Page 17 of The Wrong Game

“I’m here for a good time, just like you. Okay? You hold the reins. Whatever you want to talk about, we talk about. Whatever youdon’t?”He shrugged. “Well, then, we don’t. You’re in control here.”

A heavy, relieved sigh left my chest. He had no idea what those words meant to me, how they triggered me in all the right ways.

And yet, somehow, maybe he did.

I am in control, I repeated, and then, I smiled.

Because with those words? All the nerves were gone.

And the game had just begun.

“ARE YOU KIDDING?! OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES, REF!”

Zach’s brows shot up at my outburst, and I swiped my beer from where it was resting in the cup holder, taking a big swig and slamming it back down again.

“Ridiculous, this guy is blind.” I turned to Zach for confirmation of my obviously correct assessment, and he just laughed, tossing a kernel of popcorn in his mouth.

“This is amazing to watch,” he said.

“The game?”

“You.Watchingthe game.”

I flushed, fighting back a smile as I brought my attention to the field for the next play. We were down by three, and less than two minutes away from half time.

And still, even with us being down and the refs being blind, I was having fun.

Maybe it was the beer helping my nerves, or maybe it was Zach. From the moment we sat down, we’d talked, and laughed, and cheered, and — when the occasion was right — boo’d together in solidarity. We were high-fiving all the fans around us when we scored, singing the lyrics to “Bear Down” at the top of our lungs, and talking smack about the other team to anyone not wearing a Bears jersey.

Zach Bowen was the perfect football buddy.

But as comfortable as he’d somehow made me, he still couldn’t make our team win. They had to do that on their own. With less than two minutes to go before halftime, we needed to score, and the ref calling holding on us wasn’t helping.

Steepling my fingers together over my lips, I focused on the play, heart thundering.

“This part always makes me so nervous,” the woman next to me said, mirroring my stance. She was at least twenty years older than me, judging by the touch of gray in her hair and the life lines etched into her face. We’d shared a few high-fives throughout the game, and now, we were sharing our mini-heart attacks.

“Me, too. I think it’s even worse being here at the game instead of on my couch or at a bar.”

She laughed at that. “Roy and I have been season pass holders for twenty-two years now, and I’ll tell you this — the excitement never fades, but neither does the anxiety.”

Zach leaned over me then, smiling at the woman. “Twenty-two years? That’s incredible.”

“What can I say, we’re diehard fans.”

“Even in 2016,” her husband chimed in, just as the ball was snapped. He was a little shorter than her, and a little pudgier, too. Still, they shared a secretive smile, one that said spoke more than words could. It was a smile only years of love could breed.

Zach and I chuckled a bit at her husband’s joke, but then all eyes were on the field. We ran the ball, breaking through the Bills’ defensive line enough to move the chains.

First down.

Our section cheered as the guys lined up for another play, but before the ball could be snapped again, the Bills called a time-out.

“I’m Janet, by the way,” the woman said as the big screens filled with updates on the other games going on around the country.

I shook her hand first before she reached for Zach, and Roy waved over at us from his seat, still frowning as he watched the screen. It reminded me a little of how my grandpa used to watch football when I was younger — with a permanent scowl.

“Nice to meet you guys,” I said.