by Lucy Snow
I remembered how livid Hud had been when Coach Armstrong had left me in the game when we were beating the Steelers, leading to my injury, and I nodded, tapping him on the shoulder just above his pads. “Thanks for the look out, man. Let it go, though. It happened, and if it hadn’t happened during that game, it would have during the next one.”
“You don’t know that.”
I sighed. “Nah, you’re right, I don’t, but I do know the best way to make it all better is for you to man up and lock those assholes down out there tonight, yeah? I don’t want them to make a first down. Not a single fucking first down.” I got louder. “You hear me!?”
“Fuckin’ A, I hear you!” Hud bellowed, and charged out of the tunnel onto the field. A stalwart in New England for over a decade, the crowd knew him by sight even from far away, and cheered him on appreciatively.
I sighed and left the tunnel myself. I looked around and couldn’t tell if there was any change in crowd noise when I came out. How fickle the masses were! It was almost as if I had never existed - Oliver Lee was the new starter and I had to live with it.
After we all got on the field and spent 10 minutes warming up and stretching, I took up my position on the Patriots sideline near the coaching staff - Coach Armstrong and the two coordinators, with headsets on. I put my headset on, so if called on I could give Oliver Lee advice through his helmet speaker.
The starting clock reached double zeroes, and the game started. The crowd was eager and loud; they wanted their team to make the playoffs more than anything. Arizona being so far away, there wasn’t too big of an away crowd this game, but there were more than a few red jackets in attendance.
I settled back down, watching the defense led by Hudson Asher take over, having a great game, and only getting one touchdown go by in the first half. The Arizona Cardinals were a really good team, possibly the toughest and most complete team on our schedule, and we knew there was a good chance that if we made it to the championship game, we’d see them across the field from us.
That was still a long way away, though.
On offense, unfortunately, things weren’t looking as good. Our running game took a little while to get started, and Oliver Lee had suddenly begun to revert to his old, mistake-prone self.
On one level, I was thrilled, because the worse he did, the better it was for me. At the same time, though, I couldn’t help from the sideline, and I couldn’t help at all if they made me the starter after we were eliminated from playoff contention.
Nevertheless, I tried to support the team and help Oliver out, giving him advice on reads and pass rushes before each play whenever Coach Armstrong nodded in my direction.
It didn’t work. Lee just couldn’t get the offense started, and it was becoming clear that Arizona’s stifling defense was a little bit too much for him to handle.
At halftime in the locker room the mood was somber. Everyone knew that every single game going forward was going to be like this, as long as we kept winning. Everyone wanted to win, but we also knew that if we lost even a single game from here to the championship, it was all over.
Coach Armstrong walked through the locker room, stopping in front of various players to talk to them quietly. Some players had snacks, some linemen had entire hoagies carted in for them to munch on. Others just sat and meditated, or huddled up with their position coaches.
Coach Armstrong stopped at my locker, and I looked up at him. “You feeling rested enough yet, Parker?”
“Huh? Y-Yes, sir, Coach. Well rested as ever.”
“Good. Stay that way.” He leaned in. “I’m going to make a change for the second half.”
“Oh?” I didn’t let myself get optimistic, but inside I was about to start dancing.
“Yeah. Lee’s not working out today. We’re going to see if you’ve got anything left in the tank.”
“I understand, Coach. I won’t let you down.”
“Feel free to, son. If you do, the season’s over. Just keep that in mind.”
I stood up and started stretching, thrilled that I was going to get to play again.
Coach Armstrong went to Lee’s locker next, and I could see Lee slump over while they talked. By now the rest of the locker room had noticed what was happening and there was a little buzz around.
Drake looked at me and nodded, his smile huge. I caught Hud’s eye from across the room and he gave me the thumbs up.
It took me only 3 minutes to get into game-day mode for real this time, and when I looked around the room after, I noticed someone new standing there.
Mackenzie Mayfield. I hadn’t seen her since that day weeks ago in my room after the injury. She nodded to Coach Armstrong then walked up to me.
“Parker, good to see you’re feeling better.”
“Yes, ma’am, feeling a lot better.”
She came in close. Over her shoulder I could see Hud scowling in my direction. “Don’t let me down, Parker. Remember our discussion from a few weeks ago?”
“I do, Mackenzie.”
“Good. That offer is still on the table. You get us into the playoffs and beyond, and I’ll do everything it takes to make sure you’re a New England Patriot as long as you can and want to play.”
The ‘can’ part was both more important than the ‘want’ and highly subjective, I knew. As long as the team thought I could play they’d keep me on. I knew that was the case when I got into this.
“I won’t let you down, Mackenzie.”
She stepped back. “Good to hear, Parker. I’ll be watching.” After those ominous words, she nodded again to Coach Armstrong and left the room.
I looked back at Hud and he must have been watching Mackenzie leave, because he was just staring at the door. What a weirdo.
Oh well, I had more important things to take care of.
