by Tillie Cole
* * *
Centurylink Field, Seattle
A few months later…
“Taylor, Isaac, Archie, Elias! Come here, we have to go on the field in a minute! You all need to calm down!”
The roar of the crowd boomed all around the stadium, shaking the rafters, as we waited at the back of the players’ tunnel. Molly was busy running around after the kids, trying to get them straight. I couldn’t help but smile at them all in their Seahawks PRINCE jerseys, Elias’s jersey so tiny as he tottered around his momma’s legs—hell, he’d just begun walking and was already running rings around us both. And then there was Molly, long hair loose, tight jeans, her favorite brown cowboy boots and she too wearing my number. I could tell she was nervous; years of sitting in the “wives’ section” hadn’t prepared her at all for the craziness of today.
I was retiring. After nearly twenty years playing for the Hawks, I was calling it a day, and because of that, the Hawks were sending me off in the only way they knew how… big and loud.
Someone tugged on my jeans, and when I looked down, Archie, my son, was looking up at me with a strange expression on his cute-as-hell face.
Crouching down to his height, I asked, “You okay, little man?”
He pointed to the direction of the screaming crowd, all wide brown eyes, red flushed cheeks, and whispered, “Are you a superhero, Daddy?”
Smiling, I replied, “No, son. Why d’you ask that?”
He stepped forward, placing his chubby five-year-old hand on my shoulder, and said, “Because all those people are here today for you. They keep saying you are the best, ever, and the only other people who get treated like that are superheroes.”
Lifting him into my arms, I said, “I’m not a hero, little man. I just threw a football good for a lot of years and that’s why we’re here today, to say good-bye to all the supporters before we head to Alabama.”
He nodded his head in understanding, but pursing his lips, he leaned in and whispered, “I have a secret.”
I pulled back, dropping my mouth in playful exaggeration, and said, “You do?”
He nodded his head sagely.
“Am I allowed to know it too?”
Pausing for a moment and thinking hard, Archie finally sighed and nodded his head. His little mouth went to my ear and he whispered, “I think you’re a secret superhero and you’re saying you’re not because superheroes are not allowed to tell no one, are they? Just look at Superman; no one knew about the real him.”
“And what’s my power?” I asked, playing along.
“That you can throw a football farther than anyone, ever, and…” He motioned for me to lean in closer to his mouth, whispering, “You’re the bestest daddy in the world. The kids at school are always telling me how lucky I am. But they don’t need to. I know it.”
I stilled and closed my eyes, his words choking the fuck out of me, but two strong little hands pushed on my cheeks. “No telling the others, though, okay? It’s our secret.”
“Okay,” I agreed with a graveled voice, placing him back to the floor, letting him rejoin his brothers and sister playing across the way with a pigskin—they were football to the core.
A soothing hand rubbed at my back and Molly flashed me a wide, knowing grin. “You okay, baby?” A proud glint was shining in her golden eyes, and it was clear she’d heard what our son had just said.
Inching forward, I pressed a kiss to her lips. “Mm-hmm, more than okay.”
She placed her mouth at my ear and whispered, “I believe you’re the best daddy in the world too… and the best husband.”
Clasping both hands on her face, I pressed my lips firmly against hers again, laughing at her surprised squeal.
A throat cleared beside us, and, glancing beside me, I saw the field manager, embarrassed. “Mr. Prince, we’re almost ready.”
Molly quickly fixed her hair and squeezed my hand in reassurance. She was always there for me, today being no different. She’d attended every game, Superbowl, charity function—you name it—for years and most of all, she’d given me four beautiful children. I loved my girl more now than ever and still thanked God every day that he brought her into my life.
“Okay, kids, come here,” Molly shouted, and the four of them ran over, all smiles and hyper with excitement. Molly crouched down, meeting each of their eyes, and explained, “Now we’re about to go out into the stadium. It’s going to be super loud, so just prepare yourselves, okay?”
