The Rangers moved into position to kick a field goal, and both of the stands came to a hush as the action amped up. Brandon’s gaze skittered to Blake, who had his ball cap pulled low over his face and arms crossed tightly over his chest. He assumed the strategy of the Rangers was to kick a field goal, putting them up by three and then running the clock down. Things didn’t look good for the Bobcats, but the fans weren’t giving up hope. They were on their feet, cheering for their team, encouraging them, even though the game was slowly slipping through their fingers. The clock ticked down, like the countdown to an execution as the kicker readied himself, then sprinted forward. His foot made contact with the ball, and their fans’ noise level escalated as they assumed the ball would sail through the goalposts and bring them the win. But out of nowhere a Bobcat defensive lineman jumped up and successfully blocked the ball.
The stands around him roared to a deafening level when the ball went flying and spiraled out of control. Both teams made a mad dash for the thing, creating a chaos of confused but determined players.
Brandon’s heart hammered up to his throat as the Bobcats on the sidelines jumped up and down. Blake and Cameron ran down the length of the field as the ball rolled and was attacked by about six different players, Matt included. Only two of those players bore the orange and black uniform. An air of desperation and anticipation clung to both sides of the stands. Then someone was up clutching the ball tightly to his side. Brandon blinked at the orange and black of the Bobcat uniform, belatedly realizing it was his kid as Matt screamed down the field toward the end zone. The announcer screeched some frantic message of unbelievable playmaking and, “Holy Jesus, folks, look at that kid fly!”
The crowd went ballistic, on their feet, screaming and waving their hands and pom-poms as Matt raced against the time clock.
Four seconds.
Three seconds.
Brandon’s heart slammed harder in his chest as he watched a full season of hard work and determination come down to one play that could save the game. Part of him couldn’t believe he was watching the same player who used to struggle with agility and balance. And, son of a bitch, the realization hit Brandon as he followed Matt’s movement down the field. How instrumental Stella had been in Matt’s playmaking. Brandon would never have believed that ballet training could have had that much of an impact on Matt’s football game. But it had, and Brandon reluctantly admitted how much he’d underestimated Stella. How little credit he’d given Matt’s time in her studio.
He snagged his cell phone to send her a text, saying…well, he wasn’t sure. But he felt he needed to talk to her. But before he could compose a message, Matt’s feet flew past the five-yard line, then crossed the end zone just as the clock hit zero.
The players held the celebrations for one more minute while they got in formation for their field goal. The noise of the bleachers was a loud hum of kids hollering and stomping their feet as the kicker lined up. He easily made it, and the hum turned into a roar. The players and coaches immediately rushed the field, headsets and helmets flying in the air as they rushed the players. Brandon’s ears rang as the band fired up another song and the fans roared and stomped the bleachers. The stunned faces of the opponents and their coaches matched the shock reverberating through the Bobcats fans. The game should have ended with the Rangers’ field goal. Instead their team had pulled a stunner out of their asses and scored a touchdown with twenty seconds left on the clock.
The former state champions, the ones who’d been favored to take home the win, filed off the field, heads hung in defeat and shock. The Bobcats continued to maul and pile on top of each other on the field.
Soon the fans followed, rushing the field as parents looked for kids and girlfriends looked for boyfriends. The field quickly turned into a mass of celebrating people, plainclothes mixing with jerseys and sweat and exuberated players.
Brandon knew he’d never find Matt in this mess, so he stayed in his spot as people moved all around him. Some hugging and celebrating with others and some trying their best to get to the field. Behind him Beverly Rowley told some kid to “Move your ass, pronto.” Virginia chastised her friend for the language and reiterated to the kid that he needed to speed himself up. Brandon only shook his head as one of them bumped into him from behind.
“Aren’t you going to get down there and find Matty?” Virginia asked.
Brandon turned to face her. “I’ll find him after the game,” he told her. “He’s probably with his friends anyway.”
Virginia gestured to a spot next to him. “Where’s your game friend? The one you’re always making googly eyes at.”
For a second, he almost feigned ignorance. After all, denial had been easier than admitting that he made “googly eyes” at Stella. Or that he even missed her. But what was the point? Virginia, as well as the rest of the Mafia, knew there was something special between him and Stella. He’d been an idiot for not seeing it sooner and an even bigger idiot for letting her leave.
However much he knew she loved what she was doing, and needed this opportunity, her departure hurt like a son of a bitch. Cut him deeper than Trish leaving.
“She’s in Chicago,” he told Virginia.
Virginia squinted at him, then was jostled from behind. Brandon placed a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Chicago?” she repeated. “What the devil is she doing there? Don’t you love the girl?”
Brandon blinked at her, thrown off by her blunt question. Which was stupid because Virginia had never been subtle about anything in her life, including her continued threats to have Duke thrown in a shelter for eating her roses. Then he grinned because, yeah, he loved Stella. “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Well, why’d you let her leave?” Virginia demanded. “Doesn’t she know how you feel?”
“Uh…” He’d sort of told her, in a roundabout way he assumed she’d figure out. Maybe not the best tactic.
Virginia rolled her eyes. “Men,” she muttered to herself. Then she smacked him on the arm. “And don’t call me ma’am. Makes me feel old.”
She finally made her way down the bleachers, but Brandon remained in his spot. The field was still a mess of people and players, as were the bleachers. People were either trying desperately to exit or were hanging around talking about the win. Excitement and euphoria hummed through the crowd and should have dragged Brandon along with him. After all, he’d just watched his son rush the field with the rest of his team and celebrate what they’d been working toward all season.
Unfortunately, none of it meant anything without Stella.
Stella stood at the window of her Chicago apartment and watched the powdery snowflakes slowly drift to the ground. They landed in the narrow alley below, barely clinging to the ground because the temperature wasn’t quite cold enough for them to stick. She lifted a mug of hot cocoa to her lips as a mother cat and her kittens darted from one side of the alley to the other. They barely dodged the garbage truck that stopped by every Tuesday to empty the Dumpster. Normally Stella enjoyed watching the antics of the cat family, the way the kittens bounded all over the deserted alley and played with the trash that occasionally blew down the street. But tonight, Stella wasn’t into it. Her gaze tracked the movements without really seeing anything. Even her hot cocoa was lukewarm and bland.