Rusk University: All Lined Up Part 29

m.u.f.fled by her pillow, she calls back, "Do what?"

"I'm calling in a stamp."

Her pillow goes flying, and I only barely manage to duck. Even so, it skims the top of my head.

"You're using a stamp on this?"

"Yep," I say, popping the p, and crossing my arms over my chest. "You've got to learn to follow through on your commitments."

"h.e.l.lo!" She draws a circle around her face. "Commitment-phobe. You know this, too."

I look at my cell phone. "Twenty-six minutes now. And we need to leave at least five minutes early."

Scowling, she throws her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when her toes touch the cold tile floor. "Mornings are the love child of Satan and you."

"Love you back."

Despite her grumbling, we manage to leave a couple minutes before seven thirty. With her short hair, she can get ready incredibly fast, unlike me and my monstrous mane.

When we stroll up the sidewalk toward the quad, I spot Carson already there waiting for us.

Stella shoots me a sly grin. "Now I get why you used the stamp. So I take it you had a pleasant surprise at your window last night?"

"That was you?"

She shrugs. "I was merely a facilitator."

Carson is dressed in jeans and his familiar scuffed boots. He's wearing his team sweatshirt, and he gives me this sleepy, sweet smile that makes my heart throb. I can see people watching him. By now everyone knows who he is, and they're wondering why the starting quarterback is standing all alone on the sidewalk. I don't spare a single care for any of the people watching when I walk up to him and throw my arms around his neck.

He pulls me close, his hands slipping beneath my jacket to press into the small of my back.

"Good morning," he murmurs into my ear, his stubble tickling my cheek.

Then, because I am done caring about gossip, and I actually want everyone to know he's mine, I kiss him right there on the sidewalk with at least twenty people watching.

The kiss lasts for several long seconds, neither of us willing to be the one who steps back. But when I hear a few whistles and Stella pretending to gag behind my back, I pull back smiling.

"Good morning," I say.

"Yes, it is."

"Seriously," Stella says. "I'm going to need Benadryl to hold off the hives if you guys keep doing that."

Carson gives me another short kiss, and Stella throws up her hands. "I think I liked it better when you two were incognito. There was much less nausea."

With one arm wrapped around my shoulder, he smiles at her. "Thanks for the help last night, Stella."

She waves him off and starts walking away. I think she's actually bolting until she uses the nearby stairs up to the quad to help her climb up on top of the brick wall. She walks back toward us, and then plops down on the brick that's just below my shoulders.

Carson helps me jump up beside her, and then he settles in between my knees, leaving me just a couple inches above him. He leans against the brick and wraps his arms around my waist.

Stella says, "This whole third-wheel thing is going to be happening a lot, isn't it?"

"We could always get you a fourth wheel," I say.

"It's like you're actually trying to make me gag."

We talk for a while longer, and when we hear the first strains of music from the band around the corner signaling the start of the parade, Carson turns around to face the street. He leans back against me, propping his elbows up on my thighs, and I wrap my arms around him.

The band comes by first, hundreds of them dressed in full uniform and filling the early morning air with the fight song, and "Smoke on the Water," and all the other songs I'll forever a.s.sociate with football.

Then come the floats. The fraternities and sororities work for months and put ridiculous amounts of money into them, and they're crazy good because of it. Not all of them make sense with football-there's a Wizard of Oz one with a yellow brick road, and a house on a witch, and even a tornado. They've got students dressed up as characters waving and throwing out candy to the families and students that have filled the sidewalk in front of us. There's a pirate one too, and one with Thor crushing what appears to be a hawk (the opposing team's mascot) with his ma.s.sive hammer.

There's a giant floating wildcat, maneuvered by students with strings. The homecoming-queen nominees come by in a fancy car, claws up in lieu of the pageant-style waves.

A student organization walks by with individual signs made for each player, and at the very front is a sign for Carson with his number and a painted football that says, "McClain's domain."

Stella and I cheer loudly, and Carson just shakes his head, laughing.

Pointing at me, Stella yells, "Here's some more of McClain's domain, right here!"

I roll my eyes and shove her, and she pretends like she's going to topple back off the wall. I let her have her fun, and then I lean down close to Carson's ear.

"You're looking awfully smug."

He leans to the side, looking up at me over his shoulder.

"What? I'm not allowed to enjoy the idea of you being mine?"

I smile, enjoying the thought myself.

"Fine. Enjoy away."

"Oh, I plan to."

Stella cuts in. "Can you please do that enjoying at his place?"

We promise to do just that, and when the parade is over, we walk Stella back to the dorm, and then head to his apartment.

Despite Stella's teasing, we're both yawning by the time we make it up the stairs and through his door. We kick off our shoes and shed our winter layers. Carson lies down on the couch, and I grab his blanket and settle down beside him. With my head on his chest and his arms around me, I feel certain that I've never been more comfortable.

"Carson?"

Sleepily, he kisses my forehead and replies, "Hmm?"

"I kinda love you, too."

He takes a deep breath, his chest rising steeply below my cheek.

"Kinda?"

