Page 170 of Studs Up
This time, I laughed.
“He is very good, your number nine.”
“He’s going to be a legend,” I said confidently. He was proving it tonight. Without the fear and the secrets, the spark of what was to come was being played out before our eyes. I was sure John and John were blathering on about Holden and what his future would look like after his stellar performance.
We realized at half time when we turned around the suite had been vacated by the families we had been stuck with. The steward politely informed us that screaming obscenities wasn’t a family friendly environment.
We toasted to the second half and didn’t hold back.
When the clock hit seventy-five minutes, we were escorted down to the tunnel with the rest of the families, and we watched the last few minutes. We would either be allowed onto the field in celebration or led away for later consolation. I’d love to see security try to walk me away if they lost.
But he did it. He scored, and the sheer joy on his face as the whistle blew filled me with such pride that I thought my chest was going to explode. The families were released. Sophie bolted, and she was quick, beating all the other wives and girlfriends. Charlemagne picked her up, and she nearly vanished in his arms.
I wasn’t sure how Holden wanted to handle this. We hadn’t talked about it. All I had been focused on was keeping him together to get through this game, win or lose. But he was barreling toward me and almost knocked me over when I caught him.
“I did it,” he cried.
“I’m so fucking proud of you,” I turned my lips to his ear so that he could hear me. “Fucking sucks you won though.” He laughed and held on tighter.
“I can’t wait to put my trophy on the mantel.”
“You’ve earned it, sweetheart,” I said. He pulled back and gazed up at me suspiciously.
“What? No quip about how I have an MLS cup and you don’t.”
“Not today,” I smiled. “I’ll give you like twenty four hours.”
I was surprised when he grabbed my face and kissed me. I kissed him back. It was so loud we didn’t hear the rapid shudders of cameras taking photos. When I saw the pics later, they didn’t look bad. I had one printed by one of the Rover photographers and framed it for him for Christmas.
I watched him receive the MVP award and the Golden Boot and lift the trophy. I felt nothing but happiness. Seeing him finally get what he deserved was worth all of the insufferable bullshit I was going to have to endure for the next year.
He would get to watch me next year. For now, he could have his moment.
It wasn’t until four in the morning when we got home, and I dragged him to bed and gave him the dick he deserved.
…
“Do we really have to do this?”
“Yes,” he sighed. Holden was slumped all the way back in his seat as I parked. Neither of us was thrilled about this. He insisted we go. I insisted we stay home and fuck all day. I lost, obviously. He was going to make up for it when we got home.
“Why the fuck do they need to butt into our business.”
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, rolling his head to look at me. “We do need to hear them out.”
“Bullshit,” I muttered. He reached over and took my hand. We sat silently, staring at our future in a dark parking garage on a cold and rainy day.
It was beautiful at the cabin. The snow stretched for miles, untouched except for wildlife. Here it was just fucking dreary.
“He’s gonna cut my contract,” Holden said distantly.
“Maybe.”
“I’m okay with it.”
Now that got me rolling my head on the headrest.
“Who the fuck are you?”
