Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance)(45)
Wait, he's not looking at her.
Ana must not have seen her, but Professor Grandolf is in the stands, two rows back and six or eight seats away from Ana. She has the hood of her poncho thrown back, and her dark hair clings to her head. She looks at someone on the field and licks her lips.
Then she makes a little motion with her hand, sticking her finger through her thumb and forefinger. I know that gesture. What the hell?
Ransom laughs, the sound punching through the rapidly increasing rain. Coach and his assistants are all in ponchos, and the rest of the offensive line is huddled under blankets.
I just stand there and let the water soak my hair and run down my face, watching. Every time a play starts, I pray to hear a scream and see Ransom lying on the turf with his leg folded the wrong way or clutching a broken arm. Something that would take him out permanently. The scouts are already here, watching him.
The son of a bitch is going to go pro. He's going to rake in tens of millions of dollars, marry a supermodel, live the life. I don't want any of that, but knowing he'll get it leaves a horrid taste in my mouth.
Ransom walks between the raindrops. He should be in prison for what he did, but he got out of it because of who his dad is. It was a night a lot like this. Rainy and humid, the kind of night where the water falls but it doesn't want to stay put and rises from the ground as a mist. A day that should be cold, but isn't. I'm soaked with frigid rain, but I'm sweating under my pads because the air is turning unseasonably warm. It's either a second wind for summer or a farewell, depending on how you look at it.
Ransom and his offensive line execute a long pass perfectly. No slipping on wet grass or dropping a slick ball for them. It carries them ten yards down the field and closer to the goal. Every second or third play, they make a first down and keep the ball moving.
Our boys make it a hard-won fight, but it's still a won fight. Ransom carries the ball into the end zone himself, and the home crowd roars with glee.
I spot Grandolf clapping and cheering, the only person in a whole section of what must be De La Warr students, while Ana and Dee look mournful. As she huddles under a hood in the rain, Ana's sadness gives her an unearthly beauty. Something in her calls out to me to give her comfort, hold her and tell her it will be okay.
When I take the field, I can feel her watching me. I spot her a few times, craning forward in her seat, talking to Dee with worry etched on her face every time I take a hit and get knocked down.
That happens a lot. It feels like my offensive line is made of Swiss cheese and the Badgers are trying to kill me. Ransom watches from the sidelines under the hood of a poncho, grinning as I take beating after beating. It was bad last week, but here it's even worse.
It's only by luck that I don't end up with a broken rib or ankle. One of the Badger tackles rams his helmet right into my side, but the ref doesn't call a penalty on them.
By the time we start counting down to the end of the game, my team is beaten in spirit as well as in body. The point where we could have clawed our way to victory is over. The cheerleaders have given up, and the mascots have abandoned the field.
It's marking time now. We can't just forfeit or we probably would. Coach looks sullen and disappointed as he paces the sideline, refusing to make eye contact with me except when he's calling plays.
We end up in overtime with a tie.
Ana
The Knights enter striking range of the end zone, but their passes are intercepted and their runners tackled. Jason tries to run the ball in himself, and doesn't make it by less than one yard.
When the ball is punted back to the Honey Badgers, Jason retires sullenly to his bench, gulping a sports drink from a huge squeeze bottle. I want to run down to him. Dee touches my arm, somehow knowing my thoughts. I look at her.
"He's a big boy, and the Badgers haven't even scored yet. They can still pull it out."
The back-and-forth grows more intense with each play. It becomes brutal, the players roughing each up other so much that penalties are called on both sides. Dee patiently explains what they mean and what's going on as we watch, and I take notes with a small pad and pencil I brought with me to help better understand his game.
By halftime, there is still no score. The players retreat inside during the break. Dee pats me on the shoulder and goes to bring us back soft pretzels and sodas. I eat half of my pretzel and give the rest to her. Worrying that Jason will be hurt makes me sick.
When play starts again, I watch in silence. There is little cheering on either side. The game is hard fought, and by the final quarter there is still no score.
"What happens if neither of them score?" I ask Dee.
"Overtime," she sighs. "We stay longer and they play until somebody gets a touchdown or a field goal or whatever. It's called sudden death."
"I don't think I like the sound of that," I tell her.
"Yeah. Me either."
I check my phone. I shouldn't be too long getting back to the house. My absence will be noted. I would like to think Thorlief would understand, but I never know. They're not my men, they're my mother's.
By the end of the final quarter, there is no score. The fifth begins.
I see Jason on the sidelines. He looks away from me, shame on his face. He toys with the cloth wrapped around his arm as he watches the offense slowly capitulate to the Honey Badgers, shoved down the field one play at a time. His coach yells at the referees, and the mood in the stands is one of exhaustion.