Chapter 13
Cheering from 1,014 Miles
Today is game day, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t practically shitting my panties every thirty minutes. Lincoln has arranged everything from the person picking me up, to my tickets, and the route I physically walk into the stadium.
Since our double date on Monday, I’ve wanted to tell Lincoln off several times because his over-planning of the event is way extreme. Deep down, I know he only wants the best experience for me, but I prefer to feel it from a raw point of view, and I want all of his attention and energy focused on the game.
Plan A was for Jewels to pick me up, and then we’d sit together in Lincoln’s family’s season ticket, seats since he knew his parents would be in Dallas for Levi’s game. That was until Jewels texted me.
Jewels: Hey, my pops is coming in today from a long haul run and I need to tell him about the baby.
Me: Okay
Jewels: Oh btw Lincoln gave me your number.
Jewels: I’ll meet you at our seats.
Jewels: Are you good with that?
Jewels: Did you die or something?
Her texts come in within seconds of each other while I’m trying like hell to simply type out one line back to her. This text shit sucks ass.
Me: Ok, I’ll just walk to campus. Good luck with your dad.
Jewels: Fuck, are you sure? I’ll try and find you a ride.
Me: :-/
Mentally, I pat myself on the back for using symbols to make a face. Wednesday night, Lincoln and I lay in my bed, and he schooled me on texting, from the way I was holding my phone to all different types of smiley faces. He told me I have a minimum of a five smiley face, three selfies, and two naughty texts quota to fill every day. He even went on to tell me he thinks he’d play better on the field with three naughty texts.
I think about texting him the change of plans, but decide not to. I don’t want anything to distract him, and my walking across town to campus definitely would. I guarantee if I texted him that I planned on walking, he would come pick me up.
This game means everything to him. I was also introduced to ESPN this week during our nightly make-out, talk, and cuddle sessions. He brought over one of the defensive linemen, and he hot-wired some cable in my room. Lincoln won’t admit it, but I know he wants to be on the highlight reel desperately. While watching this week, I heard his brother’s name mentioned over twenty times, and I wasn’t even fully paying attention. The comparison of Levi to his father’s quarterback career was always at the center of conversation. Lincoln’s dad was right about one thing, you wouldn’t even know he has another son.
Lincoln bought me enough college gear to dress me from head to toe. Every night, he brought home something new for me from face tattoos to necklaces and a jersey to wear to the game. I’m going to have to forgo the school color flip-flops he bought and settle for my green Cons to walk across town.
Looking in the mirror, I give myself a pep talk. “You are worth it, and you, my dear, are going to watch your boyfriend play in a college football game. People are going to stare and whisper, and Monica may even try to start shit, but you are going to go and plant your ass in seat 22, Row E, Section 104.”
My hair has grown out a bit, but is still short enough to funk it up. I have my temporary team tattoo is on my cheek, and the number twenty-two is proudly displayed on my jersey. Turning to the side, I peer at the back of the jersey and the name Wilks printed in bright white letters above his number.
“I love you, Lincoln Wilks,” I whisper.
My phone beeps, alerting me to a text. Picking it up, I see his name.
Lincoln: Selfie and some naughty words, please.
Giggling out loud, I hold the phone up and snap a selfie, making sure to get his jersey in the picture, and then send it.
Me: I’m not wearing any underwear.
Lincoln: oh fuck me.
Me: Get your head in the game! See you soon.
Lincoln: Can’t wait to run my hands down those little white shorts.
Me: Goober! Bye.
Oh shit, I better take my underwear off now. I was just trying to think of the sexiest thing I could, and I’ve heard that line in a movie before. The shit I get myself into.
Walking down the street, I feel as if every car passing knows I’m not wearing any underwear. I feel naked as hell and want to stop at the next department store and buy a pair of panties and a new bra. It’s early Fall and roasting-ass hot, and my boobs are dripping with sweat from the blazing sun beating down on this dark green jersey. The only thing saving me is the tiny holes all over it.
“One hundred feet, turn right onto 3rd Avenue East.”
