45. Carter

45

CARTER

“Listen up, men,” Coach Palmer shouts to be heard over the crowd cheering wildly for what is about to be the final play of the game.

It doesn’t matter that Coach Owens called a time out, the spectators are hyped. Half of them won’t stop until a winner is decided. And the other half will only get louder once their team is officially declared the champion.

“It’s fourth down. They’re going to rush. Linemen, you know your matchups. Post up on those guys. Don’t give them an inch.”

“Yes, Coach,” the linemen reply.

“Linebackers,” he addresses me and the two other players who share my position, but his focus lands on me. “Prevent the runs. Stay in step with your players. Jones, you’re going to rush Polland.”

I steel myself for the task. Arizona’s quarterback is a slippery one, but I’m not going to let him get away from me. We’re too close to victory to fail now. “Yes, Coach.”

“Good.” Palmer nods. “All right, men. This is it. Hold them here and this game is over. Are you ready to be Super Bowl Champs?”

“Hell yeah!” We shout and clap. Anticipation hypes us up even more than the crowd.

“Then go give ‘em hell!” Palmer claps players on their shoulders, urging them back onto the field as the refs blow the whistle, signaling the end of the timeout.

I grab my helmet and jog to join my teammates, but not before I lock eyes with my defensive coordinator one last time. He dips his chin once. I sense his encouragement. I nod in return, then shove my helmet over my head and take my position on the field.

My body buzzes. The field is crystal clear as I take in the other team’s position. Two running backs are set close to the quarterback, trying to confuse us as to which could get the ball. Receivers are lined up closer to the sidelines, leaning forward. They’re ready to bolt the moment the ball is snapped.

I don’t know what play is coming, but I trust each of my teammates to stay with their man. If we execute our tasks, we won’t fail.

I zero in on the quarterback. Determination floods my entire body.

The refs blow the whistle to initiate the play clock.

This is it.

My heart beats hard in my chest, but it’s not distracting. It’s motivating. The organ works in time with each second that passes, providing the blood and oxygen my body needs to do what needs to be done.

I’m ready.

Polland’s eyes sweep the field. He calls to his center. “Hut. Hut. Forty-seven. Hut. Hike!”

The center snaps the ball.

I dig my feet into the turf and lunge forward.

An offensive lineman sees me coming. He tries to block me. I plant my hands on his chest and shove him to the side. Adrenaline makes it look like I’m batting a fly. I brush past him with a spin to avoid his outstretched hands trying to trip me up.

The quarterback is in my sights.

Polland holds the ball, ready to throw, but he doesn’t have anywhere to go. My teammates are covering his receivers. He glances my way. He’s running out of time.

Time slows.

My breaths exhale in sync with my footsteps.

I sprint towards the quarterback. My arms pump with effort. Then, I leap.

Pollard tries to escape my grip. He spins left, but I’m already on him.

We’re going down. But before Pollard hits the ground, he throws the ball in the air in a last-ditch attempt to not lose the game.

We hit the turf. I scramble to my feet and search the air for where the ball will land.

It seems to hang in the air for eternity.

The crowd holds a collective breath.

The ball begins to drop near the twenty-yard marker, close to the sideline. I can’t tell if it’s in bounds from this angle, but two Arizona players are there, ready to catch it.

I take off in that direction, determined not to let them make the play of the game.

Turns out, I don’t need to worry.

Deon Walters comes out of nowhere.

I watch in awe as my teammate jumps into the air, reaches out above the Arizona players’ heads, and snatches the ball right out from above them.

Deon clutches the ball to his chest and holds possession as he hits the ground.

The crowd erupts.

“LET’S GO!” I shout.

The refs blow the whistle. The game is over. We won.

The Rough Riders sideline rushes onto the field. Players on the field dogpile onto Deon. The young lineman gets up and holds the ball in the air with a victorious shout. The crowd goes wild.

Players run up to me, hugging and shoving me in celebration. The field is covered with people. I see players run up to Coach Owens and pour a cooler of water over his head.

This moment is surreal.