Just then, Coach Armstrong stood up and called the team to order, and announced the change, that I was taking over for Oliver Lee. The room erupted in cheers, led by Drake and Hud.
And then it was time to get back on the field for the second half. We were only down by a touchdown, so we could still win this, we just had to get started.
That might end up being the hard part.
CHAPTER 20 - CHARLOTTE
I had been torn about watching Lance play right from the start. My job was to keep him healthy, to keep him strong and ready to play. His job was to go out and play.
Football is a terribly violent sport. It’s basically modern gladiatorial combat, only this time the players trade weapons for thick padding and helmets. That may sound like it’s better, but it’s really not, mainly because they use those pads and helmets like weapons, turning themselves into human missiles targeting each other.
So watching Lance go out there and get beaten up while his brothers tried to protect him was painful at best for me. Very quietly I was happy that he wasn’t playing.
That all changed in the second half, when the Patriots came out of the tunnel and I saw Lance wearing his helmet instead of a ball cap. Coach Armstrong had made a quarterback change, holy shit!
I was conflicted - thrilled that Lance was finally going to get to play again, and worried that he could re-aggravate that right knee injury, or even worse - get hurt some other new way.
Such was the nature of professional football. Every player played hurt all the time - it was a matter of managing the pain and getting through the season while racking up enough wins to…keep on doing it for a few more weeks!
All for the glory of the game. And of course, the millions of dollars and millions of adoring fans. Those were both a big part of it.
Still, seeing Lance out there was incredible. It only made the weight of what I had done in ending things between us all the more painful, like twisting the knife.
I wanted him to do well and stay healthy - I couldn’t turn off my feelings toward him like I could turn off a light switch, but seeing him out there just made me feel worse.
I almost wanted to leave and go back into the facility,
but something kept me there. I just had to see how he played, and I was expected to be on the sidelines in case an injury occurred.
I hoped more than anything in the world that wouldn’t happen.
The game started and I watched Lance play in a real game for the first time in almost two months. It was electrifying seeing how comfortable he was in the pocket, how quickly he made his reads and threw to the right receiver - most often Drake Rollins.
They worked so well together, it was almost as if they could communicate telepathically. They joked about it between themselves, but it was really quite breathtaking to watch.
When the offense came off the field after scoring a field goal, leaving the Patriots only down 4, Lance came off the field to watch the defense take the field. He huddled up first with the coaching staff, and I saw Coach Armstrong give him a nod.
That was one of Coach Armstrong’s biggest compliments - Lance must be doing a good job, despite only scoring 3.
Normally Lance would sit near where the training staff waited when he wasn’t on the field, but after he glanced around and saw me, he took a spot on the other side of the long bench, sitting down and sipping from a thermos.
Twisting the knife even more. I was happy for him, but given how frosty things with us had been since I had pre-emotively broken up whatever this was becoming, I couldn’t just go over and say anything to him.
He looked incredible, though. When the next series began and he got on the field again, I watched him dance around between the defenders and drive his team down the field like a man possessed.
It reminded me of how he was when we were alone - I loved that he could snap to attention and just focus everything in his being at the task at hand. I didn’t know anyone else who could focus like that.
At what cost, though? The cost of having a life? A meaningful relationship? What if he actually were to find a girlfriend? Would he just put her on hold for 5 months each year while he went off to play football? I laughed so hard I snorted at the idea, prompting looks from the other athletic staff.
And even if I could get by that, there was still the whole thing about his fame. He was only going to get more famous, more in the spotlight, as time went on, if he played well. I didn’t think I could be a part of that, too much to deal with.
I wanted to be with Lance more than anything, but I just couldn’t see a way to make it work. So I had tried to protect myself from getting hurt and ended it before it could get even more serious. I still hadn’t figured out if I had made the right decision, but every time our eyes met I wanted to run to him and kiss him, and I didn’t care if tens of thousands of people or millions saw it.
I just wanted him.
The next time Arizona took the field, though, they came back with a vengeance, scoring a quick touchdown that put the Cardinals up 14-3. The third quarter was nearly over.
Lance and the Patriots were running out of time.
CHAPTER 21 - LANCE
It felt so fucking good to be playing football again, for real this time. Even when I was getting hit, everything about it felt amazing. Except the pain, I could have done without that.
But if I had to take the pain in order to do this for a living, it was worth it. I just hoped I’d get to do this every Sunday in the fall and winter for many years to come. In New England, where I belonged.
We were down by 11 going into the 4th quarter. If we didn’t prevail here, the last few games wouldn’t even matter - we couldn’t make the playoffs.
It was time to man up, as I had told Hud earlier.
I walked up and down the bench, tapping guys on the pads and getting them worked up, making sure they knew how important these next 15 minutes were.
Everyone got the picture.
I looked over at Charlotte with the rest of the athletic staff. She looked gorgeous, even in her staff uniform. Who was I kidding, she’d look incredible in a burlap sack.
Focus, Parker, focus. This was work time. After this I could spend as much time as I wanted thinking about Charlotte and what to do about her. As much time as till…tomorrow, when it was time to start prepping for our next game.