The second best feature on my phone is the map app. I’m freely walking to a destination, not worried about a route or which way to turn. I’m simply following the dot and listening for directions. Sounds silly, but it’s the best thing I’ve ever experienced. The screen shows I’m about three city blocks from the stadium.
Carloads of crazy fans have been screaming past me, blaring on their horns with their game day flags whipping in the wind. I’ve even had several fans holler, “Wilks kicks ass. Go number twenty-two.”
Each time, like a fool, I look around me to see if they’re talking to me. So far, the sidewalk has been lonely and free from others. The sound of a loud engine pulls up behind, and I can’t tell if they are stopping for traffic or actually stopping for me. Turning around, I see Monica’s face smiling from the passenger window. She’s dressed almost identically to me in team colors. Please keep driving. Please, please, please, just leave me alone.
The dreaded voice of Monica. “Don’t feel so badass out here on my turf, do you?”
The truck is now creeping along the sidewalk, matching my pace. I try to speed up and keep my eyes focused on the path ahead.
She snarls, “You’re trash, and he’ll throw you away soon enough.”
Turning to make eye contact while still walking, I finally speak up. “Enough. Leave me the fuck alone. I’ve never done anything to you. Just leave me alone.”
Monica laughs, and I realize she’ll never give up on destroying me. Turning my attention back to the sidewalk, I catch the blur of a flying object heading toward me. I try to duck, but the hard object hits me in the side of the head, causing me to lose my balance and fall to the ground. The pavement tears up my knees when I hit the sidewalk. I feel the blood dribbling down my shins, and roll over to sit upright and look at the mess.
Just another set of scars to define me. In this moment, I want to run away once again. The urge is building up in my belly, and it will take only one more incident for me to finally cave in. I find a tissue in my purse and start to clean up the blood. The cuts and scrapes don’t want to quit bleeding, so I hold the tissue on them for a couple minutes. Looking at the time, I realize I have fifteen minutes to get to my seat before Lincoln takes the field, and if he doesn’t see me sitting in my seat I’ll ruin everything for him. Pulling out hand sanitizer and cringing like a wuss, I dab some on each knee and clean off the blood the best I can.
Jewels: Where are you?
Me: A couple blocks out.
Jewels: Street name.
Me: Ram Avenue.
Jewels: Keep walking toward stadium. Be there in a bit.
I don’t listen to Jewels, I run instead of walk, and I feel the pain each time my knees bend. The pain drives me to run faster. Nothing will stop me from getting to Lincoln’s game. My gut wants to run, so I will run, but not in the direction it’s indicating.
“Oakley, it’s me,” Jewels says waving from a lime green Volkswagen Bug.
I gasp, “We can’t miss kick-off.”
“Oh, honey, this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ll have your ass in the stadium in five minutes.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, remembering why plan A got all screwed up.
“No, but I will be.”
An awkward silence takes over the tiny interior of the car, and I’m not quite sure what to say, so I say nothing. Jewels is right and has us parked within minutes. We both exit the car and take off for the stadium.
In a steady jog, Jewels finally gives in. “My dad told me to get an abortion or never come back home. He said he hasn’t driven long haul truck for the last twenty-eight years to raise a daughter who gets knocked up and drops out of college.”
This time I definitely have nothing to say, besides, “I’m so sorry, Jewels.”
She brushes one knuckle to catch moisture at the corner of her eye. “Thank God I have Heath.”
A few minutes later, I point and say, “Lincoln said to use gate B.”
Jewels is veering in a different direction. We are both now in a complete sprint.
“How many times has Lincoln watched a game?”
I can admit when I’m wrong. “Point well taken.”
We finally come to a stop underneath an enormous set of bleachers. It looks like it goes up at least twenty stories.
“Hey, Jewels,” a tall security guard says.
“Hey, Hank. We’re running late. Can you let us in, please?”
“You got tickets, then I’ll let you in.”
“Yep, we have Lincoln Wilks’ season tickets.”
