Game Day Box Set: A College Football Romance

by Lily Cahill

  “I want you to go out there,” Coach says, “and play this second half like your lives depend on it. Because they do. I’m not talking about winning or losing or any of that. I’m saying that if you can go out there and believe in each other, we’ve already won.”

  With that, Coach strides out of the locker room. He stops just at the entrance, where West is hovering, and says something to our quarterback that makes him breathe deep and stand up straight.

  For a moment, we all sit there, not sure how to react. Then Reggie stands up and says, “Can’t stop.”

  No one replies. Reggie looks over the team and says again, firmly, “Can’t stop.”

  “Won’t stop,” I reply, and Reggie breaks into a grin.

  “Can’t stop,” Reggie says, stomping on the floor. “Won’t stop. Don’t stop.”

  A few other guys take up the chant. Then everyone is on their feet, faces pale and determined. “Can’t stop, won’t stop, don’t stop. Can’t stop, won’t stop, don’t stop. Can’t stop, won’t stop, don’t stop.”

  Reggie jumps up on a bench. “What’re they trying to stop?”

  “The Stampede!”

  “Who’s gonna stop us?”

  “Nobody!”

  “Who are we?” Reggie bellows.

  “Mustangs!” We shout back.

  “Who are we?” Reggie shouts even louder, beating his chest.

  “Mustangs!”

  “Can’t stop the stampede!”

  On cue, all the guys start running in place and slapping the walls, the benches, the lockers. The cacophony is incredible. Reggie stands in the center of it all, basking in the energy we are making together. I can feel it too, the swirling currents of possibility. But at the center of all that possibility, I feel a stone weight trying to drag me down.

  What am I doing here? How did I get here? Is this even where I want to be?

  One of the assistant coaches taps me on the shoulder. “Riley. Your dad is on the phone.”

  “My dad?” The sinking feeling turns to fear. He knows phones are off-limits during a game. So if he called anyway …. “Is everything okay?”

  I follow the assistant coach into a small office, where a phone is resting off the hook. “We’re going back out in three minutes,” he says, before closing the door behind me.

  “Dad?”

  “Riley,” my father says, relief clear in his voice.

  “Is everyone okay? Did something happen—”

  “Everyone’s fine. I had to talk to you, and I know you don’t want to talk to me right now, but Riley, I’m watching this game, and I just feel sick inside.”

  “I know, Dad,” I say, collapsing against the cinderblock wall. “I’m fucking up.”

  “That’s not it. Riley, it breaks my heart thinking that you don’t know how much I love you.”

  The sick ball of failure in my stomach stills. “What?”

  “I love you, son, no matter what. I don’t care if you make the NFL. Hell, I’d love to have you back home to work with me on the farm. Or whatever you want. You are my greatest accomplishment, exactly as you are.”

  My heart thumps hard in my chest as tears prick my eyes. “Dad.”

  “Let me finish. I pushed you toward football because it seemed like a chance at a great life, but if that’s not what you want, son, that’s fine. I will be proud of you, no matter what. I’m always proud of you.”

  “Dad,” I say thickly. “This isn’t exactly getting me pumped to go back onto the field.”

  He laughs, but I can hear from the wavering in his voice that he’s near tears as well. “Don’t worry about who’s watching or what they’re going to think. Just get out there and have fun with it.”

  I look out into the locker room, where the stampede has devolved into a bunch of guys laughing and wrestling. “The coach said we needed to take a chance on each other.”

  “I agree with him. The talent is there, Riley. What you do with it is up to you.”

  I take a deep breath. “Thanks, Dad. I love you too. Thanks for calling, thanks for … everything.”

  I set down the handset, feeling part of my bleak mood lift. My father has always rooted for me, always been my biggest fan. We’ve been talking about the NFL for so long, I guess we both assumed that was the ultimate goal. But I need to stop thinking about the NFL. I can’t control the future. The only thing I can control is what I do, right here, in this moment.

  And what I’m going to do is join the stampede.

