Friday night came too fucking fast. I’m sitting in the locker room and can barely hear what coach is saying as he gives his little pep talk before we rush out onto the field. I tighten my laces, my gaze meeting Dom’s. We nod, both ready to lay it all out on the field. Tonight’s a big night. If we win, it’ll be smooth sailing from here on out. Coach drones on and on about how proud he is of each of us. How we’ve played an incredible season. And then he yells at us not to fuck it up.
Emilio elbows me in the ribs, a grin on his face as he sucks on a palerindas—a tamarind-flavored sucker—his game day ritual. Personally, I can’t stand the things, but Emilio’s an addict and always has a few in his bag.
I bounce my leg, waiting for coach to hurry up so we can get out on the field. Tonight the Devils play the Saints and I’m determined put those fuckers through hell.
The stadium lights light up the field and hundreds of people in the bleachers as I jog beside my team. I scan the crowd, not seeing Allie yet, but I know she’ll be here. Seats are packed, everyone on the home side decked out in red and black with devil horns on their heads.
I make sure Allie’s bracelet is tucked beneath my glove before following the other guys to the center of the field. Dom is our captain and quarterback and all eyes are on him as we huddle up and run through the details of our first play.
I’m hyped as fuck and bouncing on the balls of my feet, ready to leave the Saint’s defense in a cloud of dust. One last scan of the bleachers shows that Allie still isn’t here, but I shake off the irritation as soon as I spot my pops in the stands. I puff out my chest and when Dom calls the play and snaps back, I’m off. I sprint wide to the left, before spinning to catch the ball I know is aimed right for me. My hands connect with the laces and I clutch the damn thing like my life depends on it before taking off straight for the goal posts.
I’m tackled twenty yards from the end zone but I’m still grinning because we picked up way more ground on the first play than we should have. Looks like the Saints are going to have an off day.
It’s the end of the second quarter and we’re ahead by seven. The stadium is packed, making it harder to find my girl, but as I take my seat on the bench, Dominique points out Henderson’s little sister. “Baby Henderson’s here. That means Allie is, too.”
I nod, scanning the surrounding crowd for her dark brown hair. The spot beside Kasey is vacant. Maybe Allie went to the restroom? The idea alone is enough to have me clenching my hands into tight fists. “Yeah, but do you see her?”
He looks and shakes his head. “No.”
“Me, either. Which means she’s off somewhere at this packed fucking game alone right now.”
“Maybe she just went to grab a soda?”
“I don’t care if she needed to take a shit. She knows the deal. She’s not supposed to go anywhere at this school alone.”
He nods, a scowl on his face letting me know he doesn’t like this any more than I do, but there isn’t anything either of us can do about it from the field. Coach calls us back to the locker room for our half-time pep talk and I have no choice but to follow the rest of the guys.
When we return for the beginning of the third, the seat beside Kasey is still fucking empty. Worry worms through me, followed quickly by anger when I catch my pops getting up from the stands, his phone to his ear because of course he can’t leave work at the office.
I’m tracking his movements as he leaves through the gate entrance and miss Dom’s words as he calls out the play before the snap. Fuck. I take off, hoping I’m heading in the right direction. When Dom throws, I realize I’m way the fuck off and have to kick it into gear to reach his intended mark. My fingers glance across the ball but I fumble the catch. Thankfully, one of my teammates is close by to recover it. I kick at the field, unearthing a chunk of grass as I curse and head back to the start-up line.
The rest of the game goes similarly, but I’m not the only one affected now. It’s like everything went to shit the second half. Dom throws an interception and we miss two field goals that we should have had in the bag. Emilio lets two running backs slip past him, allowing the Saints to score. We’re still in the lead but we’re down to the wire and if we don’t score, there’s a good chance the Saints will on their next play and we’ll lose. There isn’t enough time on the clock. I have to score.
I know the play. I’ve done this maneuver a million times before, so I focus on my breathing, narrowing my field of vision as I zero in on where I need to be and how to get there as quickly as possible. My pops never returned after stepping out and I still haven’t caught sight of my girl. Focusing all of my anger and frustration into our last play I sprint up the field, adrenaline rushing through my veins. My hands find the ball and then I’m running up the field, racing along the boundary line.
Two players are hot on my heels and I have no one from my own team anywhere close to help. One of the assholes—number eleven—is gaining on me, but with the ball tucked under my right arm I shove out with my left, shoving him away and then TOUCHDOWN!
My team rushes me. Helmets knock into mine and fists knock me in the shoulder. There’s less than two minutes on the clock and the other team has no time-outs left. I cheer with my team. We won. We’ll run out the clock, but my job here is done.
I’m riding a high and smiling like an idiot until I look back up at the stands.
Kasey’s nowhere to be found now, and neither is Allie.
My smile tightens. And I turn back to the guys, accepting their good-natured high-fives and shouts of congratulations, all the while thinking in my head, where the fuck is she?
