When I Need You (Need You #4)

After I’d finished practice, and before the press conference, Rowan’s friend Daisy cornered me outside the locker room. At first when she’d told me what had happened to Rowan the night before, I hadn’t believed her. Why would Rowan keep something like that from me?

Because she knew how I’d react. I’d do exactly what I did; hauled ass into the business office, demanded a meeting with Brian, and the cheer coach, and the sports liaison, and the highest-ranking management person in the building. Then I delivered an ultimatum: Reinstate Rowan Michaels and table the investigation, or I’d cause a PR nightmare the likes of which they’d never seen. One day before the first game of the preseason. In the billion-dollar stadium.

But it had worked.

Rowan would be on the sidelines today when we played. Where she belonged.

Today was the day. A day of firsts, of new beginnings.

It was hard to process it all. So I didn’t dissect it.

I fucking embraced it.

The sights—a sea of purple, gold and white in the stands.

The sounds—one of the best sound systems in the world combined with the noise of our fans? Twelfth man didn’t have nothin’ on us today.

The scents—nothing beat the scent of a brand-fucking-new stadium.

My team—pumped up like I’d never seen them.

The fans—giddy, crazy in the best way.

My family—loud and proud in the skybox.

The media—even it was on a “Twin Cities Proud” high.

Rowan’s family—I’d scored them tickets in the section where Rowan cheered.

I was antsy in the tunnel, we all were. Waiting for that moment, after the sound of the Gjallarhorn, when we rushed the field, felt the electricity, the anticipation, the love for what we could do, for being part of a long-running history, for making history.

And then it was on.

We were on.

I didn’t get close to Rowan as we rushed by en masse, but I noticed her.

All of the pomp and circumstance remained during the preseason. This exhibition game didn’t “count” but for me, it was the most important game I’d play all year.

I drifted into that place where I heard the coaches, I heard the calls, I heard the crowd, but everything else faded when I hit that field.

The smash. The crunch. The trash-talking. The sweat in my helmet. The digging of my cleats into the turf. Hand on the ground. Ear to the call, brain on the play and eyes on the man standing opposite of me who gets paid a fuck ton of money to stop me.

Try and stop me, motherfucker. We own today.

When it got down to the wire, my fellow tight end Rudolph caught the first pass in the new stadium. That honor would stand until next month when the regular season started.

After the Chargers failed in their attempts to put any points on the scoreboard, the offense was back on the field. I blocked and kept blocking. I’d yet to even get my hand on the ball. Then the QB called the play I’d been hoping for.

I moved from the outside right to the outside left.

Followed the count, heard the snap and booked it around the far outside left and a sluggish middle linebacker. I turned just as the ball hit me right in the numbers.

Pickup of five yards.

I heard my name over the sound system, but I forced myself to tune out.

We marched down the field, a few yards here, a few yards there, taking it one down at a time. Finally I kicked in that burst of speed and ended up with a gain of twenty yards.

First and ten on the thirteen-yard line. This time I had double coverage so the running back took it all the way to the end zone.

We were up by fourteen at halftime and elated, visions of the Lombardi trophy taking a place of reverence in our new stadium spurring us on.

In the third quarter, the QB called the play that put me to the left outside again. But this time the double coverage would be on the running back. Leaving me in the clear if I could get to the spot . . . turn, watch, jump and pull it in.

Which I did. Textbook.

With nineteen yards to go, I watched for the signal the QB had for a running play. But he gave the call for a three-man blitz. One of us on each side, one up the middle.

It seemed I was in the end zone before the outside linebacker knew I’d schooled him. I dodged an aggressive cornerback and watched as the QB looked to me and the two wide receivers.

Then back to me.

I ran to the right a few steps—my cornerback shadow followed. Then I pivoted to the left, shuffled backward and leapt into the air.

The ball was too high; it’d just graze my fingertips. At the moment I saw it slipping through my hand I threw my left shoulder higher and spread my fingers into the shape of a starfish. The ball smacked my palm; I brought it down one-handed, tucking it into my gut, protecting it all the way until I hit the turf.

The stadium erupted.

I heard the distinctive sound of a rocket blast off through the speakers, a sound that had been mine alone whenever I made a touchdown.

My teammates helped me up and clapped me on the back with enough force to knock the damn wind out of me. I skipped the celebratory dance in the end zone. Keeping the game ball was enough for me.

But I needed someone to keep it safe. And I saw her on the sideline. Red hair shining in the sun, leg straight up as part of the kick line.

I ran toward Rowan with the speed I was known for. So I made damn good time.

The other cheerleaders backed away and I could almost feel the puzzlement pulsing in the crowd.

I set the ball at Rowan’s booted feet. I tore off my helmet. Then I grabbed her and kissed the hell out of her.

Murmurs in the crowd got louder and turned into a deafening roar.

When I broke the kiss I rested my forehead to hers.

“Jensen, what have you done?”

“Pretty sure I declared love and war at the same time.”

She laughed.

I kissed her again, picked up my helmet and waved to the crowd as I took my place on the sidelines.

? ? ?


Nothing that happened the last quarter compared to the third quarter, so even my time on the turf was a blur.

We won the game. Big thing to notch that W in our first game in our new stadium in front of a sold-out crowd of hometown football fans.

I thought my teammates would harass me endlessly about my game ball presentation to Rowan, but they all steered clear of me.

Coach gave his spiel, his shout-outs, his warning to the defense that they’d be watching the game tapes, and ended our postgame pep talk. Then he singled me out. “Rocket. Media room. Fifteen minutes.”

Dante was waiting for me, after I got out of the shower.

“Please tell me you’re aware of the can of worms you just opened.”

“I want to know which worm outed Rowan as my girlfriend.” I glared at him and reached for my clothes. “Did you have a part in that?”