He chuckles low and I hug myself at the happy sound. Knox pulls back the covers and climbs in, taking up the position against the wall. I burrow into him, pushing my butt into his groin and laying my head on his biceps.
“Hammer’s submitting an article to an online woman’s magazine about how sperm is good for a woman’s body. Think it’ll be accepted?” His hand strokes leisurely down my side.
“I’m scared for womankind,” I answer sleepily.
“But kind of curious?” He presses a kiss against the crown of my head.
“Scared.” But yeah, kind of curious. I drift off to sleep, full of contentment.
37
Knox
Game Day: Warriors 11-1
The atmosphere in the locker room consists of subdued hope. We’re one game away from ending the season with only one loss. We win today and we’re in the conference championships which is one step closer to our goal of a National Championship.
Coach has called reporters, analysts, and other coaches, making the case that we belong in the playoffs. The selection committee isn’t bound by the polls that have us ranked seven. They make their own decisions. Today we give the selection committee every reason to place us in the top four.
Beneath the dry fit T-shirt, the pads, and the jersey, my heart beats double time.
I get up on a bench and wait for Matty to pull his headphones out. For Hammer to stop texting. For Ace to gather up the offense.
When the room falls silent, I raise my helmet above my head. “We started this season with one goal—for a chance to play for a title. That goal still exists. For some, this is the last home game we play.”
Somewhere in the crowd I hear a gasp. Not everyone knows I planned to declare. It’ll be out there soon enough, but what’s said in the locker room stays here.
“We’ll never step foot on Union Field wearing the Warrior’s uniform. Our locker will hold someone else’s uniform. Our time here will become a memory.” I tap my helmet against my head.
The team looks at me with rapt attention.
I don’t say anything for a few moments because I need to take one—one last time. Even if we win today, this might be the last time I wear the gold and blue. It’s been a crazy, exhilarating, mind blowing, heart aching, unforgettable three years. I’m not leaving without a fight. I’m ready to lay everything I have out on that field.
“Every second on that field, we have a choice. We can play together as one unit, one machine, one heart. If we do that, no matter the outcome, we will have met our goal. Today I plan to play as if I will never get to play again. If I am still standing at the end of the game, I have not tried hard enough. Men!” I call sharply. “This is my heart. My will. My desire.”
I thump my hand across my chest twice in rapid succession. Matty follows. So does Hammer, then Ace, and then the entire locker room fills with the percussive beat of joined will. To that beat, I shout: “No one can defeat us if we believe. You have the heart of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
“The pride of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
Matty quickens the pace. The rest follow.
“The will of a Warrior?”
“Yes!”
The din of our fists against our hearts is overwhelming. I have to scream to be heard. “Then we will fight as Warriors. We will bleed as Warriors. We will win as Warriors.”
I jump down and grab Ace. We put our heads together and the team of ninety plus men gather at our backs. We move as one. One giant mass of flesh, muscle, and desire.
“Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win! Fight! Bleed! Win!” The team roars its promise. Someone opens the doors to the tunnel and we burst out, running like we’re chased by bulls. No, we’re chasing the bulls. We’re the meanest, nastiest, toughest fucks on the planet, and today is our time.
The Lions win the coin toss and elect to receive. They want their number-two-ranked offense in the country on the field first. Fine. I jam my helmet down. I want to introduce Mr. Heisman to the turf as soon as possible. He’ll learn the only thing he’ll see today will be my number in his face.
It goes our way from the beginning. We win the snap and defer. The Lions start off on the twenty. I line up across from the left guard.
“You might want to kneel down now, because you’re about to spend a lot of time on your back,” I inform the NFL-bound offensive lineman.
He snorts. “Sure, I am, jack wagon. You’ll be using your towel to dry those tears after we light you up.”
“Not this year.”
I hit him hard, pushing him aside, and run hard after the quarterback. He must feel my footsteps because he releases early and the pass is incomplete. I slap him lightly on the helmet before helping him to his feet.
“I hope you ate your Wheaties today, because you’re about to have a workout.”
The Heisman trophy candidate glares at me as I run back to my side of the field.
I jaw all day. To the nose tackle, I ask, “Did you dress more than three deep at the tackle position? Because I’m going to wear you and your backup down to nubs by the end of the first quarter.”