Page 196 of Just One More Thing

She tries her best not to laugh.

She makes it maybe two seconds.

I back away before I do something irresponsible on national television and start jogging toward the tunnel.

The crowd along the rail is reaching out, yelling my name, shoving hats and footballs and phones in my direction. I stop because they showed up. Because I know what it means to come back and find people still waiting.

I sign what I can. Slap hands. Point at a kid in a number eleven jersey who looks like he might pass out.

Then I jog into the tunnel, and the noise changes.

Outside, it was a roar. In here, it’s concrete echo. Men coming down from adrenaline with nowhere for it to go.

The locker room doors swing open. And the place is amped. Guys are jumping up and down whileThunderstruckblasts, which feels on the nose, but nobody in this room has ever been accused of subtlety after a win.

Before I can get two steps inside, Wayne hops into me.

“QB IN DA HOUSE.” He wraps me up around the middle, lifts me, and throws me over his shoulder.

“Wayne.”

The whole room is yelling now. Towels snapping. Somebody dumps a bottle of water over my head.

Ryan steps in front of me the second Wayne finally sets me down, and presses the game ball into my chest. I take it. Grip the leather. It feels natural in my hand.

“Hella win, Jake.”

“Gonna feel it tomorrow,” I say.

Ryan laughs. “I was talking about the girl, not the game.”

I laugh and pull him into a hug. He hugs back hard, one slap between my shoulder blades.

“About damn time,” he mutters near my ear.

“Hell yeah it is,” I say.

Wayne has climbed onto a bench and is using a rolled-up towel like a microphone.

Ryan leans toward me. “Do we have to stop him, or can we let nature take its course?”

Wayne drops down from the bench and throws an arm around my shoulders. He is entirely too sweaty to be this affectionate.

He squints at me. “You look smug.”

“I’m happy.”

“Same thing with better posture.”

Wayne spots my game ball, grabs my wrist, and hauls my arm into the air like he’s presenting a heavyweight champion. “Speech.”

“No.”

“Just one.”

“I already did a speech. It was called a post-game interview.”

“That doesn’t count. There weren’t enough curse words.”