  We emerge out of the locker room and into the tunnel with our spirits high and our energy burning. We’re only one touchdown from pulling ahead. We can do this.

  There are the usual VIPs and fans in the tunnel, all dressed in Mustangs gear. My gaze skims over one avid fan, then wrenches back. Was that … Lilah?

  I do a double take, still jogging with the team. Then I use one of the moves Coach Prescott taught me, jigging out of line and ducking back before the assistant coach can see me.

  Sure enough, it is her. Or is it? This woman is wearing my jersey with a pair of tight jeans painted with the Mustangs logo. The same logo is on her cheek, along with my number. Her mohawk is tied with blue and silver ribbons, and there are three earrings dangling from each ear—an M, an S, and a U.

  I wrenched off my helmet to see her better. “I feel like this is some weird fantasy.”

  “It feels weird to me too.” Under the perfect makeup and the wild hair, her eyes are serious and worried. “But I plan on getting used to it.”

  Something painful moves inside me. “I said terrible things to you last night,” I start.

  “No, let me go first,” she says, laying a hand on my chest. I can’t feel the pressure through my pads, but I feel it just the same. “I have so much more to apologize for. Riley, I never should have tried to change you. From the very beginning, you’ve been honest about who you are, and you should be proud of everything you’ve accomplished. I let the past screw my head up, and I blamed you for things that were never your fault. Please forgive me.”

  “Done,” I say immediately. Her shocked gaze shoots to mine. “I do love surprising you.”

  “Well, wait until I’m finished. Because I’m not going to apologize for taking your piece to Marty. I would never sell it without your permission, and I’ll never do anything like that again, but I wanted you to know: You’re talented, Riley. And not just at knocking people down. I needed you to know, whatever happens, that you have so much more potential than I can imagine.”

  The ache settles deeper, touching deep inside me. “Lilah—”

  “Brulotte. What are you doing?”

  I look up to see Coach, his hat pulled low over his eyes. The tunnel is nearly empty as the teams spill out on the field for the second half. “I need one minute,” I say, already knowing it isn’t enough.

  “You get out there right now or you’ll have the rest of the season to chat up pretty women.” He nods at Lilah, then adds before he walks away, “I like your hair.”

  Lilah tilts her head to the side, showing off the designs etched into the thatch of her scalp. Two rearing Mustangs. I bark out a laugh. The ache inside me is blooming into something warmer, deeper, sweeter than I’d ever imagined. I grab Lilah’s hand, pulling her with me out on to the field.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lilah

  “COME WITH ME,” RILEY SAYS, his grin boyish and irresistible.

  “Where are—Riley! I’m not allowed out there!”

  Riley doesn’t stop dragging me down the tunnel, out onto the field. “You’re going to love it.”

  I want to protest, but I’m hit by a wall of sound unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never even been to a real football game, let alone been on the field. My eyes pop trying to take in everything at once.

  The field is greener than I’d expected, the lines whiter. Everywhere I look, there are faces—fans rising up all around me like I’m at the bottom of a canyon. The sidelines are teeming with people, all carrying
clipboards and wearing headsets and acting very official. “Riley,” I say timidly, “where can I stand where I won’t fuck anything up?”

  He pulls me in for a quick kiss and scans the crowd. Just then, one of the girls I’d met the other day—Megan, I think—runs up to me. “Lilah, what are you doing here?”

  “She’s with me,” Riley says, squeezing me tight.

  “Well, I could use an extra set of hands. Do you mind if I borrow her?”

  “No problem,” Riley says, then turns to me. “I’m so happy you’re here.”

  “Me too.” Those two little words can’t contain enough emphasis to show how much I mean it.

  “Don’t leave, okay? Wait until after the game.”

  It crushes me that I’ve let Riley think that I would leave, that I would keep pulling back from him. I reach out to stroke his forearm, needing to touch his skin. “I’ll be here.”