“Hell, those seats have been empty forever, and they’re probably the best in the house. Go on in,” he says, swinging open the chain-link gate.
“We have one minute and thirty-two seconds to get to our seats before the team takes the field for introductions,” Jewels hollers over shoulder.
I hear the words, but I’m unable to process the meaning while dodging through the sea of people who have swarmed the stadium. Green and white everywhere, crazy wigs, face paintings, and shirtless men fill the area. Never in my life have I been around so many people, and I’m not talking hundreds, I’m saying thousands and thousands, from infants to grandpas.
All of a sudden, I feel a tug on my wrist and the sharp paint that always accompanies it.
“Oakley, let’s go,” Jewels yells while she holds my wrist.
Snapping out of my wonderment, I keep pace with Jewels as we weave and dart through the crowd. I finally see our section number and start putting together that each row is labeled with a letter, and then each seat is labeled with a number.
“We made it. Bam, baby!” Jewels cheers, throwing her hands up in the air.
Looking down at the seat, I see my name spelled out in thick Sharpie marker with Lincoln’s number under it and immediately recognize his writing. Next to my name is a large bag of blue cotton candy, my favorite food on the planet. I asked him the other day if a circus or carnival ever came to town, because I love, love cotton candy.
Cannons fire off, scaring the shit out of me. Looking up, I see white fog streaming up into the air, then the announcer takes over, and the crowd goes wild. A thumping song slams through the speakers, and I recognize it from Lincoln’s pregame tunes. Let’s Go.
Streams of players run out onto the field. Frantically, I scramble to find twenty-two, but my nerves and excitement take over, and I find myself jumping up and down with Jewels, screaming and cheering along with the fans.
“There he is,” I scream over the cheers when I finally spot Lincoln.
Lose Yourself by Eminem is pouring from the speakers, and I watch as the football players jump around, pounding on each other’s helmets and dancing in a circle. I know Lincoln is with his boys.
The coaches start to usher the players to the sidelines, while three players from each team go out to center field for the coin toss. As this is happening, I hear Lincoln’s voice explaining every single part of the game to me. I know exactly what’s going to happen next. The other team will call it, and depending who wins the toss, they get to pick whether they want to start on offense or defense. I know if Lincoln’s team wins the toss they will defer and let the defense take the field first.
“Damn, I know a lot about football,” I blurt out.
Jewel gives me a strange look and focuses on the field. Heath is on the sidelines grabbing a drink when they make eye contact, and she frantically waves at him. Heath, being the forever smartass, looks over his shoulder to see at whom she’s waving, then turns around and winks at her.
The crowd roars again when the referee announces we’ll be take defense first.
I hear voices around me cheer and praise the defense. “Can’t wait to see our big D this year. Coach said they’re the best he’s ever seen.”
I wish Lincoln could hear all the praise. His name is mentioned by several around me.
A stranger yells, “Stand up. Stand up!”
Momentarily confused, I turn to Jewels. “Why are we standing up?”
“Really, Miss Football 2014?”
Rolling my eyes, I reply, “Really.”
“You always stand and make lots of noise when the other team kicks the ball.”
I give Jewels a thumbs up and a smartass grin.
The fans go crazy when the ball is kicked, and then get even louder when the player is tackled. Number fifty-five takes him out; I try to wrack my brain remembering who he is.
“Was that good?” I ask. I’m assuming it was terrific because the crowd is still going wild.
“Yes, Oakley,” Jewel says, giving me a light jab in the ribs.
“Hey, I’m just nervous and forgetting stuff.”
Jewels laughs at me, and then says, “Well, you want our boys to tear off heads right now. All defense, baby.”
I’m not a praying girl, but dear God, please let Lincoln have the game of his life, and even more importantly, let him have the season of his life.
The reader board flashes the message, “GET LOUD,” and some of the defensive men are waving their hands up and down, signaling the crowd to get rowdy. Lincoln is on the field pacing back and forth in his spot, jumping up and down every once in a while. The other team takes their spot, and I start to freak out.
