Coach offers his hand and I shake, keeping my thoughts to myself as I head back to my locker. I can see the questions in the eyes of my teammates still, but I have put a plan in motion, and I'm not going to stop it no matter what.
The second half is a turkey shoot, and by the end I match my career highs in yardage, touchdown passes, and best of all, the Fighters win seventy to twenty-one. I cross the field to shake hands with the BC players, even Chris Liu, who played hard but was contained in the loss. “Good game, Tyler.”
“Chris. You played hard. We just had it today.”
He nods, and we go our separate ways. The field is ours right now, although out of respect for the BC team, I avoid stepping on their logo for the next part of my plan. I see April and pull her into a hug, careful not to crush her with my pads. “I missed you.”
“It was one night, and the way you lit it up today, I should leave you alone more often,” she teases, hugging me back. “Tyler . . . about that . . .”
I shake my head and take her hand. “Hold off on what you've got to say for five minutes, okay? Trust me, just five minutes.”
April's uncertain, but she nods slowly after looking in my eyes, and I give her a reassuring smile. “No matter what, I love you, okay?”
“Okay,” she says with more heart than before, and I hold her hand while I look for the GM and Coach. Blanchard’s giving a quick interview to some television people while the GM is right behind him, his eyes flickering over to me while I come over with April.
“Coach, great game,” I congratulate him. “I'll never forget this one.”
“Tyler, like I said at halftime, it's been an honor.”
The camera crew has turned the cameras to me now, and I couldn't set it up any more perfectly if I'd planned it. “Actually Coach, the honor is mine. Mr. Larroquette, do you have a pen on you?”
“Ah . . . sure,” the GM says. “What for?”
“For this,” I say, reaching into my helmet. I'd gone back into the team offices Thursday before packing, grabbing the paper that I pulled out now, wrapped in the sandwich baggie that I'd used to keep it protected from the sweat that soaks my hair. “This is the paper you showed me the other day in your office.”
I unwrap the paper, and spread it out on the side of my helmet. Uncapping the pen, I scribbled my signature on the line, and hand it to him. “I'm a Fighter for the next five years, Mr. Larroquette. Please inform Baltimore that I'm turning down their offer.”
There's a stunned silence as I hold the paper out to him, but the first person to break it is April, who sort of squeals before wrapping me up in a hug. “Really?”
I hug her back, not caring for the moment what anyone else is seeing or thinking. “Really. I love you, and I won't leave you even if they offered me ten million dollars a season. They could offer me ten million a game and I won't leave your side.”
I lift her up, kissing her gently, losing myself in the sensation of her lips on mine. When I set her down, she's crying, and I think I might be too, although you can't tell with the sweat. “So, what did you want to talk to me about?”
April laughs and shakes her head. “Absolutely nothing at all . . . except that I love you, and I'll go anywhere with you.”
“Then let's go home, because I want to celebrate.”
“Go get a shower,” April says, smiling and patting my chest. “We'll discuss the details when the cameras aren't on.”
I turn and see that the camera crew is still filming, and that I'm surrounded by teammates and other team personnel, and it's my turn to feel hot and turn bright red. “Okay, good point. Uh guys, I'm calling dibs on the shower.”
“Like hell!” someone calls, and suddenly, there's a stampede toward the showers, and I'm left with just Coach, Mr. Larroquette, and April. Even the camera crew is making their way off, and I shake my head.
“I guess I should have waited until I had a head start before saying anything.”
Coach chuckles and shakes his head. “Wouldn't have mattered. After that little show, you know the press conference afterward is going to have at least a dozen questions for you.”
“Oh yeah . . . the press conference.”
April pats my chest lovingly and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “It doesn't matter, I'll wait for you.”
I'm in the shower in fact when Coach comes in, his face concerned. “Tyler . . . forget the press conference.”
I run my hand through my hair and shake the water out of my eyes, concerned. “What's wrong?”
“April just got a phone call from the hospice . . . her father.”
I rush out of the shower and run across the locker room, rubbing my towel over my body so fast and hard that I'm bright pink as I yank my underwear, team pants and t-shirt over my head. A few of the guys are still getting dressed, but I ignore them all as I leave the locker room to find April in the hallway, crying silently. “April . . . oh baby . . . I'm so sorry. Is he?”