  He grins at me before he runs toward the field. I turn to Megan, still brimming with happiness, only to be confronted with her raised eyebrow. “Can you see past all those hearts in your eyes?”

  “Probably.”

  “Good. My asshole boss wants me to move all of the stretchers for absolutely no reason, and I could use a hand.”

  “Sure, I’ll help,” I say. Then the crowd roars as the team takes the field.

  I pick out Riley from his number, taking his position on the field. “What are they doing?”

  “Getting ready to snap the ball.”

  When I looked at her blankly, she lowers her eyebrows. “How much do you know about this game?”

  “Basically nothing.”

  “And you’re with Lotto?” Another time, her skepticism might have offended me, but not today. I’m too happy.

  “Yes,” I say proudly. “Yes, I am.”

  Megan studies me, then sighs. “Well, I guess now is the time to learn.”

  The students around me start screaming “blue” in unison, drawing the word out until it’s less a color and more a primal chant. Across the stadium, I watch in awe as others shout “silver.” Megan belts out a “blue” of her own, the annoyance in her eyes from earlier replaced with elation. Next time the chant circles back to us, I throw my shoulders back, take a deep breath and bellow out a loud “blue!”

  I guess this is part of being a football fan. I can get used to this.

  Megan has to walk me through the second half, giving me play by plays the whole way. I barely understand it, but I come away with a tiny bit more respect for players, because these rules are confusing.

  The energy around me is infectious, and even though I can’t really figure out all the rules, I’m sitting on the edge of my seat. Riley catches a ball, and my heart soars. I leap up like every other fan and scream my head off, so proud to see his strong legs propel him down the field. He holds his arm out straight and manages to keep one of the bad guys in red from tackling him, but there’s another fucker after him. I’m screaming myself hoarse by now as the red jersey blasts into Riley, and my heart stops as he hits the ground. It’s not until he gets up that I let out my breath and realize that my hand is clung tightly around Megan’s wrist.

  She pats my hand.

  “He’s tough,” she says.

  I nod. She’s telling the truth, but there’s still a knot in my stomach from seeing him laid out on the ground.

  I look up at the clock, and I can’t believe there are only two minutes left in the game. The score is 14-10, and the Utes are still up. I came here ready to be a good girlfriend, and I can’t imagine that I’ll sit home and watch football games for the fun of it, but when my man is on the field, I can’t help but be riveted to the action.

  We’re only down by 4, we can do this. The thought jumps into my mind before I can censor myself. We. I am now with the Mustangs enough that my brain is thinking in “we”s.

  Weston Sawyer has the ball and he’s looking around in that lost puppy dog way he’s been looking all game.

  “I swear, if he would just throw the goddamn ball,” I mutter to myself, but Megan finishes the sentence for me.

  “We’d have twice the yardage.” Her hand flies to her mouth. “It’s not my place to be critical.”

  I laugh out loud. No one else seems to mind gossiping about the Mustangs.

  “Throw it to Lotto!” I yell. It’s the first time I’ve acknowledged Riley’s silly football nickname, but I kind of like the way it feels coming out of my mouth.

  To my surprise, West does throw it to Riley—a long, arching throw that looks like it’s going to land too far in front of him. But Riley somehow sprints even faster and catches the ball practically in stride. He runs off the side of the field before the red-shirted giants have a chance to hit him.

  “Out of bounds,” Megan explains. “We keep the ball.”

  On the next play, West passes the ball off to him again, and Riley uses his bulk and his strength to barrel his way through two red shirts who try to knock him down. He takes a hit on his right side that sends him into the field. My fists clench, but he gets up quickly this time. He brushes off his pants, but the bright green grass stains don’t budge. I can’t wait to take them off of him and give him a hot bath. I want to have his naked body wrapped around me while I massage all his muscles.

  “We’re in the redzone now,” Megan says at my side, pulling me out of my mini-fantasy.

  “That’s good?”

  Riley keeps killing it out there. He’s shining like a star, so much brighter than everyone else on the field. It’s no wonder West keeps giving the ball to him. He’s absolutely on fire. And after every play, he smiles back at me.