“O-M-G, Jewels, I can’t watch this. I’m sick. I think I’m going to puke,” I say, turning to head toward the bathroom.
She grabs my hand and shakes her head. I try to argue, but the ball is snapped, and the action comes alive on the field. My eyes instantly go to the quarterback to see if it’s going to be a run or a throw. He’s holding and looking. The ball goes up in the air for a long pass of over thirty yards. My eyes stay glued to the movement of the ball. In slow motion I see two white gloves extended in the air, and then the ball is brought down into a green jersey. The roar of the crowd is deafening, and I’m screaming right along with them. When my eyes zone in on the green jersey, there’s a twenty-two on it.
I grab Jewel’s shoulder and shout, “It’s Lincoln. It’s Lincoln. Run, fucking run!”
Lincoln’s at the fifty, forty, thirty, busting through the other team’s offense while his boys do the best to block for him as he makes his way to the end zone. The twenty, the ten, TOUCHDOWN.
“Holy shit!” I scream and jump up on the top of my chair waving my cotton candy.
Jewels is up next to me jumping and shouting her head off. The big screen replays the score, and I watch it all again. Lincoln doesn’t dance or show off in the end zone. He’s scooped up by this teammates, and they all pat him on the helmet and back. Coach Uni runs on the field and hugs him. The crowd finally settles down enough for the kicker to make the extra point. I don’t watch to see if it goes through; I keep my eyes focused on Lincoln and study his movements.
He’s breathing hard as he takes his helmet off and hands it to an assistant. Grabbing a bottle, he pours the water on his face, and then drinks a little, adjusting his headband to keep his hair back.
Finally, he looks up into the stands and spots me. I begin jumping up and down and swinging my cotton candy around again. I see him laugh, wave, and wink at me, then mouth the words, “Are you okay?”
Enthusiastically, I nod and mouth the word “Pizza” back to him.
“Oakley,” I hear Jewels say, “we are the only ones standing up.”
Turning to look around, sure enough, we are the only ones standing, and on our chairs, no less. Jewels brings down her arm and accidentally elbows me right in the temple, and an instant rush of pain fills me. I grab the spot to find a goose egg size bump.
“Oh my God, did my elbow just do that?” she asks, her eyes wide with concern.
“No,” I answer, stepping down.
“What’s it from? And what the hell happened to your knees?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me,” she insists.
The T.V. commercial break is over, the announcer begins talking, and the teams take the field again. Lincoln is back out there, and I realize the feeling in the pit of my stomach wasn’t an urge to run. It was nerves for Lincoln.
“What the fuck happened to you?” Jewels demands again.
I throw out an implausible scenario. “A wiener dog chased me.” I refuse to let any drama or bullshit from Monica ruin this day.
“A wiener dog?” Jewels repeats my lie slowly.
“What? They can be mean little bastards.”
The announcer and crowd noise take over and save my ass from any further scrutiny.
Play after play, Lincoln freaking amazes me with his talent and sheer speed. The boy’s got mad skills. I giggle, imagining his face if I ever used that line on him. Halftime, and the score is fourteen to zero.
The players jog off the field, and before turning to join his team, Lincoln takes his helmet off and holds it up to me. Again I act like a fucking lunatic jumping all over the place. There’s something about his shaggy hair and lean body jogging across the field holding his helmet. It is the epitome of sexiness.
Jewels is deeply involved in texting someone, and by the looks of it, she’d rather be punching the person in the face. Her fingers are rapid-firing, and her lips are pressed into a tight line.
“Hey, do you think Lincoln bought this cotton candy here?”
Jewels just shakes her head, “Yeah, up at the concessions.”
She doesn’t even look up from her phone to answer me.
I ask, “Everything okay?”
“It’s my dad.”
Question answered.
“I’m going to buy some more. Want anything?” Not like popcorn would help, but I have to offer something.
“A Coke.”
