Page 99 of First Down Promise

As Abby freshens up for dinner and touches up her makeup, I stand next to her at the bathroom counter and work some gel through my hair. It’s oddly domestic, and we nearly bump our elbows in the confined space. At my house, we have our own sinks in my bathroom, but next season, we better have more moments like this when she comes to our away games.

She puts the deep V-neck top on with dark-wash jeans, along with the gold necklace Pete gave her for her birthday, and adds the cuff I gave her for Christmas and a homemade beaded bracelet.

“What’s this?” I ask, reaching for her wrist.

“Oh, just something I made,” she says. I run my thumb along the smooth, round beads. Two gold football beads frame an eight and a one, and I smile to myself at the nod to my number. I spin it on her wrist where AW and JM letter beads are separated by a heart. “It’s dorky, I know.”

“No, it’s cute. I think I have a new superstition. You need to wear this to all the games.”

“Deal,” she says. I brush my lips against hers, but internally curse that we need to get downstairs.

As we arrive on the main level, Abby and I walk hand-in-hand to the private ballroom the team booked for tonight. The walls are gray, as are the trim and curtains, but the tablecloths are black, and our logo is projected on one of the walls. A few other players and their wives and girlfriends are scattered around the tables, and the buffet along the back wall smells of roasted chicken and garlic. Coop and Dane are already seated at a table with plates in front of them and two seats open to Coop’s side. We make plates at the buffet and approach them.

“Tomorrow, we need to watch out for injuries. No need to push ourselves,” Dane says as we sit down.

“Ten-four,” Coop replies.

“Might as well just have some fun, try to put some points on the board, and not get beat up,” I add.

“You know, since QB-three is out with strep, if QB-two goes down during the game, you’ll be up to bat, Kenz,” Dane says. “Or hike, I should say.”

“It’d be like old times,” I joke. “But let’s hope QB-two survives the game. Not really looking to get destroyed out there.” I sigh and reach for my water glass. “God, if Pete were here, he’d make some jackass comment about me going after his job.”

“Yeah, it’s freaking weird not having Pete here to say the asshole thing,” Coop says. “Sorry, Ab. He balances us out, though, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it. He’s been pretty unbearable to live with. Anyway, you and Josh are too nice for your own good…and Dane,” she trails off.

“I’m what?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.

“You live to stir the pot,” Abby says.

He just shrugs, but Coop and I chuckle. “Someone’s got to, and you give me good material to work with this season, Abigail,” he quips. She glares at him but continues eating.

“We’re really a family,” Coop mumbles.

“Something like that,” I reply to him. “Just missing the hotshot cousin.”

Coach suddenly speaks up to give us the quintessential pep talk to help raise morale, but it’s pointless. We’re happy to have a game to play and grateful to be in our shoes, but as much of a little shit as Pete is, something’s missing without him.

After dinner, the four of us share an elevator to the top floor. The ride up is quiet, and if Pete were here, he’d be commenting on the clear elevator or that the ballroom wasn’t the team’s colors. Once the elevator doors part, we silently go our separate ways to our rooms.

I tap the card to the reader on the door to unlock it, and Abby is quick to run to the shower as soon as we’re inside. While she showers and fills our room with humidity, I strip down to my briefs and brush my teeth. My bedtime routine is much simpler than hers, but mine usually involves the Tylenol PM I packed. I slip into bed as she turns the shower off, shoving one of the lightweight pillows under my back. I shift my hips against the mattress, already worked up. It really doesn’t matter if we win or lose tomorrow, so I weigh the pros and cons of breaking my superstition. Ultimately, I could make tonight about her, and that’s the better choice.

“So, we’re really abstaining?” she asks, walking out of the bathroom in nothing but the silk scrunchie holding up her hair.

A jagged breath rasps out of me. “Yep, we sure are,” I force out through gritted teeth.

“Hmm…” She collapses on the king-size bed next to me, and I roll off my back over her, supporting my weight on my wrists.

“But I said I’d make it up to you,” I say. I give her a quick kiss and lower myself until I can wrap my arms around her thighs. “And you know I keep my promises.”

The next evening, we’re big losers in New England. We’re ahead before halftime, but New England comes back with a vengeance. By the fourth quarter, we’re down enough that the pressure is off. I manage to haul in a pass for a decent gain, and Coop slaps the back of my helmet as we reset for the next play. Even with the scoreboard working against us, we’re still having a hell of a time out there. Our backup quarterback does the best he can, but he’s just a rookie. Most importantly, we close out an unreal season with no new injuries.

Sweaty, gross, and covered in grass stains, I rip off my black helmet as we head back to the locker room to recuperate, but a flash of honey catches my eye as I look up.

Abby. In the tunnel just off the field.

Wearing her cropped black Iron Stallions sweatshirt. Her hair is half-up, half-down, tied back with the black ribbon from the box my keychain came in. She gives me a faint smile, and I stop in front of her, pulling her into my arms like it’s muscle memory. My helmet is still in one hand when our foreheads press together.