A chorus of, “Yeah, Momma,” came out in reply, and Molly moved to Elias and wrestled with him, trying to secure his noise-cancelling headphones in place.
After giving up and leaving them hanging around his neck, she said, “Now, what do you all have to say to your daddy?”
I narrowed my eyes at Molly and caught the happy expression on her face.
Taylor, our daughter, our eldest child… our teenager, stepped forward, and I bent down as she hugged me. “We’re all very proud of you, Daddy, and we wanted to let you know how much we love you.” She presented me with a handmade card, a hand-drawn picture of us all in our yard on the front and a framed picture of the six of us at last year’s Superbowl, all four of my children in my arms in the center of the field, huge, happy smiles on their faces and Mol kissing my cheek. “The boys made the card, but we all signed it for you. I chose the picture, well along with Momma—it’s our favorite.” I glanced to the picture again. It was my favorite too. A hand landed on my shoulder. “I really am so proud of you, Daddy.”
Kissing her cheek, I rasped, “Thank you, princess.”
Our three boys came to me next, and I could barely fucking speak through each hug and “I love you, Daddy.” Molly stood beside me, clicking away on her camera and unashamedly crying as she watched the impromptu presentation.
My kids had clearly caught my battle with my emotions, if their wide-eyed looks were any indication. And I had to turn away for a moment, trying my best to pull myself together. The last thing I wanted was to walk out onto the field a friggin’ emotional mess.
And after all, superheroes never cried.
As I looked at my beautiful kids, my chest swelled. I’ve never let myself forget how friggin’ lucky I am that I got this life. Got my girl when I nearly lost her and got four perfect kids on Earth—and one in heaven—when I never thought I’d have any.
“Mr. Prince, we’re ready. Please follow,” the field manager announced, and I heard Molly instruct behind me, “Okay, two of you take my hands; two take Daddy’s.”
Two hands instantly encased mine; I knew who’d be with me and who’d be with Mol. Glancing down, I smirked to see I was right: Taylor, our girl, and Archie, who apparently believed I was a superhero.
I turned to Molly, who was holding hands with Isaac and Elias—now happily in his headphones—took a deep breath, and mouthed, “You ready?”
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head dramatically and mouthed back, “No!”
Music began playing, and the announcer hyped up the crowd as I laughed and winked at my wife’s worried face. “Seattle, please welcome to the field, for the final time, your quarterback, Romeo ‘The Bullet’ Prince!”
With a squeeze of my hands, my family and I walked forward out of the tunnel. As we stepped on the field to fireworks and the roar of the crowd, I finally let myself exhale. This field, these supporters were my second home and I was going to miss them so damn much.
After a lap of the field, waving and thanking the fans, we were ushered to a stage on the fifty-yard line. Molly and the children stood beside me as I walked to the microphone to address the crowd.
“Good evening, Seattle!” The booming response from the crowd was deafening; the sea of flashing cameras and applauding fans, all of them on their feet, was a sight I would never forget. They were all here tonight for me, and my legs shook slightly from the enormity of the moment.
I waved to the crowd; they gradually quieted to silence.
“When I came to y’all twenty years ago, I
had no idea what to expect.” I laughed into the microphone and turned to Molly, who nodded in agreement. “I’d never left Alabama for any real period of time, had just got married to my girl.” I reached out my hand, and Molly moved beside me, holding it right back. “And suddenly we were thrust into the crazy world of the NFL, and y’all welcomed us with open arms.” The crowd stamped their feet in the stands and bullhorns sounded around the packed stadium.
I watched my children drop their mouths at the deafening reaction and gape in shock at the thousands of people all screaming for their daddy. Turning back to the mic, I waited until they quieted and continued. “The team and staff are my family, you guys who support us week after week are my family, and we’re going to miss y’all so damn much. I never knew what I’d do after retiring from pro ball, but an opportunity has come up, and I am happy to announce that I have accepted the position of Quarterback Coach at the Alabama Crimson Tide. After many happy years in Seattle, my family and I are going back down south, back to my home, but I’ll never forget Seattle and all the amazing years we’ve enjoyed here.”
