Page 46 of End Game
“Yeah. That. Since his folks refuse to show up to his games, it’s nice that your parents will. He deserves to have people showing up for him,” Sam says. “I worry about him and Wes. They don’t have anyone local. Amir at least had his brother.” At my confusion, she explains: “he went to Northeastern. Graduated last year. Local makes a big difference when the rest of your family is back home in Wisconsin.”
That’s for sure. When I was across the country at USC, my parents were only able to come out to visit once a year, and I couldn’t come home for every school holiday or long weekend like I can now. Between the distance and the time zones, it was difficult to arrange a time for us to chat regularly that didn’t interact with my school schedule, practice times, and their everyday life of work and dinner.
After a leisurely brunch, we head down en masse towards the football field and the party in the parking lot. Tailgating is one of my favorite parts of the football game experience, hanging with friends and my family as we get ready for the fun to begin. The only downside is that Barrett can’t join us, too busy preparing for the game he’s about to participate in. And I would never want to distract him.
We’re in the student section, right on the thirty yard line, about halfway up the field. The stands are decently packed. I’m in between Sam and her teammates, and Mason and her group of friends, in the middle and, because of it, part of neither group’s conversation. They’re both wearing sweatshirts that were probably pilfered from their boyfriends’ closets, both of them nearly swimming in the extra-extra-extra large hoodies with the guys’ names and numbers on the back. It makes me feel self-conscious about the old Dalton Football sweatshirt I swiped from Barrett’s closet back at the end of high school. It has his name and number on it. I like that I’m carrying a piece of him with me no matter where I go.
Trapped in the middle of the two friend groups, I feel both part of the group and isolated at the same time. I don’t know Tamar, even though we’re apparently in the same study group, and I’ve only met Mason’s friends in passing. I haven’t established myself here yet, the way she has. If I didn’t know, I would never guess she transferred in last fall; she fits in with them like she’s been here since day one.
Mack appears at the end of our row, wearing a Newton Football t-shirt and carrying a book. “Hey.”
“Hey girl!” Sam grins at her. “Come sit by me.” The tall freshman squeezes down the row until she slips in between us.
“It’s okay if I…?” Mack clutches her book to her chest. It has a bubblegum pink cover and a cartoonish caricature of a couple arguing on it.
“Of course! The more, the merrier,” Sam says. “You don’t want to sit with your parents?”
“They’re running late. Coming from Ashley’s cheer competition this morning,” Mack says. “They thought they would be done an hour earlier.”
“Got it.” Sam wraps her arm around her boyfriend’s sister. “Well, you’re always welcome to hang with us. You’re one of us now.”
The game is… well, it’s nowhere near as fun as last time. Providence College is big and strong, coming out of the gate with an axe to grind. Barrett and the guys are doing their best, but they’re fighting for every yard. The end of the first quarter is almost a relief; they’re down a touchdown, but there is plenty of time to make it up. At half time, the Wolfpack are tied even through sheer grit and determination; by the end of the third quarter, they’re down two scores, and as the sun goes down, the situation is starting to get bleak.
The final score has Providence up 48 to 17. The crowd has grown silent, the mood sour. Nobody likes to lose, and to lose in such a devastating fashion… Nobody is happy.
After the game is over, we meet the guys in the tunnels beneath the stadium. It’s not a quick change: by the time we file out of the packed stadium, the guys have enough time for a post-game debrief, a shower and change, and to grab a quick protein shake from their training staff.
The girls are subdued as we wait for the guys. The friends have gone on ahead to the bar, leaving just the girlfriends and family members waiting. Mack has her head down, absorbed in her book; she read whenever the offense was on the field, only really paying attention when her brother, part of the defensive squad, was actively playing.
Amir comes out first, talking on his cell phone in a language I can’t understand. Wes and Greg are behind him—Greg greets all of us with kisses to our cheek, ever the flirt, before he falls quiet beside us. Wes makes eye contact and nods before returning his attention to his shoes, his cheeks pink.
The other three guys come out together, talking quietly.
Barrett’s skin is flushed with exertion. He crosses the space between us and scoops me into a hug, holding me airborne.
“Hey!”
He laughs and holds me impossibly closer. My boobs are mashed into his chest. His lips brush against my forehead in a soft kiss.
It’s my turn to laugh, a little bewildered. “What has gotten into you?”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” he says quietly.
“Of course I’m here. I told you, I wouldn’t miss your game.”
“No. Here. At Newton,” he says. He swallows and raises his eyes to meet mine. I’m still hovering in midair. “I’m sorry about what brought you here, but if you have to be close to home, I’m glad it’s here with me.”
Inexplicably, tears spring to my eyes. I tighten my grip around him and bury my face into his neck. It’s too much. It’s just too much.
“Barrett…”
“I know,” he murmurs. Slowly, he sets me back onto the ground. “I know, Dee.”
I sniffle. I don’t want to cry, not now. Not over this.
He releases me and ducks his head, rummaging through his backpack. He withdraws a sweatshirt and wraps it around my shoulders without a word.
“You’re shivering,” he says. He ducks down and slides the tab into the zipper, drawing it up to my chest. The sweatshirt falls nearly to my knees. It smells like him, honey and musk. Instantly, I feel ten times more cozy. It’s like being wrapped up in his enormous hug. I love it.
