WHERE’S A THROW-UP bucket when you need one?
I swallow and then try breathing through my mouth to ease the nausea. It shouldn’t be this bad and I sohow need to control it. I barely slept last night, had trouble eating all day because of the balloon in my stomach, and now my head is pounding. It doesn’t matter that this is what I signed up for, I’m terrified.
"Buck up, kiddo, we’re on in a few minutes," Lane says as the team fills the tunnel and we wait to run out onto the field. Lane is too damned calm and I hate him for it.
How does the team do this each week? "What if I trip?" I whisper harshly in Lane’s ear.
He only grins. "You pick your ass up and take the ribbing on the nightly news. But worse, you take it from all the guys until the end of ti."
"Thanks. That helped."
He laughs. "Anyti."
"Go, go, go," says a coach at the head of the tunnel.
I close my eyes and then open them. I place my helt on and Lane gently knocks his against mine. "Showti," he yells. Whoops fly from players and I join the fray as we run onto the field. I break through the tunnel opening and barely notice the cheerleaders, smoke, and music once my cleats hit the grass.
The loudspeaker fills my head. "And here she is-the first woman to play pro football. Our very own, number nine, Jorrrrdan Giveeeens." The announcer stretches out my na like they do for a boxing match.
Lane nudges my arm as we co to a stop. "Wave at your fans, Jordan."
I lift my hand and wave to the crowd. They go even crazier. Our colors are navy blue and a dark burnt orange, but all I notice is a sea of white jerseys with pink number nines on them. Girls of all ages jump up and down and scream my na. I can’t help the tear that breaks and trails down my cheek. There’s no way to wipe it until I take my helt off and I’ll be damned if I don’t allow my emotions to show freely. I make a last sweeping turn of the stadium, lower my arm, and run to the sideline with Lane.
"If I haven’t told you, it’s been an honor to ntor you," Lane says beside .
"Don’t make cry," I snap and fight the urge to throw myself into his arms. The caras are focused on us and it would start unnecessary talk. I pull my helt off, smooth my hair a bit, and give one last wave to the fans. We line up for the national anthem and the crowd finally quiets. I listen to the words of the song and feel incredible emotion. Hold it together, I silently tell myself as the final chorus blares. When the last of the music fades, the team captains walk onto the field. Aiden’s tight ass in his football pants and his bare muscular arms help gain the control I need. We lose the toss and the Scorpions choose to receive the ball. I glance in the direction of the skybox where my father and friends are and wave even though I can’t make out any of their faces. With a deep breath, I pull on my helt, insert my mouthpiece, and run onto the field. I have the privilege of kicking off the season.
We line up while the energy of the stadium sizzles around us. I’m still terrified. It helps to rember what Lane told at the first preseason ga. I picture the opposing team naked and smile behind my face mask. Too bad Killian MacGregor isn’t on the field. Bad girl, I ntally chastise myself. I’m sleeping with the hottest guy in football and images of Aiden supersede those I try to conjure of Killian. It makes smile and does exactly what Lane ant it to.
I inhale. The stadium actually slls of excitent, if that’s possible. It’s the newly cut grass, fresh popcorn, and thousands of cups of beer. The place is filled to capacity and everyone is standing. I jump up and down on my toes before pacing my steps and lining up to the left of the tee. I look to the players on my right and then left. I hear grunts. The roar of the crowd quickly drowns them out. The players have their fingertips of one hand on the field and I’m the only one standing upright. I focus my gaze on the ball resting on the tee. The bright lights shine down and my concentration narrows.
It’s ti to make history.
The whistle blows.
With a pounding heart and the football world watching, I charge forward. The team moves with as one unit. My cleats grip the grass on the way to the ball and my left leg locks slightly in front of the tee as my right leg swings back. With all the power in my body, the side of my foot connects. Muscle mory did its job. The football flies up, the stadium lights making it fade from sight for a second before the ball descends.
I’m running full out. I block a Scorpions’ player, feel nothing, spin to the side, and continue running. The ball is a fair catch in the end zone and Scorpions take possession at the twenty-five yard line.
