Page 56 of The False Start (Off the Bench)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

LILA

B EEEP. BEEEP. BEEEP.

I groan, turning off the alarm blaring from my phone, though the cadence continues through the pounding of my head. I roll out of bed, nearly falling to the floor when my feet get tangled in the sheet, but I finally make it to the bathroom.

It’s not a pretty sight. I have drool crusted on my cheek, uneven, worn-off pink lip stain across my mouth, and smudged eyeliner that Ke$ha would be proud of. At least my curls from last night are still intact, even if it’s in a boho beachy, Serena from Gossip Girl way.

I’ll need to seriously step up my game if I’m going to keep up with the other women, even though most of them have the advantage of being in their mid-twenties, so they’re still able to process a hangover in one day, which helps.

Drunk me gave me a bit of a head start last night though, setting out a bottle of ibuprofen and another of Pedialyte right beside my water cup on the dresser. I take the pills and drink the entire glass of water before refilling it and drinking another half.

I let the water in the shower heat up as I order breakfast from room service, having missed the outrageous complimentary stations this morning in favor of sleep.

I step out, feeling not amazing but still much better with a clean face and a reduced headache as the ibuprofen kicks in.

I settle on a navy sweat set since I have several hours before game time, and sit on my bed, towel wrapped around my head, scrolling through my missed notifications as I wait for my food.

Maggie

Hope you’re feeling okay this morning, I knew those last two drinks were a mistake.

If I don’t hear from you by one, I’m coming to get you.

I check the clock and it’s barely eleven, but I text her anyway.

I’m alive, don’t worry.

Her response is instantaneous.

Maggie

Oh great. How ya feeling?

Hungover

But fine, just showered and ordered food.

The knock at my door speaks to the arrival of said food.

I grab the tray from the server, handing him a ten-dollar bill, and open the lids on the dishes to reveal a bowl of fruit and wheat toast. I take a piece of toast and go through the rest of my messages, sending an extra to Cal for good luck since they start warm-ups in only a couple hours.

I savor the iced coffee, feeling more refreshed by the minute.

Dad

Want to meet for lunch? Just us. There’s a diner with good Yelp reviews a few blocks over.

Yeah, I need like an hour though. I just got out of the shower.

I’ll meet you in the lobby.

Fifty-five minutes later, I’m sitting in the hotel lobby, my hair dry and straight down my back with my face mostly bare save for sunscreen, dressed in jean shorts and an Avalanche T-shirt. I probably won’t get recognized, but if I do, I should wear something team oriented.

Dad steps off the elevator wearing a vintage Avalanche tee and smiles as he sees me waiting for him.

“Ready?”

I stand. “Yep. Did you get settled in okay last night?”

“Oh yeah. Alex is still worried about Kayla, but he caught sight of some players on the news out and about so he’s spending the day camping out by the training facility until it’s time to head over to the field.”

I roll my eyes as he holds the door open for me.

“I wanted to have lunch just the two of us anyway though.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for a moment as if he’s choosing the exact right words.

“I wanted to talk about Christmas.”

I feel the burn of my coffee in the back of my throat.

“No, Dad. I don’t want to?—”

“I want to apologize.”

I blink at him shocked. “What?”

“I want to apologize. What your mom said was out of line, but I won’t apologize for her.

You two have your own relationship, you can work it out if you want to.

” He takes a deep breath through his nose, closing his eyes for the duration of the inhale and when he opens them to meet mine, they’re lined with silver.

“But you’re my daughter Lila. You made me a father.

You’re one of the most important people in the world through my eyes, and I’m supposed to protect you. I failed.”

“Dad, you didn’t—" My voice comes out choked, and I have to stop to clear my throat.

“I did. You were hurt, right there in front of me, and I did nothing. Hell, I even likely contributed, and I’m sorry.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too, Lila, and I hope you can forgive me for the role I played.”

“Of course I forgive you.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around his middle.

He ruffles my hair like he used to, and we head into the small diner together, my heart lighter than it’s been in years.

The diner is everything I’d hoped for, with beer-battered fries and flavor-filled smash burgers. A comfortable sense of déjà vu comes over me as my dad chats happily about the new book he’s been reading, an epic science fiction world he found at the library last weekend.

Alex meets us in the lobby once we’re back, his face pink and voice hoarse from cheering with the crowd.

“Did you see anyone?” my dad asks, shaking his head.