Squeezing Molly’s hand for strength, I brought it to my lips and pressed a kiss to her wedding ring. Coach had offered me a position with the Tide coaching team the night we went to dinner, and Molly agreed I should take it. She thought a change would be good for us all.
“My wife has been a professor at the University of Washington for over ten years now, and my kids, well, all my kids are Seattle born and bred, something I’ll never let them forget.”
Roving a gaze around the huge stadium one last time, I lowered my eyes, holding back the threatening lump inching up my throat, and said, “Thanks to y’all for making my career here the best time of my life.”
The crowd erupted once more, and with a drum roll from the band, a large banner dropped from the rafters: my name and jersey number, now officially retired in my honor.
Staring up at the banner, a sense of accomplishment filled me. I’d lived my dream to the best of my ability and loved every minute of playing for this team.
Suddenly several sets of hands wrapped around my waist and legs, as my children ran to me in support, and a familiar arm slipped around my waist: Shakespeare.
“You did it, baby,” she whispered, still staring proudly at my banner, happy tears in her eyes. “You did it all.”
Cupping her face, I pressed a kiss to her lips and said, “You ready to get back to Bama, Mrs. Prince?”
Moving in for another kiss, she giggled and replied, “Roll Tide!”
Epilogue
Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Six months later…
Shit. The Tide QB I was watching on the new game tapes Coach’d just sent me had rendered me speechless. His quick feet, the power of his passes and his running game were sick. He was a triple threat and, no doubt, the kid had some serious friggin’ skills.
Hearing the quick stomping of feet coming up the stairs, I quickly switched off the TV, fumbling the remote and jumped to my feet just a Mol came through the door.
She met my eyes and frowned. “Romeo Prince! Are you watching game tapes when you are meant to be helping me sort everything out for this bloody housewarming get together you planned?”
Shit. There was no winning this one.
“I—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” Molly held up her hand, silencing me. “I’m running around this house like a blue-arsed fly, sorting the food, sorting the kids, and you hide out up here in our room?” She walked forward and prodded me in the chest. “A week Romeo! We’ve been back a week and you plan a party… Thanks! We’ve barely unpacked!”
Molly stood before me, all in a fluster, dressed in a lilac summer dress—she looked fucking beautiful.
“Oh, no,” she warned with a firm shake of her index finger.
Reaching out, I grabbed the material of her dress and pulled her close. “What?” I asked with a smirk.
Pushing on my chest, she shook her head. “Don’t even think it.”
“But, baby—”
“‘But, baby’, nothing.” Molly removed my hand from her waist and stepped back. “Now get your arse in that backyard and fire up the grill.”
Narrowing my eyes, I leaned in, whispering, “I’m so gonna fuck you tonight for that attitude, Shakespeare.” Then walked out of the bedroom door and headed downstairs, laughing as I heard my wife’s long, sexually frustrated sigh.
The sound of the kids playing in their game room filtered into the hall, and just as I was heading into the kitchen, the front door rang. Checking the clock on the wall, I groaned in exasperation. Our friends were an hour early. Molly was gonna kill me.
Swinging open the door, I immediately froze. A teenage kid—no, correction—a teenage boy; tall, big in build, with the cockiest smirk spread on his face.
“Bullet Prince! Big fan, man.” He moved in for a fist bump, but I didn’t even bother lifting my hand.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked, and the kid paled a little as I crossed my arms over my chest. Yeah, I may have just retired but I still had a good set of guns.
“Err… I… I’m…”
“Asher!” My head swung around only to see my daughter walking my way, all smiles for the douche on my doorstep.
Oh. Hell. No.
Fully facing Taylor, and blocking the entire doorway, I asked, “Who’s he and what the hell is he doing at my door?”
Taylor stopped in her tracks and her face beamed red. “Daddy! Stop it! You’re embarrassing me!”