The walk up to the concessions knocks all the air out of me. I didn’t realize how close to the field we were. After stepping into the narrow walkway leading to the vendors, I realize it was a mistake. There are people everywhere pushing and shoving to get to their destinations, and when I spot the line, I know there’s no way in hell I’m waiting in it.
Why did I offer to get Jewels something? Now I feel obligated.
Before throwing the towel in, I spot a teenager carrying a drink container shouting, “Soda!” I wave him down and buy a drink from him.
“Hey, do you know where the closest place to get cotton candy is?”
“If you wait a minute, my buddy is coming with a tray full.”
Well, it was more than a minute, closer to fifteen. Jewels is still full-on finger-fighting on her phone, so I slip her Coke on the ground by her feet and begin to devour my cotton candy. I bought two bags, one for the game and one to take home.
Forty-two to zero, the second half flew by. Lincoln and the defense didn’t leave an inch for the other team to score. It was simply phenomenal.
“My voice is gone,” I manage to squeak out to Jewels.
She grins. “Sign of good fan and great girlfriend.”
My phone goes off as we make our way to Jewels’ car.
“Hello.” I wince at the hoarse sound of my voice.
“Where are you?” Lincoln growls.
“Walking to Jewels’ car.”
“Where’s she fucking parked?”
“Um, I don’t know. What’s wrong?” Shouldn’t he be happy right now?
“Did you, or did you not walk to the stadium?”
“I walked. Jewels had shit to do. Everything worked out. I’m fine,” I lie.
“I’m fucking livid. Why didn’t you call me?”
“Stop,” I finally bark into the phone, “I’m fine. Please don’t be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you, Oakley. I freaked out when one of the sports medicine guys said he saw you walking.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad at you, I’m fucking fuming at the situation. Give the phone to Jewels.”
I hand the phone over to her. I’d warn her, but I’m ninety-nine percent sure she heard every word.
I ignore their conversation, not wanting to know one detail, and wonder how in the fuck I’m going to lie away the cuts on my knees. Possibly a story about tripping while rushing down the stadium stairs or tripping in the parking lot.
“Here, he’s all yours,” Jewels says, passing me the phone.
“Hi.”
“Just stay at the car with Jewels. I’ll be there in forty minutes.”
“Okay, please don’t be mad.” I’m starting to sound like a broken record.
“I’m not mad at you, Oakley, for the fifth fucking time. I just don’t think it’s very cool that my girl has to walk a couple miles across town to get to my game.”
“Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone before Lincoln can lecture me anymore.
“He’s fucking pissed,” I say, stating the obvious.
“No shit, Einstein,” she replies.
We both start laughing uncontrollably.
“Stop, we need to stop laughing. This isn’t funny,” I gasp, still laughing.
Trying to hide our smiles and smother out our nervous, inappropriate laughter, we sit and wait for the storm.
“I’m not wearing any panties. That should count for something, right?” I ask hopefully a while later.
Then the laughter strikes again.
“You two find something funny?”
Looking up from the passenger seat, I see Lincoln leaning on the car and looking in at us.
“Lincoln,” I squeal, forgetting all about his fit.
He steps back, and I fly out the door, jumping up into his arms. I feel him wince, but am too far gone to back off.
“You’re amazing,” I say.
“Oakley, I’m really not okay with…”
“That first interception was so cool. I didn’t know what was going on for a minute, and then you were off to score.”
“Oakley…”
With my legs wrapped around his middle, I lay my lips over his mouth, silencing his words.
“Get a room, assholes.”
I hear Jewel shoot out of the car and into Heath’s arms, followed by her sobs and pleas for him to never leave her.
Lincoln grunts one more time, walks over to his truck, and sets me down on his open tailgate.
He’s avoiding eye contact, so I say, “Look at me. Don’t be mad at Jewels. She had to go to her dad.”
Lincoln grips my ass and pulls me in closer to him, setting his face in the crook of my neck.
“Plus, I’m not wearing panties.”
His head flies up, and he has a questioning eyebrow raised, daring me to prove it. Leaning back from him, I unbutton my shorts and unzip them. “See?”
“Holy fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Now, kiss me, MVP.”
