Page 90 of Play the Last Card
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Of course. You? Are you feeling okay?”
The smile he hits me with is so bright, so wide it lights up his entire face. He stares out at the stadium and nods.
“It’s like coming home again.” Pops takes my hand, squeezing it. “Thank you, Ivy. Thank you for making this happen.”
“I—” The words get stuck and I blink away tears. “I didn’t do anything. This was all Scott.”
Understanding floods Pops’ features and his smile softens. “He’s a good man. Good for you.”
I nod in agreement. Mostly because if I open my mouth the only thing that will come out is a sob. And once I start sobbing I won’t be able to stop.
Others bustle in the box around us but I decide to stay by Pops’ side to watch the game. If this is the last time he will get to see one, live and in person, then I want to make sure I’m here with him for it.
When the game starts and the players fall into their lines on the field, I finally spot Scott below. He stands on the sideline, a cap on his headinstead of a helmet. When his face floods the big screens, my eyes track the movement of his jaw as he chews on a piece of gum. He’s following what’s going on out on the field but when he spots the camera tracking him, he flashes a quick smile and a wink.
My heart soars because I know that’s for me.
Scott Harvey is a lot of things, but a football player that winks and plays up for the press? Absolutely not. The game I watched in Pops’ hospital room proved it. He didn’t bother interacting with the cameras that followed players around. He barely acknowledged them when he threw a pass into the end-zone other than congratulating the teammate who’d caught it.
The smile, the wink.
It’s just for me.
As the game goes on, the attention Scott gives the camera becomes less and less but the game is close and even I can tell that he's focused in.
Every time I feel the familiar hand of anxiety start to creep up my neck, I find Scott down on the field and just watch him. I focus so heavily and intently on him alone that eventually the anxiety disappears, taking every fan in the stadium with it.
I see him glance up at the box a few minutes into the third quarter. He finds our box. I can’t be sure he sees me too but it feels like our eyes lock. My body instantly reacts to being under his gaze, warming up.
Pops notices Scott down on the field too, turning his head to grin at me. “You’re smitten, sweetheart.”
“I am not.” I so am.
“You’re absolutely smitten over a football player.” Pops reaches out to take my hand, tucking it between his own. “I’m glad. It makes me feel better knowing he will be there to take care of you when I die.”
The tears sting behind my eyes instantly and my heart beats painfully in my chest. “Don’t. Don’t talk about that. Not today.”
“Okay,” he murmurs softly, lifting our hands so he can press a kiss to them. “No talk. Just enjoying Sunday footballwith my girl.”
Guilt floods me. Pops gave up such a huge part of his life because I couldn’t come to terms with the hand life dealt me. He’s always done what is best for me even when it meant giving up the game he loves.
“I’m sorry we didn’t do this more,” I say quietly, resting my head on his shoulder gently.
“Don’t be. We’re doing it now.” He sniffs. “I love you, Ivy.”
“Love you, too.”
Boston kicks ass and we win. The noise from the fans in the fourth quarter as Scott throws touchdown after touchdown is deafening. As the fans disperse from their seats around us, we remain in the box. The runner that’s been in and out of the box tells us that Uncle Jeff wants us to all stay put while they finish up their press interviews and shower.
Pops starts telling stories from his own career on the field.
His face lights up as he speaks. Grant hangs on his every word. Just as he starts telling stories about my dad’s pee-wee football days and himself as the coach, the doors to the suite opens.
For a second, my mouth goes dry and I forget where I am. Freshly showered with hair still damp and back in his game day suite, Scott follows Uncle Jeff into the room and heads toward me. He looks exhausted, moving slowly as he greets everyone.
“Hi.” I look up into his face, noting the small cut on his hairline and the bruising coming up along his jaw. I reach up and gently draw my finger over it, murmuring a quiet, “Ouch.”
“Hey, you.” Scott brushes my fingers away from his face and leans down, covering my mouth with his own. God, I love when this man kisses me without being prompted. I hear a wolf whistle from Katie as we break apart.