“Who is he? I won’t ask again.”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “He’s my date.”
I was pretty fucking sure smoke began blowing from my ears, because those three words just about made me combust.
“Come again?” I asked tersely, you know, just for clarification.
“He’s. My. Date,” she said slowly, each word exaggerated.
Fuck. Not only did she look exactly like me: blond hair and brown eyes, but she had the pissy, no-shit attitude to match. I could now see Molly’s point on how damn annoying this moody shit could be to deal with.
“Bullet, come on. We can work this—”
I swung to face the kid on my doorstep as he spoke and without a single word in response, I slammed the door in his fucking face.
“Daddy!” Taylor screamed. “I was going on a date with him!”
“Like hell you were! Since when do you date, and why the hell haven’t you asked permission? Because I’ll tell you now, girl, that kid only has one thing on his mind, and like hell he’s doing those things to my fourteen-year-old daughter! You get me?”
“Momma!”
“Mol!”
Molly came gunning down the stairs as I faced off against my daughter, her stance now mimicking mine, our gazes locked.
“What’s going on? Why are you both shouting at each other?”
Turning to Mol, I asked, “Did you know she was planning on going on a date today?”
Molly’s wide eyes snapped to our daughter. “Taylor, you know you’re not old enough to date.”
“But, Momma! I—” In true teenage fashion, she slammed her hands on her hips.
“But nothing. You’re grounded for a week for being so sneaky and going against our rules. Now, get in there and watch your brothers. Our guests will be arriving soon and I don’t have time for this.”
Spinning on her heel with an angry shrill, Taylor stomped into the game room, screaming, “Fascists!”
When the door slammed, I exhaled slowly to calm the hell down and looked to Molly who was still on the stairs, blinking in shock. “Dating, Mol? I’m so not ready for this shit.”
Molly cracked a smile and started giggling. “She’s a teen, it was bound to start sooner or later. That’s what you get when you have a girl, babe. Years and years of dating to look forward to.”
“We’ve been back in Bama a week and suddenly she has hormonally-charged fuckers chasing her tail?” I leaned back against the wall and ran
my hand down my face. “I was one of those fuckers, Mol. I know exactly what they want to do with her. Christ! I’ll kill them! This shit’s gonna make me go prematurely gray!”
Molly shook her head and passed by me, laughing. “She knows she can’t date until she’s sixteen, so relax, you have two years to prepare for the real thing.” She continued strutting into the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder to add, “And two years to stock up on ‘Just For Men’, of course. You know, for all the premature gray hairs you’ll get.”
Flashing me a teasing smile, Molly quickly headed to the backyard—Oh, she’d done it now.
Running after my wife, I scooped her up in my arms, making her yelp out in surprise. I sat down on the secluded bench, way out of sight, laying her across my lap. Diving onto her soft lips, I fisted bunches of her long brown hair, and took what I wanted.
As always, she submitted to my demands.
We broke from the embrace several minutes later, both panting, and Molly squirmed against the hardness in my jeans.
“Mol…” I warned.
“Mm-hmm?” she answered innocently, a fucking horny-as-hell twinkle in her golden-browns.
My jaw clenched as I fought my need, and I hissed through gritted teeth, “Don’t play with fire, Shakespeare. It’s too much for pretty little English girls to cope with.”
“What can I say…? I’m a risk taker.” She shrugged and smiled widely.
Mol watched as my lip twitched, and within seconds, the two of us burst into laughter and I gripped her tight around her neck, tucking my head into her hair.
When we had both calmed down, I lifted my head and said, “I can’t believe I said that to you back then. I was so fucked up and full of my own shit.”
“Are you kidding me? You had me so pent up for you that I almost combusted on the spot! I could’ve stayed at that creek forever.”
I leaned in close and whispered seductively, “If I’m not mistaken, you did combust around three of my fingers shortly after.”
Slapping my chest playfully, Mol replied, “Yeah, and I tossed you off onto the grass!”