“There’s no MVPs in games like those.”
“No shit. You’re mine, though.”
Lincoln leans down, licking his way across my mouth and nipping at my bottom lip.
“Stop and kiss me.”
His eyes take on a wicked gleam. “Make me.”
Grabbing the back of his head, I force him down on my lips and devour him.
“Good game, Lincoln,” a carload screams as they pass by us.
I let him stand up straight and wave to the fans.
“Jesus, woman, you looked hot as hell swinging that cotton candy bag above your head, jumping up and down screaming for me.”
“I was a little out of control,” I admit. “My belly is killing me.”
“Why?”
“I ate three bags of it.” I say, my stomach roiling a bit at the confession.
“Holy hell, I guess it would,” he says, jumping up on the tailgate with me.
He grabs me by the hips and pulls me over onto his lap, and when my knees hit the metal, I cringe in pain.
Lincoln eyes me suspiciously. “What’s wrong, Oakley?”
I’m stuck in a position where I either roll the rest of the way into his lap or flop back down on my ass. The pain is so overwhelming that I have no choice but to fall down on the edge of the tailgate. In the same moment, Lincoln reaches out and brushes the goose egg on my head.
“What happened?” he asks gently, his fingers carefully probing the shape of the lump.
My hands fly to my knees to soothe away the pain, and I feel the wet, warm liquid running down them.
“Oakley Ann, what the fuck happened?”
All of the happiness is gone.
Jewels interrupts. “She told me a wiener dog chased her and she fell.”
Looking up, I see my three friends with their hands folded over their chests waiting for answers.
“Truth now,” Lincoln demands.
Turning to face him, I grab his hand. “I was walking here, and about three blocks away a truck pulled up to me, and Monica was in the passenger seat.”
“And?” Lincoln prompts, his brows lowering menacingly.
“And she was saying nasty things about me. I just kept walking, but she kept attacking me, so I told her to leave me alone. The next thing I know, a beer bottle hit me in the head, and I fell. Then I ran to the game so I wouldn’t be late, but Jewels picked me up before I got here.”
“Color?” Heath’s voice sounds like a wolf about to attack.
“Color of what?” I ask.
“What color was the truck?”
“It was a light silver,” I whisper.
“That motherfucker,” both men roar. I glance between them, but quickly look away from the anger evident in their faces.
“Take Oakley home, Jewels,” Lincoln orders.
He picks me up off the tailgate, sets me down, and then kisses my lips in a hurry.
“Stop, what are you doing?” I ask him, grabbing his arm.
“I’m going to kick the prick’s ass who just sat there and watched while Monica did that to you.”
“No, stop!” I’m frantic. I can’t let him do what he’s planning.
Heath steps up. “It’s okay, Oakley. I’m gonna kick the cocksucker’s ass.”
“Please don’t leave me, Lincoln.”
My words are having no effect. “Go. Go with Jewels.”
“Please,” I plead again.
Lincoln walks straight to me and grabs my face in his hands. His voice is heavy with determination and eerily calm. “I will not let anyone treat you this way. I don’t care who the fuck it is. Nobody is going to hurt you. Your begging and pleading isn’t going to stop me from leaving to defend your honor. Trust me when I say Paul will never be able to drive a truck again.”
This time Lincoln walks away, and I’m stunned from his words. Nobody has ever fought this hard when I’ve been abused or wronged. Part of me is cheering for him to go kick the driver’s ass, and the other is scared to death of the outcome.
***
“That’s his truck,” I say about two hours later.
Jewels and I have been huddled together on my bed, trying to watch T.V. and waiting on the men. I can hear Lincoln’s truck from blocks away; I’ve memorized the roar of his engine. It’s engrained in my memory.
Running out front to the sidewalk, I meet Lincoln and rush into his arms.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Are you in trouble?”
“No.”
“I love you, Lincoln Wilks.”
It leaves my lips before I realize it, and I don’t panic or even try to run. I simply repeat it again.
“I love you, Lincoln Wilks.”