Page 28 of The Last Person (Baker Girls #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

HARDY

Fun fact: winning the Super Bowl is hard.

We’re up against the same team we played last year, and like last year, it’s a fight. Thankfully, we’re fighting the other team this time, and not our own, but it’s possible we were a little too confident going in, and we’ve had our asses checked plenty of times.

I don’t want to say we were sure we’d win. One game at a time is our mantra, but we let how well we’ve done all season and the whispers about us having the odds at winning creep into the back of our minds. And as cocky-by-nature football players, it led to a touch of overconfidence.

But as we walk into the locker room at half-time, score tied at seventeen each, most of the team is worn down and losing faith.

We’ve had to fight and claw for every score we earned this game, and every time we got ahead, they evened things up in the next set of downs.

That kind of game takes a mental toll. One we can’t afford to have right now if we still want to win.

I’m not giving up hope. We’re still in this. If it’s up to me, we can and we fucking will bring it home, we just have to get our heads back in the game.

Brian and I made the decision not to tell anyone else on the team about us yet.

We’ve considered doing it after this if we win.

Maybe even if we lose. We were both honest enough to admit we want this win, and if keeping our relationship to ourselves these past few weeks helped us get here, it’s a small sacrifice.

Chet Collins is still acting like a little bitch. Sneering at us and saying we better hope we win this game.

Even though I want to punch his smug face, I have more sense than that.

We briefly spoke with Bianca in HR, and she gave the impression that we should wait this out. I hope she’s right about that because the second this game is over, I’m done hiding my relationship with Brian.

Come what may. Though I hate the idea of Brian retiring prematurely, I can see him sitting at a table in a beautiful garden writing poetry. Still, I want that to be his choice, when he’s ready, not something he’s forced into.

Coach stands in front of us, giving the big “you can do this” speech, and while it rejuvenates us a little, I can still see the team waning.

Glancing at Brian, he gives me a soft smile.

It’s Mark’s turn to stand up and give a speech, and that rouses everyone a little more.

Then Wendell stands. “It’s been a good season, boys.

I don’t have the same kind of speech for you that Coach and Mark did.

Do I believe we can do this? Yes. Are we going to have to work our asses off and fight?

Yes. And we will. We will. What I have to say to you is something a little more personal. Win or lose, tonight’s my last game.”

There are gasps and disappointed noises, but he keeps going.

“I made the decision to retire toward the beginning of the season, but I didn’t want to tell anyone and put the focus on me.

We win as a team and we lose as a team. I’m proud of how we’ve played this year.

I have no regrets over how this season has gone.

Do I want to win this game? Hell yes. I want to retire with a fresh Super Bowl ring and the knowledge that I went out on a high.

But even if we can’t win, I want us to go down swinging.

I want to know we gave it everything we had.

So, don’t go out there defeated. Don’t give up.

Don’t go out there to win. Go out there and play the best football you can, and let everything else happen as it’s meant to.

It has been an honor playing with you all, and I’m grateful to have you all on my side as I transition to what’s next.

” I swear he exchanges a small smile with Coach before he says, “I know it’ll be something great. ” He claps his hands. “Let’s do this.”

“Bandits on three,” Mark says. “One, two, three…”

“Bandits!” we yell together.

Wendell steps up next to me, and I clap his shoulder. “You found the right time.”

He nods. “And you will too.”

Brian walks over and extends his fist to me. “We’ve got this.”

I meet his eyes, and I know it’s not just the game. It’s everything. “We’ve got this.” I bump his fist. And with that last bit of reassurance, I’m ready to get back out there and win this game.

We’ve done what Wendell said. We’ve played our asses off. Unfortunately, so has the other team.

We’re down to the last minute of the game and the score is tied.

It’s the other team’s second down, and Mark and I watch from the sidelines as defense tries to hold them off so we don’t lose it in the last few seconds. No one likes overtime, but it’s better than losing like this.

The other team is just as desperate as we are, and they’ve thrown some janky passes that they happened to pull off, but not in this set of downs. They’ve barely made any progress.

My stomach is in knots watching. Not being on the field and in control is one of the hardest parts of the game, and replaying every tiny thing I could’ve done better only makes it worse.

The clock winds down again as they shift to their third down.

“Fuck, I’m crawling out of my skin,” Mark says.

We all went in on a box for the game. We’re not at our stadium but at one of the other NY team’s stadiums—neutral territory, though it feels more like ours because we have the home advantage in a way. The whole Baker Girls tribe is here, my family, Brian’s family, and a bunch of Mark’s family too.

“Me too. Sorry, I’m out of words of encouragement.”

The second the snap happens, everything turns to chaos. It’s hard to keep track of where everyone is and what’s happening. Our defense does a great job of making a pass next to impossible, until one of their players—probably one who wasn’t supposed to be free—waves to their QB.

I grab Mark’s arm, my stomach in my throat. It’s a bitch of a pass to make, but if they make it, there’s a strong chance they could win this game. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Oh my god,” Mark mutters. And it takes me a second to see what he sees, but when I do, my heart flies out of my chest. Sneaky as fuck like usual, Brian appears as if from nowhere and intercepts the pass.

“Holy shit. Holy shit.”

Then Brian’s running. No one was prepared for that, and as our defensemen shift to defending Brian, the other team scrambles to stop them.

But it happened too fast, and the crowd loses their fucking minds as Brian gets on a breakaway.

Holy fuck.

Mark and I run down the sideline, eyes on Brian the whole time as he sprints to the end zone unchallenged, and… touchdown!

With twelve seconds left on the clock, we won the game. Brian won us the fucking game.

Everyone is screaming and cheering, and the entire team rushes Brian, but fuck them. Fuck them. He’s mine.

I charge onto the field, shoving everyone out of my way as I go. The only thing on my mind is getting to my man.

His head snaps up as I run toward him and jump into his arms, knocking his helmet off. And there, in front of 70,000 screaming fans, I kiss the love of my life.