she says, laughter in her voice. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
“I’m sorry the Cowboys didn’t make it.”
“Yeah, well, I think my dad might have a new favorite team.”
I want to meet Cricket and her dad at the airport on the Saturday before the game, but coach has us staring at game tapes all day long. We’re playing the San Francisco 49ers. They haven’t gone to the Super Bowl since Steve Young was the quarterback in 1994. But they’re looking really good this year. I have to admit I’m a little nervous. I think we can take them on, but I don’t want to go in there over confident and have it all fall apart around me.
Coach finally lets us go home. I walk into my condo, not sure what to expect. But what I find is definitely not what I imagined. Cricket, dressed only in a pair of panties and a delicate baby doll top, holds up a couple of glasses of what turns out to be sparkling grape juice.
“What’s this?”
“A celebration.”
“For what?”
“For us. For our future. For the fact that you brought the Giants this far. No matter what happens tomorrow, this is a celebration.”
I take the glasses out of hands and set them on the kitchen counter.
“I don’t want to think about football anymore tonight. I just want to hold you and celebrate the fact that you’re here, you and our little bun in the oven.”
She laughs as I swing her up in my arms, but her laughter quickly dies as we lay in the bed and get reacquainted.
Afterward, I find myself drawing little shapes on her belly, playing around the edges of her growing baby bump.
“Do you think this kid will like me?”
“Of course,” she says. “You’ll be her one and only daddy.”
“And if it’s a boy? Do you think he’ll want to play catch out in the yard with me?”
“We have to have a yard first.”
I lean down and kiss her belly. “This kid will have anything and everything it wants.”
“All any kid needs is love, Magnus.”
I look at her for a long moment. “I think that’s already taken care of. I can’t imagine loving anyone or anything more than I love you and this baby.”
She reach
es up and kisses me. “Remember that.”
The 49ers are not going down without a fight. Every time we put a few points on the board, they put a few of their own up there. We’ve been going back and forth since the first possession. This is going to be a game that comes down to whoever has the ball last.
I’m determined to make sure that’s us.
I throw a hard pass over the heads of the other team, aiming for my receiver hidden in a far corner of the field. He has to jump to catch it, but he does, turning to run it easily over the goal line.
Now we’re ahead.
I step off the field and get a bottle of water, my thoughts on the next possession, the next play. The offensive coordinator comes over and starts showing me the plays he thinks I should run when we get the ball back. Ten minutes left in the game and he’s changing our strategy. Even as he shows me the plays, the other team’s quarterback fumbles and our team recovers.
This is our chance.
I run back out on the field with my offensive line and bark out the play I want to run. I’m choosing to ignore the offensive coordinator’s instructions, choosing to go with a tried and true play. We’re in good position, sitting on the forty-yard line. Just one good pass should get us where we need to be.
I step back for the snap, snatch the ball out of the air and move around the pocket, looking for an open receiver. The only problem is, the defense saw this play coming and they’ve covered all our players. I have two choices. I can run the ball myself and try to get a first down, or I can stay in the pocket and purposely throw the ball out of bounds. Neither idea appeals to me. I have less than a second to decide.
I go for it, running into the pack in an attempt to get as many yards as possible. I’m just about to slide onto my ass at the first down marker when a massive defensive player tackles me. My helmet pops off from the angle of his shoulder coming at me and I fall back, slamming the back of my head against the turf.
Stars burst in my vision. And my arm—pain shoots through my body. I’m not sure how long I’m down, but I hear the team doc talking to me, asking me questions that make no sense.
Fuck me!
I need to get up. I need to finish the game. But someone touches my arm and stars burst in my vision again.
I’m done. I know it before anyone says anything.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Cricket
I watch from our seats on the fifty-yard line. Magnus runs out onto the field and yells a play out to his offensive line. Then he moves into position behind the center. My heart always stutters a little in the second before the snap. I’ve watched football since I was a little girl. I’ve seen my dad’s high school players break legs and suffer concussions. I know what can happen. And that’s Magnus down there, my fiancé, the father of my child. I’d have to be some sort of sociopath not to be scared every time he lines up to take a snap.
Magnus grabs the ball and steps back into the pocket, looking around for a receiver. There’s no one open. I bite my lip as I watch him make a quick decision and run for it. Stupid decision. He should stay in the pocket where the defenders can’t touch him. But he doesn’t. And then…they hit him just as he’s about to slide across the down marker. One from his left, his shoulder slamming into his chin, knocking his helmet off his head. The other hits him from the right, smashing his pads into his throwing arm, popping the ball out of his grip. The ball is loose, but the line judge calls Magnus down before it was loose, so the ball’s not in play.
But that’s the least of my worries.
Magnus just lies there. I can see his face on the big screen. There’s blood on his bottom lip and his chin. And his arm is twisted at a weird angle.
He’s gone all season without a single injury. Now, in the last seven minutes of the Championship game, and he’s lying unresponsive on the field.
I start running. I don’t know how to get to the field from where I’m at, but I have to get to him. My dad grabs my arm and pulls me in the opposite direction. I follow him because I don’t know what else to do.
Dad finds a security guard and convinces him I am who he says I am. He leads us to a private door just as the crowd in the stands begins to applaud. They must have gotten him off the field.