No rest for the wicked, as they always said.
Hud managed to get the defense off the field after only couple minutes, no score on Arizona’s part, leaving us still down 11. I got back on the field and did what I did best.
I made plays, I set up the running game and found the right time to find Drake Rollins, always open for business as only Drake Rollins could be, and just a few minutes later, we’d scored another touchdown.
After the extra point, we were down 14-10. Closer, but still losing. Close only mattered in horseshoes and hand grenades, so we still had work to do.
I still had work to do.
I couldn’t help but look at Charlotte again as I trotted off the field and let the defense take over. She watched me too, when she thought I wasn’t looking. I gave her a small wave, and she waved back, but I could tell she wasn’t really putting any weight behind it.
Every time I saw her I wanted to take her into my arms and sweep her away from all this. Of course, I had work to do, and 52 teammates and millions of fans to take care of first, but as soon as this game was over I was gonna go over there and tell her what was what.
I’d tell her she had me all wrong, I wasn’t the guy she thought I was, and that I was done hiding away my feelings for her behind some dumb rule that kept me from enjoying my life and creating meaningful relationships beyond my teammates.
And then we’d figure out just what we were.
I sat down again on the bench with my drink, getting rehydrated and watching the defense try and work over Arizona’s offense and give me time to get back on the field and make the winning score.
Arizona was having a good run of it this time, and we were giving up just a little too much yardage for my taste. I leaned forward, resting my head on my hands, unable to tear my gaze away from the field.
Arizona was just past half field when they went back on a pass play that got broken up by one of our pass rushers almost as soon as it began. Their QB feinted left and right, looking for a opening, before losing his mind and heaving up a terribly thrown, almost lazy pass forward to no one in particular.
No one in particular but Hudson Fucking Asher, who caught the ball, cradling it in those gigantic hands of his as the crowd also lost their fucking mind as Hud raced down the field, only finally tackled by their quarterback, who seemed to remember at the last second that he was the only guy protecting a touch down.
There was only a minute left in the game, and our offense was about to go on the field. We had a chance. Roughly half the field to go.
I could do this.
I HAD to do this.
There was no other option.
My entire career had come down to this series.
I shot a look at Charlotte before I put my helmet on and she managed a smile at me, and I waved back before I jogged onto the field.
Now it was time to play. Hud had given us a huge advantage and great field position, now I had a minute to capitalize on it and bring home a win.
The first couple plays went easy, a running play and a short pass, after which we got a quick first down.
Time was running out, though, and we couldn’t afford to stop moving. The call for the play came in through my headset and I relayed it to the team.
It was the wrong call, and as soon as the play started, the pocket crumbled as the Arizona pass rush caved in the right side, just as the Steelers had done so many weeks ago.
I jumped out of the way, but couldn’t avoid taking another huge sack.
Down I went to the ground, and I heard Coach Armstrong screaming for a time out, which we got.
I lay there for a few seconds, until a play crystallized in my head, and I jumped back up, testing out the knee - it worked just fine, small miracle there after that huge hit.
Rather than stay on the field I jogged off to the sideline, my mind made up.
I talked to Coach Armstrong first, who didn’t know what was going on, and just asked whether I was OK to keep playing. I said I was, and got the play call from him - we had one more play left, a throw to Drake, of course. If anyone could get us in the end zone, it was him.
I had just enough time left in the time out, so I ran away from Coach Armstrong and toward Charlotte, where the athletic staff was. As I ran past, I yelled at Drake as I tossed my helmet to him. “Tell Lily! Have her talk to her camera guy!”
“What?” Realization dawned on Drake as he caught the helmet like I knew he would. “Oh shit, right!” He jumped up and ran off to find Lily.
I ran to Charlotte and stopped right in front of her, momentarily taken by her beauty.
In for a penny, in for a pound. Either this was gonna work or I was gonna be a national joke.
“Hey, there, Charlotte, funny running into you around here today…”
CHAPTER 22 - CHARLOTTE
“Hey, there, Charlotte, funny running into you around here today…”
What. What was Lance doing standing in front of me in the middle of a nationally televised professional football game, if he wasn’t injured?
“Lance! Are you OK? Is it your knee?”
“What? Oh no, knee’s fine, feels great. I’m just out, you know, throwing the ball around with the guys, you know how it is.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
He smiled and moved in close. “Ever since I met you, Charlotte, yes. I lost my fucking mind the first time I met you.”
“You can’t be serious. We’re on TV, Lance. You’re in the middle of a game!”
“I know, I know, but this is more important than the game. I just realized that. It took me a while, didn’t it? Maybe I am a dumb jock after all.”
“Stop saying that, you know I hate it when you do.”
He came in close, wrapping those huge arms around me. “I know. I know everything.”
Then he kissed me. On live TV. Seen around the world. Lance Parker kissed me, Charlotte Calloway, long and hard, bending me backward, his big hand coming up to keep me steady.