Intercepted (Page 37)

Except Naomi. She screams.

On the field, Dre lays motionless on the green grass. The refs blow their whistles and all the players take a knee, as the trainers and medical staff rush the field.

The fans around us, whether cheering for the Mustangs or Cowboys, stand with their crossed fingers raised in the air. It’s an eerie feeling, being surrounded by so many people, not hearing anything other than the frightened tears and sniffles of your best friend.

After a couple of minutes, the crowd lowers their hands but stay on their feet. The players on the field stand and get water while they wait for Dre to stand up and walk off the field.

Five minutes after that, when Dre is still motionless, players from both teams meet in the middle of the field, hold hands, and begin to pray.

Now, I sit next to Naomi, holding her hand, listening to the prayers she repeats, telling her it will be okay—hoping I’m right.

The chatter around the stadium starts to pick up, but it feels different, like a dark cloud has settled over everyone. People come to these games to be entertained; the danger of it often gets lost until something as scary as this forces it to the forefront of our brains.

When Naomi’s phone rings, she answers it right away, but it takes her a moment to get the words past the silent tears that haven’t slowed.

“Okay . . . okay . . . all right. I’ll be right there.” She throws the phone in her purse and stands on shaky legs. “That was the trainer. An ambulance is here, and I’m going to ride with him,” she tells me just as a golf cart with a stretcher attached drives onto the field.

“Do you need me to walk you down?”

“No. Thank you, but I need to be alone for a minute. I’ll call you later.”

“Let me know if you need anything.” I stand up as she’s passing me and pull her in for a hug before she goes. “He’s going to be fine.”

“He’s going to be fine,” she says to herself more than me.

Then, showing everyone around us what I already know—that she’s one of the strongest women around—she wipes her tears, squares her shoulders, holds her head up high, and goes to be Dre’s strength.

After Naomi is gone, the stretcher races off the field with Dre in a neck brace, and as they’re headed off, the stadium roars to life when he raises his hand to the crowd.

Thank you, God.

* * *

• • •

    THERE’S ONLY ONE way to describe the family room after the game: somber.

The kids who usually run around, knocking over plants and one another, are sitting with their moms, haunted looks on their faces.

The women who pair up and gossip are sitting with their loved ones, holding hands, and for once, their tongues.

Well, most of them.

But I guess the sight of me is too good for a few to pass up.

Courtney spots me across the room and walks over with her big-boobed, Botoxed soldiers following close behind.

“I would say we’ve missed you, but we all know I’d be lying.”

What a stellar greeting.

“Are we really doing this today, Courtney?” I don’t even call her Court, that’s how not up for this I am. I can’t get the sight or sounds of Naomi’s whispered pleas out of my head. I don’t have the time or energy for this shit.

“Doing what, Marlee? You always have so much to say. Do you not want to say anything now that Chris has a girlfriend with class?” She points to Madison who, once I look at her, lets her disapproving gaze travel down my body.

“I don’t know if you missed the part where my best friend’s husband was wheeled off the field or you’re a bigger bitch than I imagined, which, to be honest, I didn’t think was possible.” I stop and take a deep breath. I will not get lured into this. “But I sat next to a woman as she cried, staring at the same football field your husband was on, praying to see any hint that he was alive and not paralyzed.”

I know some people like to ignore things to cope, and that’s fine by me. As long as you aren’t using me as a punching bag to accomplish it. I’ll give it to Courtney though. I might not like her, but even she seems affected by this. She drops her face to the floor, and her shoulders hunch in a way I would’ve thought was impossible before right now.

“I’m not fighting with you today,” I say. “I’m not playing this game. Say what you want about me. I’m a groupie. I’m a liar. I have no class,” I repeat the things she’s said about me in the past, checking myself with every word to make sure I’m not yelling. “I don’t care. If what you saw today can’t make you be at least a semi-decent person who doesn’t start an argument in front of a room of shaken-up children, wives, and mothers, I already know you’ll beat me. No way I can sink lower than that.”

When I step off my soapbox, Courtney makes no attempt at a comeback, so I find an empty chair and I put my headphones in until Gavin comes into the room to get me.

“Are you okay? How’s Naomi?” he asks the second I pull the headphones out.

“I’m fine. Naomi was a mess, but you know her. She pulled herself together before she went to see him.” I try to smile at him, but it comes off more as a grimace. “You had a good game though. Three touchdown passes and no turnovers.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to do that.” He bends down and plants a quick kiss on my lips. “It’s okay to be upset and thinking about our friends. I’m not insulted. But, just so you know, Coach updated us in the locker room. There was no spinal or neck injury, they’re thinking a severe concussion.”

I cringe at the news. I’m thankful there’s not a spinal or neck injury, obviously, but with all the recent news and discoveries about the brain damage football players have, a concussion is almost as bad.

“Fuck.” I fight back the tears I want to cry for my friend. “Football is so stupid.”

“It is,” Gavin agrees. “But I kinda like it, and I think I’m pretty good at it too.”

“You’re all right,” I say and feel the first signs of a smile since I heard the collision of helmets an hour ago. “Don’t go letting your head get too big.”

“Never.” He kisses me once more, both of us in a bubble, protected from the dirty looks and hateful words being tossed our way.

He grabs my hand for us to leave and just calls out a casual, “See ya,” to Madison when we pass her.

I didn’t want to be bitchy today, but when Madison stutters and spits and can’t even manage a simple good-bye? Well, not even the Pope could keep a straight face for that.

#NoPunIntended

Twenty-six

There’s a small catch to the always-sunny-in-Colorado thing.

During the winter, the sun can be out, bright and lighting up the entire, cloudless blue sky, and you think, Hey! What a beautiful December day! Let’s go do something! Then you step outside and the dry, freezing air slaps you so hard it steals all of your breath.

You’d think after living here all of my life, I wouldn’t fall for Mother Nature’s cruel trick.

You would be wrong.

And now I’m working on dragging Gavin down with me.

“Marlee, it’s too cold to go ice skating.” He’s not going down without a struggle.

“Please.” I stick out my bottom lip, and although it might seem ridiculous to most, we cannot say no to each other’s pouty faces. “You need a break from studying film, and I need a break from watching you study film.”