We’re taken down a long, concrete corridor. When we reach a set of double doors, the security guard steps back and gestures for us to enter. When we do, we find a group of men moving around Magnus, barking out orders to each other.
“Is he okay?” I ask.
Frank comes out of nowhere and takes my arms, moving me back.
“They’re assessing him. It’ll be a minute before they know anything.”
“But he’s okay?”
Frank doesn’t respond. My heart begins to pound and I want to go to him, but both Frank and my dad stand in my way. Before I can think of a strong enough argument to fight them, a man comes over.
“He needs a hospital,” he says. “His arm is pretty mangled.”
They let me ride in the ambulance with him. He’s not conscious. Frank tells me that they gave him some sort of medication to help with the pain, but I’m afraid it’s the blow he took to the back of his head when he hit the turf that’s causing him not to open his eyes. When we arrive at the hospital, they take him through another set of double doors and leave me standing with my dad, Frank, and the team medics in the waiting room.
I can’t sit still, can’t think. I pace even as the men gather around the television and watch the last few minutes of the game. The 49ers score two more times. The Giants lose. But, right now, that’s the last of my worries.
A doctor comes out after about forty minutes and tells us he has to have surgery.
I’m going to go insane if they don’t let me see him.
Everyone tries to explain to me that they need to get him into surgery as quickly as possible. It something about the blood flow to his hand and his nerves and…I don’t understand. All I know is that Magnus is hurt and I need to see him, I need to know that he’s okay. But they won’t let me see him.
It’s the most agonizing wait of my life. My dad forces me to sit down and eat a few crackers, but they taste like cardboard and they come back up a few minutes later. I pace some more, listen to dad talk to mom on the phone, listen as Frank calls Amelia. I hadn’t realized Amelia and Frank were as close as they obviously are. He calls her sweetie and tells her he loves her. I’m happy for her and a little sad that I was obviously so caught up in my own drama that I didn’t see what drama was happening in her life.
I promise myself I’ll have a long talk with her when this is all over. But, right now, I need to get through this moment.
They finally come down after a long, excruciatingly long, six hours.
“He’s in recovery. We’ll move him to a room in a few minutes and you can see him then.”
My dad walks with me upstairs, but leaves me at the door. I take a deep breath, then go inside. He’s lying in the narrow bed, looking so much bigger in that position. His chest is bare and there are wires running under the sheet. His left arm is sporting an IV line while his right arm is covered from wrist to shoulder in a white plaster cast. He’s pale, his eyes closed, his skin so bright against his dark hair.
I cross to his side and hesitate before touching his left hand.
“Hey,” he moans softly.
“Hey.”
I touch his face as he opens his eyes, a tired smile slipping over his full lips. “How are you?”
He groans a little. “Can’t really complain. The meds are good.”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
His eyebrows rise. “Did you really just curse?”
“And I’ll curse some more if you ever do that to me again.”
He laughs, but then a twinge of pain flashes over his face.
I run my hands over his face, bending low to kiss him. “I love you,” I whisper. “Please be okay.”
“I’m fine, babe. Just a little broken.”
It�
�s not funny, but I chuckle with him. Then I settle in the seat beside him, determined not to leave his side ever again. But, of course, I have to. The nurses come after a while to check his vitals and help him put on a hospital gown. I step out the door and glance at my phone. There’s a half dozen messages and three times as many missed calls. I see Malcolm’s number and realize it never occurred to me to let him know what’s happening.
“He had to have surgery on his arm,” I tell him. “We won’t know for a few days what it means for his career.”
“How is he? Are his spirits good?”
“They’ve got him pretty heavily medicated. But he seems okay at the moment.”
Malcolm is quiet for a moment. “Tell him I’m thinking about him.”
“I will.”
I turn to go back into the room, wondering what Magnus would say if I told him that. Would he care that his father is concerned for him? Or would he be upset that I even tried to get them in the same room together?
All I know right now is that Magnus looks weak and tired and he needs me. That’s all that matters.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Magnus
It’s a career ending injury. I know it before the doctor invites us into his office to look at the x-rays.
“It’s not that you broke your arm. It’s the fact that it’s your throwing arm. The injury caused some nerve damage along your hand and your wrist. You will likely regain full control of your arm, but you won’t be able to grip a ball the way you did before. Not with the kind of control required to throw a football the way you do.”
I chose not to tell Cricket at first. She wanted to be there when we saw the doctor—Frank and I—but I convinced her to go back to Dallas. She needs to be at work. She’s been through enough.
We walk out of the office, and Frank keeps stealing little glances at me.
“What?” I finally say.
“You okay?”
I think about that for a long moment. A year ago, I’d probably be devastated. Football was all I had then. But now? I’ve been thinking a lot about Cricket and the baby. The bay is due the end of July. I’ll be in spring camp by then, gearing up for preseason. I’ll be too busy to share the night feedings with Cricket, the first sounds, the first words, the first time she rolls over and the first time she crawls. And it’ll all be starting over again by the time she takes her first steps. Not to mention the long commutes that will be required if Cricket really wants to spend the majority of her time in Dallas, close to her family. I can’t really blame her, of course. But that means there’s even more for me to miss.