“Just some of the staff, but no players.”

“They’re kind of intentionally hiding,” I say, pressing the button for the elevators.

“Why?”

I roll my eyes at his absolutely devastated face.

“Are you kidding? It’s annoying and hugely invasive to wait outside the facility like that.”

“But we’re just cheering them on.”

“Half of you are. The other half are jeering.”

“Well, but it’s important,” he argues, confused.

I hold the doors open as they ding for my floor. “It’s really not. I know it’s exciting, but at the end of the day it’s just a game.”

I step out of the elevator, ignoring his flabbergasted expression.

“See you at 4:30.” Dad says as the elevator doors close, and I nod.

My mascara keeps clumping, and I swear to God I’m going to lose it. But if I cry, I’ll ruin the rest of my makeup too—the painstaking blending that went into a daytime smokey eye courtesy of several year-old Jaclyn Hill tutorials. I cannot cry today.

This is Cal’s day. He’s playing in the fucking Super Bowl, and my only job is to cheer him on. That, and hopefully not look like a drowned raccoon on the Jumbotron or in front of millions of people watching at home.

I take a deep breath and clean off the wand with micellar water, wiping it dry and brush out the lashes clumped together. It’s not professionally done, but it’s passable and that’s really the goal at this point. Maybe I can just wear sunglasses the whole time, and no one will notice.

It’s 4:30 on the dot when I leave my hotel room, dressed in a one-of-a-kind dress I bought from an Etsy shop. It’s made from one of Cal’s jerseys pieced together and paired with my trusted leather booties. My dad and Alex are waiting in the lobby for me, both wearing Avalanche jerseys.

“Ready?” I ask, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

They stand, and together we walk toward the stadium, funneling in with the hundreds of others going early to the game to see warm-ups.

We circle the stadium to find our private entry and find Colton waiting at the door. I scan our tickets, the stadium employees directing us up to the suite level and toward our box. We’re the first to arrive, which I’m immediately grateful for when Alex squeals at the spread of food available.

“Alex, don’t be such a boy,” I scold, rolling my eyes but I can’t keep the smirk off my face.

“Lila, I know you’ve been in and out of suites all season. But I’ve never been in a box. And this is the Super Bowl! I’m not just excited, I’m fucking pumped .”

I open my mouth to reply and just sigh, pouring myself a drink from the shelf of liquor along the back wall. He’s right, it is exciting.

I settle into a seat in the front row and search the field of players below for number eighty-five, a strange feeling washing over me as he runs drills with the other players.

“You know if you fog up the glass drooling over your man the rest of us won’t be able to see,” Alex jokes as he takes the seat next to me, his plate piled high with chicken fingers. I snatch one from the top and bite into it.

“Hey,” he protests.

“I’m the reason you’re here,” I sing-song back at him. My dad chuckles as he sits down on Alex’s other side.

“How’s Kayla?” I ask, polishing off the tender.

“She’s good. She and your mom took a walk today up to the park and back, but no contractions or anything yet.”

“You know she’s only thirty-six weeks, right? She’s not like ready to pop any minute.”

“The doctor said it could be anytime now,” he says defensively.

“If that baby is anything like his mother, he’ll be too stubborn to come out before both his parents are solidly in the same state, don’t worry,” Dad says, effectively ending the argument before it could begin.

The suite door opens, and Maggie’s platinum blonde head pops in.

“Lila?”

“Down here,” I call, standing and waving her over.

“Oh, thank God. Soldier Field is so much easier to figure out.”

“You can’t possibly mean that. Have you ever tried to leave an event with thirty-thousand people all trying to make it through the one tunnel under Lake Shore Drive?”

She snorts. “Fair enough. What are you drinking?”

I nod to the bar. “Whatever you want.”

She makes us both a drink and plops down on the other side of me, handing me a cup with a chocolate chip cookie balanced on the top. Colton slides into a seat behind us, his own plate filled with food from the buffet.

“Do you see him anywhere?” she asks, scanning the field.

I point to Theo, standing near Cal in the end zone.

“Hmm.” She purses her lips but doesn’t say anything, almost as if it wasn’t her brother she was looking for.

I narrow my eyes at her, but drop it for now, turning back as the players start another round of stretches.

Over the next hour, the suite fills with other players’ families. Blaze’s mother sits next to Maggie, an act that, for whatever reason, has Maggie looking terrified.