Page 115 of Play the Last Card

Coach, who is standing a few steps away from Ivy, looks back at me too but I don’t bother with taking in his expression.

Just like when I walked into that church a week ago, I am not here for them.

I am here for her.

Ivy’s eyes widen, the glassy look she gives me breaking my heart right down the middle. I don’t pause. I don’t hesitate. I simply cup my girl’sface in my hands, stroke my thumb across her cheek and dip my head so that my lips can touch hers.

It’s a gentle, quiet peck. Something to simply tell her that even though this thing between us scares her shitless, I am not afraid. I will stand by her side in every way. I will hold her hand, support her, kiss her when she needs it. Even in front of a stadium full of people.

For her.

Only for her.

The crowd erupts around us. The sound of their cheering is dull and muffled. When Ivy is in my arms, the world quietens. It’s been far too many weeks since she’s been in my arms.

“Let me help,” I say quietly to her.

Ivy stares up at me, blinking rapidly and lips trembling. The moment feels monumental for us. Here I am standing on my side of the wall, and her on the other. I am waiting, yet again, for her to decide if letting me in, if letting me help is something that she is willing to do.

In the past, I’ve not succeeded. I’ve been pushed back. I’ve made small progress but the door never appeared for me to walk through and join her.

This time though, in front of thousands of people and the world she hates so goddamn much, I decide to not take no for an answer.

I lean down and press my lips to hers again, speaking quietly just to her. “You don’t have to be alone in this. Let me help. Please, baby.”

My thumb swipes her cheek again and if it weren’t for my hold on her, I would’ve missed the nod she gives.

I remove my hands from her face. A hand slides around her shoulders and I tug her into my side. She reaches up, threading her fingers through mine and curling into me. With Ivy pressed into me, exactly where she belongs, I step up to the mic.

“Billy was a special man.” I begin, not bothering to wait for the crowd to pipe down. “He was more than just a Hall of Famer: he was a force of nature, a father and a grandfather. His larger-than-life personality lit upthe room, and his laughter was infectious. On the field, he was a leader and a teammate. He was a pioneer. A role model to my generation and the one that came before me. He was a part of a team that helped shape the game. And when he retired, he helped shape this organization.”

Cheers and clapping echo through the crowd on the field, those who work for the team adding to the crowd.

“Most of all though, he dedicated his life after football to his family. To his late son, Matty Booker, and his wife Sara. He was a devoted husband to his late wife Marie and with her they raised Ivy, their granddaughter.”

Ivy presses her face into my chest, curling so far into me that it is as if she is trying to burrow her way through me.

“I didn’t have the pleasure to know Billy for very long personally but for the time I did, it was obvious that football came a very distant second to his family. He spoke of getting out and living life. Having fun. Laughing. He taught me that even in the hardest of situations, life will surprise you. To move forward with passion and joy. To have patience for the things we really want and to put in the work where it’s needed.”

I run a hand down Ivy’s spine, keeping her close.

“I don’t know about everyone else here. I can only speak for myself but Billy always said to have patience. We would go over my game tapes every Tuesday—”

I feel Ivy lean away from me, peering up through her dark lashes.

“And he would point out all the plays that I moved too quickly, when I didn’t look up and missed an opportunity. He would tell me to have a little bit of patience and the play would open up for me as it should.”

I glance down, meeting Ivy’s eyes. The navy sucks me in and the world quietens again around us.

“I think everyone could have a little more patience, be a little more like Billy. Move through life laughing and cheering on the ones we love. Step back once in a while and be present, not to miss what might be right in front of us.”

I don’t take my eyes off the girl curling into my body like I am the only thing keeping her standing right now. I lift an arm out to the side.

“To Billy.”

The crowd repeats it back, erupting in more cheers, and screaming, and shouts but I hear none of it. My gaze is solely on my girl. Coach steps up to us, clapping a hand on my shoulder and nodding a head toward the tunnel.

It’s permission to leave an official team event.