"Still so needy," I tease. "Fine. I love you."

He tips my head up, and looks down at me. His eyes are clear and vivid blue, and his smile would take me to my knees if I weren't already laying down.

"I'll always need you, Daredevil."

Chapter 31.

Carson Coach Cole has to shout in the locker room to be heard over the roar from the stadium above us before the game. The bands are already playing, and the people are screaming, and their energy bleeds through the walls until we're all buzzing with it.

I bounce my knees, trying to stay warm. Silas is doing the same, and we nod at each other. The tension is high tonight. We've got our biggest crowd of the season so far, and there are a lot of eyes out there expecting a show.

The coaches are lined up around the room, almost as on edge as the players. Ryan is there with them, and he too gives me a nod.

It's the only thing to do, really, when you meet someone else's eyes. We're all trying to stay quiet and focused.

Coach finishes with all his little reminders about the other team's weaknesses that we've discussed throughout the week, along with our own that we need to be aware of. He steps away from the whiteboard that's covered in plays and notes and takes his time looking around the room, meeting each of our eyes.

"Tonight is our night, gentlemen. They may call it homecoming for the alumni and the tradition and the festivities, but for us today that gra.s.s is your home. It's yours to protect, yours to control. Today is the day where we put that number three behind us, and bring home win number four. Today we let go of the past, and move on to our future. Today, I expect you to leave absolutely everything you have on that field. If we have to drag each other back into this locker room, b.l.o.o.d.y and exhausted and in pain, that's okay. Because we'll be dragging that win in with us."

He steps over toward the exit, and I notice a tarp hanging over the door that wasn't there before. We all remain where we are while Coach reaches up and tugs the thing down.

In clean black letters just above the door, it reads: "No Easy Days."

"Today, we start a new tradition, gentlemen. It's time we let go of the old Rusk. We're no longer one of the weakest teams in the conference. We've been put through the fire, and we've come out stronger for it. Now who's ready to prove it?"

We surge to our feet with a roar, and I let myself be carried away by the energy of the group. Our bodies crash into one another as we raise our hands up and scream.

As we line up and file out the door, each player reaches up and slaps a hand on the phrase above the door.

And I know as I stare at those words that it's the hard days that end up being the most important in the end.

Four fifteen-minute quarters. That's all we've got.

I can lay it all out there for sixty minutes, and I trust that my team will do the same.

We gather in the blow-up tunnel that leads from our locker room out onto the field. They've got the fog machines going, so that it's hard to see anything that isn't right in front of us.

The crowd is deafening outside, and I make my way up to the front of the team, and Silas is there waiting for me. I'm still a little unsure how to feel about the guy, but he's undeniably the other leader of this team.

We're nothing alike. Where I'm all about discipline and focus, Moore is pure heart. I wouldn't trust him with a thing off this field, but on it, I know he'll always have my back, and he'll give it everything he's got.

When everyone is inside the tunnel, huddled close, I shout, "Are we ready?"

The team roars back.

Silas shouts, "Will today be easy?"

The returned "No" drowns out even the crowd.

I yell, "How many wins are we leaving with today?"

"Four!"

Silas and I turn to face the end of the tunnel, and the team howls behind us.

When we burst out of the tunnel and out onto the field, my ears ring from the noise, even through my helmet.

I don't let myself look at the stands, knowing I wouldn't be able to find Dallas in the ma.s.ses even if I did.

Coach catches me before we head out for the coin flip. He places his hand on my helmet. He does this before every game. Usually he looks past my face guard, into my eyes, and asks, "You got this?"

It's become our routine.

Today, though, it's different. He looks at me for a few long seconds, and then in lieu of his normal question he nods and makes a statement instead.

"You've got this."

From the start, luck is on our side, and we win the coin flip.

We receive, and Brookes catches the opening kick and tears up the field. Moore sticks with him, blocking as they run. Brookes goes down just past the fifty, and then it's my turn.

The stadium is loud right up until the moment I take the field, and then it all just disappears. There's no nerves, no fear, no nothing. Instead it feels exactly like Coach said . . . like I've come home.

I've spent hours and days and years preparing for this, so now I can just turn off everything else and do what I know how to do. I run, and I pa.s.s, and I hand off, interspersed with hits and misses.

But I just get back up. I keep going. We're a team, and the more we play, the more we begin to click together, each person doing their part to move the overall machine.

When I'm not on the field, I walk the sidelines, checking in with the other players. I talk them up when they need it, listen when they tell me what's working and what's not.

One quarter pa.s.ses, then another.

Halftime is a blur of coaches and plays and a.n.a.lyzing what's happened so far.

When the final buzzer sounds, and we've won by six, it almost doesn't feel real. Not even with the team surrounding me, screaming. Not even when Coach is in front of me, his hand back on my helmet, reminding me that I can take it off now. I pull it off, and all the noise rushes back in.

It takes me a few seconds to tune in to what Coach is saying. I miss all of it but the end.

"You did good, son."

The field is flooding with students decked out in red, and the team is making their escape back into the locker room. I follow, a smile tugging at my face as it all starts to settle in.