Page 43 of First Down Promise

I prop my chin on my wrist and listen to them go on about phase two plans, championship advertisements, and the only thing that comes to mind is the if of it all. I still have to get the team to playoffs for any of this to matter, and they’re talking like we’ve already made it through half the postseason. I wish I were optimistic, but I have to be a realist. Nothing in football is guaranteed, and while I have confidence we can make playoffs again, there’s a big difference between making them and surviving to see the final Championship game. We learned that the hard way last year.

The espresso is making my pulse tick up, but so is all of this chatter about playoffs, so I request water from the flight attendant. Brands aren’t going to miss out on an advertising opportunity to have their product shown with a champion quarterback. But that’s the one thing I’m not. This season could be the one, but, fuck, making it so far last season just to lose right before the Championship was heart-wrenching—not just to me or the team but the city of Nashville.

The Wi-Fi sucks, so I eventually turn off my webcam and mute myself. I just hope my manager can negotiate a guaranteed contract like we discussed to make it worth my while. I’m not money-hungry, but some reimbursement for my time and likeness would be appreciated. I’m missing the annual Josh Bash doing this shit.

I tune out the business crap and open a social media app. Anything Stallions-related always hits the top of my feed first, like a post from the cheer squad after last night’s game. I swipe through until I land on a picture of Abby and her friend. Was her name Sam? Stella? I click the tagged icon, which shows the tags on the picture. Sadie. That’s right. I always thought Abby was short, but Sadie’s even shorter. Abby looks happy, though, and I’d do just about anything to keep her that way.

The meeting finally ends, and I slam the laptop’s lid and slide it back into my backpack for safekeeping. There’s another hour until landing, so I close my eyes. Playoffs. The announcers saying, “Pete Wilson fell just short of his first championship,” after the season-ending playoff game, followed by, “Nashville has never seen a championship game.” Oh, and can’t forget about the prick who said, “Pete Wilson is more than poised to take them to a championship game, so why do they keep falling short?”

After the playoff loss last season, the guys were in good spirits and reminded me how far we’d made it in the postseason, but I’ll never forget the disappointment in Coach Murphy’s eyes. Or the way Josh’s shoulders dropped when the clock ran out in the fourth quarter. We’re better this season—focused, stronger, resilient. We’ll make the big game this year. We have to. Not because of a stupid brand deal, but because Nashville and the Stallions fucking deserve it.

When the wheels hit the ground, I immediately turn off airplane mode to text Abby we landed. I also urge her to use that yoga membership. All these squad practices have interfered with her routines, and I’ll be doing some yoga in my hotel room later to stretch my back.

The pilot comes on the speaker overhead. “Welcome to New York, Mr. Wilson.”

Chapter Seventeen

Josh

After spending all evening watching Abby try to eat more daintily than I’ve ever seen her eat and sip her mixed drink slowly, I’m practically counting down the minutes until we get back to my place for our first sleepover. It’s our first chance to be us without the fear of being seen or caught with Pete a thousand miles away, and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the first night of bye week.

I tap my fingers along the top of the steering wheel along to the faint music playing over the truck’s speakers. It was only this morning that Pete was texting me to make sure Abby didn’t throw a party. The sides of my neck burn as I steer the truck because he doesn’t know the truth. Abby will be spending the night with me if she’s comfortable, and my God, I hope she is. She wanted to move fast, and if tonight goes to plan, she’ll have her wish.

“That was a nice restaurant,” I comment to fill the silence in the truck cab. Abby must know what going home with me means, and I just pray she’s ready. I adjust my grip on the steering wheel.

“It was. Do you like not being recognized?” she asks.

I specifically chose a restaurant outside of Nashville to avoid that very thing. Partly to protect Abby’s identity and partly to avoid any interruptions at dinner. Truthfully, going out with her was a risk, but I’ve always been a fighter. Being seen with a girl I’m losing control with isn’t the worst thing.

“Yeah, I do,” I answer. “What about you?”

She lets out a small laugh and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Like I’d be recognized,” she scoffs.

“You never know.”

I keep glancing at the GPS on my truck’s screen during the trip home, watching the estimated time of arrival tick down until I’m pulling into my long driveway and parking next to her car by the garage. I shift the truck into park.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Yes, Josh,” she answers with no hesitation.

“You sure?”

She stares into my eyes and unbuckles her seatbelt. “Do you want me to?”

“Of course.”

We exit the truck into the chilly fall evening. It would be ideal weather for sitting around a fire, but this evening has other plans. We walk up the concrete path to my front door, and my thumbprint unlocks the smart lock. Once through the door, I turn to the touchscreen panel to disarm the security system.

“Want anything? Wine? Water?” I ask, typing my code into the panel.

“Um, water,” she answers.

Abby’s been to my house, but it’s different being alone together. We had Pete’s surprise party here just a few months ago, but there was a crowd for that. Well, aside from when she dropped his birthday cake and balloons off before the party, but she hardly stepped a foot inside and was quick to leave.

But after private dates, my lips on her, and the giddiness whenever a text from Abby lights up my phone, it’s all coming to a head now, and I think she knows it too.

I grab two metal tumblers from the cabinet and scoop perfectly round ice from my ice machine into them. That machine has been a necessity whenever the cold plunge at the facility isn’t enough to soothe the aches and pains, but I did feel ridiculous buying it.