I catch sight of Aiden’s smile as I run toward Lane on the sideline. Who gives a fuck right now? I throw my arms around Lane’s neck and he swings in a full turn. Get over it, people. I may be a football player but you can’t take the girl out of .
The ga continues and Killian MacGregor moves the ball downfield but only gets as far as the thirty-two yard line. The Scorpions field goal kicker moves in to put three points on the board. Aiden takes the field after the kickoff and completes a thirty yard pass on the first play.
He steadily picks up yardage and moves the ball into enemy territory. He’s doing great until he’s sacked on second and eight. I glare at his front line, though they aren’t paying attention to . "Get your shit together," I grumble. "You let them hurt my man and those tampons hanging in the locker room will go up your nose."
They pay no attention and Aiden completes his next pass for a first down. Three more plays and Aiden throws a perfect spiral into the end zone for a touchdown.
I’m up with no ti to congratulate him. And besides, there’s a lot of ga left. I do my job and make the extra point. Pronghorns are up by four.
The ga goes back and forth. We’re playing the Super Bowl champions and actually making a good showing. In the second half, Killian throws a touchdown and I kick a field goal. We’re in a tie ga when we head to the locker room at halfti.
Twelve minutes is all we have and much of that is eaten up by walking to and from the locker room. In all actuality, we have about seven minutes before we go back on the field. The air is warr in the room to keep our muscles heated. Players go in different directions to take care of their needs. The training room is a mass of trainers and helpers pulling off jerseys and dically assessing the needs of the players. I’m clear for my shoulder and don’t bother seeking any help. I head to my private room for a bathroom break. By the ti I untie my pants, do my business, and get them adjusted again, three minutes are off the clock.
I walk back into the locker room and gather with the special teams players as Coach Morely starts in on a few items he thinks will improve play in the second half. Carter wheels an intravenous cart over and stands beside . He’s been sick and the trainers are pumping fluids into him as fast as possible. He’s radiating heat and I can’t help but feel for him. You’re paid to play and sickness has no place on ga day. Coach Morely finishes and all the coaches gather in a side room where we can’t hear them talking. The sound system cranks up and a loud jamming beat shakes the walls. "In the Air Tonight" by Phil Collins is one we played in college. It’s on the Pronghorns’ playlist too and when the beat starts, I smile. Aiden, who is huddled with offensive players, looks over at and grins.
"Two minutes until we roll," one of the trainers yells.
I grab a bottle of water and down half of it. Coach Mitchel waves to soone to shut down the music so he can make his final halfti speech. "You all know what you need to do. We’re playing the Super Bowl champs and you’re playing like a championship team but each one of you can do more."
As he continues, his voice puts back in the zone. We’re on a locker room high when we charge the field ready to kick ass. Unfortunately, the third quarter goes downhill quickly and we find ourselves down by ten points. I listen to the grunts and swearing as our team gives everything they’ve got to stop the losing tide. Three minutes into the fourth quarter, I score a field goal. I’m too caught up in the suspense of the ga to do more than crack a quick smile when Lane slaps my ass.
Killian throws a touchdown four plays into his next possession. We’re down by fourteen. Coach Morely walks over and talks to Lane about doing an onside kick. This is sothing Lane is really good at. Usually you try to sneak these in. When Lane walks out there, the Scorpions will know what’s happening. In this situation it doesn’t hurt us because an onside kick is expected. Mine have improved and I’m ready to go when it’s asked of . I have no problem putting this one in Lane’s capable hands, though. We have eight minutes of play left and we need to score big.
Lane takes the field. My palms are sweaty as I watch from the sidelines. He kicks a short grounder that barely makes the prerequisite ten yards. Carter lays his hands on the ball first, twists, takes two steps, and is pounded by Scorpions. He’s slow in standing and two players assist him. He slowly limps off the field with the help of a trainer. Within thirty seconds, the trainer takes him back to the tunnel.
Aiden gets the ball on our forty-five yard line. The clock is ticking.
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