  “Yeah, it’s good. It means we’re inside the twenty-yard line. Only twenty yards between us and touchdown.”

  I look back up at the clock. There’s less than a minute left.

  The Utes have caught on to West always giving the ball to Riley, and they’re all over him. West stammers, looking for someone else to give the ball to, but runs out of time. He gets hit hard by a red jersey. Luckily, he still has the ball in his arms when he goes down.

  There’s thirty seconds left, and I just can’t sit anymore. I want the Mustangs to win more than I thought possible. Utah is gunning for Riley again, but Reggie comes out of nowhere and blocks a defender, letting Riley get away. West lets go of the ball, and I can see Riley lock onto it. He runs the short distance away from the cluster of players and catches the ball. It lands in his arms, and he cradles it—almost gently—as he turns toward the end zone. He faces a defender, but steps with his right foot, and spins with his back to the defender. The defender lunges forward, but Riley’s past him, his momentum moving ever closer to a touchdown. Riley is so close now, his arms are stretching forward with the football, his upper body leaning toward victory.

  The defender hits him hard in the side and Riley juts forward as he falls. His body stretches, until each and every seventy-two inches of him is reaching for the goal as his body slams into the ground.

  The tip of the ball looks like it’s just barely touching the end zone.

  The entire stadium goes quiet. I realize I’m holding Megan’s arm again, tightly, but she’s completely frozen too.

  The referee lifts his arms straight over head and fifty-thousand fans in the stadium jump to their feet and completely lose their minds. I’m right there with them. There are still ten seconds left on the clock, but it doesn’t seem to matter. The whole team is rushing the field, and Megan grabs my arm, making sure I’m running out there, too.

  I only need that little nudge of encouragement, and then I know exactly where I’m going. I run straight to Riley, pride bursting in my chest.

  When I reach him, Riley lifts me in his arms, as he’s done so many times. But for the first time, I let myself really feel the joy of it, the freedom. I feel the knowledge that this man will always lift me up, never hold me down. There is triumphant music blaring through the air, shouts and cheers and swarms of celebrating people. There’s so much joy inside me, a
ll around me, that it spills out of me in laughter and tears.

  “Come home with me,” Riley says—more, shouts—over the crowd. He yanks his helmet off and drops it to the field. “I want you to meet my family.”

  I nod. “I will. After the season is over.”

  “You don’t have to come to all my games,” Riley starts, but I stop him with a shake of my head.

  “Try and stop me. Though I should probably buy a seat next time. I’ll bring Gamma, she’ll love it. Maybe I can even introduce her to Coach Denzel.”

  Riley’s face creases with worry. “Lilah, I don’t know what the future holds. I could be living anywhere in the country next year.”

  I take his face in my hands. “So could I.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I want to go to art school.” Saying it feels like a dam has broken inside me. “I told myself I didn’t care, but I do. I loved teaching you, and all the other students in that class. I want to be in that environment, I want to push myself in new directions. Gamma is so much healthier, she can manage without me. Marty will still sell my paintings, if they’re any good, and if he can’t, then who cares? I’ll figure it out.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying, if you get drafted, I’ll follow you. And if you don’t, you can follow me.”

  The furrow between Riley’s brows lifts. He lays a hand on my cheek, his eyes deep and hopeful. “I love you so much, Lilah.”

  “I love you too,” I say, the words flooding out of my mouth. “Oh, Riley. I love you too.”

  He pulls me into his arms, an oasis amid the madness. His pads are hard and thick, making him even more huge than usual, and I can’t help thinking that this big, strong, wonderful man belongs to me. When Riley kisses me, that joy multiplies and expands. I want this moment to last forever. And I will make sure it does—I will paint it for Riley, paint us together in this moment. Not to sell—just for us. Because there will be losses, there will be bad times, there will be tragedy.

  But together, Riley and I can face all those things. So long as neither one of us ever forgets this one perfect moment.