Page 18 of Score to Settle (Oakwood Ranch #1)

Below, the Stormhawks win the coin toss and choose to receive the football first. They take their positions and I feel my pulse quicken as anticipation hangs in the air.

Winning their division and reaching the playoffs is nowhere close to secure, according to Jake.

This would be an important win, and Jake was feeling the pressure this morning.

He was in no mood to talk as we made our way to the airport.

I can’t see him being any more willing if they lose tonight.

I try not to worry. When Jake walked into the ranch last Friday, an hour late and reeking of women’s perfume, I never expected we’d make the kind of progress we have in just a week. Last night, we walked the perimeter of the lake and I asked him how he got into playing football.

In case you haven’t guessed by now, Mama is a big Stormhawks fan.

I think I always would’ve played football, but maybe not to the level I’ve reached.

But Mama threw us into youth football as a way to focus after Dad died.

He walked me over to the back football field and stared at it like it was the best view in the world.

She knew we needed a distraction and a focus—a way to channel our grief.

I don’t know if she planned for us to take it as far as we did, but I wouldn’t be surprised.

He pointed to the field. When we weren’t at practice, we were out here or we were watching games on TV.

I stopped myself asking how his dad had died. The baby-step approach has worked so far, asking two light questions and one that digs a little deeper.

A flurry of excited talk from the commentators blasts from the speakers as the Wildhorns kick the ball toward the Stormhawks and the seats around me fill.

Having some knowledge about the game definitely enhances the enjoyment factor, thanks to Jake’s continual tuition, filling our awkward silences this week with game play explanations.

The crowd’s energy is electric as the Stormhawks receive the kickoff and begin their first drive.

A moment later, the offense lines up for the first play.

The Stormhawks quarterback takes the snap and drops back, scanning the field for an open receiver.

But the Wildhorns’ defense is relentless.

In a flash, a defender breaks through, forcing him to release the ball too fast. The stadium gasps as the pass sails into the hands of a Wildhorns defender.

Just like that, they’ve taken over. A few plays later, they punch it in for a touchdown.

The extra point is good, sailing cleanly through the uprights.

The scoreboard reads 7-0, and my stomach knots as the stadium explodes with cheers.

The game is fierce and brutal. In the second quarter, the Wildhorns add three more points with a field goal, pushing their lead to 10–0.

The Stormhawks answer in the third with a field goal of their own.

Then a well-placed throw finds its target in the end zone, and we add the extra point to tie it at 10–10.

During the break before the last quarter, I watch Jake talking to his teammates down on the sideline. He’s focused and totally in his element. I’m starting to understand the draw of the game, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wince at every tackle. It’s hard to believe any player walks away uninjured.

I asked Jake as we walked to his truck this morning if there’s anything he can do to avoid injury. A wild look crossed his face. “Keep my cleats laced tight and my head in the game.”

“So that’s a no then,” I said.

“Hey, if you’ve got a nurse’s uniform in that suitcase of yours, Cassidy, I might be a little more inclined to get injured.” Such a typical Jake comment, using humor to hide his feelings. I shoved him and he staggered, pretending he was already hurt. “Nurse! I need a nurse!”

The teams take their positions for the start of the fourth quarter, the tension palpable. The Wildhorns offense strikes fast, breaking through the Stormhawks defense to score another touchdown. The kicker adds the extra point with ease. It’s 17-10 to the LA Wildhorns.

But on their next possession, the Stormhawks march down the field with precision, earning a touchdown too. The crowd holds its breath as the kicker steps up—and the extra point is good. It’s all tied at 17-17 with only minutes left on the clock.

Then it happens. Stormhawks have the ball, and suddenly Jake makes his move.

He finds space, and the quarterback throws a quick and accurate pass.

Jake catches it like it’s second nature before powering forward, putting the Stormhawks close to the end zone before he’s brought down by a defender.

The crowd erupts and me with it. I can’t believe how much I’ve learned from Jake about football this week and how excited I am.

As the team moves, I see Jake still on the ground and I gasp as the replay shows a late tackle from a Wildhorns defender, knocking Jake flying.

Play stops and so does my ability to draw in breath as a silence falls over the hospitality suite and the stadium.

I think of Dylan—more than a year into his recovery. My heart leaps into my throat. “Get up!” I whisper, surprised how much my heart is racing. How much I’m willing Jake to be OK.

Team medics race across the field as the seconds pass like hours.

On the big screen, I watch as Jake’s helmet is eased from his head.

There’s a trail of blood on his face. I stand, biting my lip, but a moment later he’s jumping to his feet and waving at the cheering Stormhawks fans with a confidence that takes my breath away.

On the next play, the Stormhawks score a touchdown to put them in the lead: 17-23. They score the extra point and the final whistle blows. The game is over. The Stormhawks have won.

Just before Jake turns to celebrate the win with his team, I swear he lifts his head and looks right at me, a teasing smirk dancing on his lips.

My face burns with heat and I’m sixteen all over again, watching him from those rickety bleachers the year before he left for college.

I can almost hear him telling me not to put the nurse’s uniform on just yet, and I laugh with relief and wonder how I’ll cope for the next four weeks when one game has me feeling like I was right there with him on the field, taking every tackle.