It feels like an out-of-body experience, especially when I look over to the Rough Riders sideline and immediately see my kids and Valerie jumping up and down in celebration. Confetti falls around them. Streamers fly across the air. The image is one that will be seared into my mind forever.

“Go get her, son.”

I whip my head around.

Coach Palmer stands at my side. He looks meaningfully towards his daughter then shouts to be heard above the crowd, “Not that you need it, but you have my approval.”

Even with all the noise around us, I hear the emotion clogging his throat.

I clear my own, as well. “Thanks, Coach.”

I jog to the sideline, pushing through the swarm of people who’ve overtaken the field. I will celebrate with my team again in a minute. First, I need to catch the beauty before she escapes me once more.

The twins see me first.

“Dad!” They cry in unison. I rip off my helmet, toss it to the ground, and kneel to catch them as they jump into my arms. I hug them fiercely, savoring this moment with the two most important people in my life. But my eyes are locked on a close third.

Call it the high from the win—call it the clarity that comes from adrenaline—whatever it is, I know now that I can’t let another day pass where I don’t confess the truth of how I feel about Valerie. Of how much I regret ending things between us.

It isn’t because she saved my daughter.

And it isn’t because I saw how she and my kids smiled and laughed on the sidelines anytime I looked their way during the second half of the game.

No, it’s because Valerie Palmer is, and always will be, the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.

Screw what anyone else thinks.

The only opinions that matter are mine, Valerie’s, and my kids’. And based on the way Abby and Andy have missed their former nanny these past months, I highly doubt they’ll protest us getting back together.

The twins step back as I get to my feet. They move to stand at my side as I stare at the beautiful woman in front of me—the one I’m determined to win back. No matter what it takes.

Valerie’s eyes widen as she takes in my heated expression. “Carter?”

I could lay my heart at her feet in a long, pretty speech. I could declare myself in front of my children.

But I have a better idea.

Not giving myself time to convince myself this is a bad idea, I stride forward and cup either side of her face.

Valerie’s eyes flare in surprise just before my lips descend on hers. I kiss her soundly, uncaring that I’m doing this in front of a raucous crowd. I barely register the encouraging cheers of those standing close by, witnessing this moment. All I care about is showing Valerie how much I missed her.

The noose that’s been wrapped around my heart unravels when she kisses me back.

Seconds later, I force myself to break the kiss. I search her face for what she’s feeling. Her lovely olive cheeks are tinted pink. Her lips are swollen.

“Wow.”

I crack a smile. “I hope that’s a good wow.” I slide my hands down to rest on her hips, thankful that she doesn’t immediately step out of my reach.

“It was a very good wow,” she murmurs back. Her eyes dart between mine, searching. “I’m just not sure I know what it means.”

Pretty speech it is.

“I want to get back together.”

She blinks. “You do?”

“More than fucking anything.”

“Language, Dad!” Andy chastises.

I glance at my son over my shoulder. “Sorry.” Both he and Abby are grinning. It makes me smile in return. My smile grows when I hear Valerie laugh.

I turn back around and I let all of my feelings show on my face. “I never should have ended things between us.”

“No,” she agrees. “You shouldn’t have.”

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I thought I was doing what was best for you.”

“You’re what’s best for me.”

Her words are a balm to my wounded soul.

My fingers flex where I grip her hips. “Will you be my girlfriend… again?” I shoot her a sheepish grin.

She tilts her head to the side in contemplation. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re okay with long distance.” She looks uncertain. “At least for a few months.”

My arms slip around her back. “I’d do one hundred months of long distance if that’s what it takes for you to be mine again.”

The corner of her mouth lifts into a haughty smirk. She rises on her toes and wraps her hands behind my neck. “I think you’ve got it bad for me, Carter Jones.”

I stare into her eyes and bring her closer to my chest. “Valerie Palmer, you have no fucking idea.” I seal the words with another kiss and reprimand from my children for my word choice.

For someone who felt like he barely had his shit together not even a year ago, things have sure turned around.

I have full custody of the twins. My co-parenting relationship with Laura is improving. And now I have the woman of my dreams back in my arms. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

“Carter Jones.”

A growl leaves my lips at the interruption, earning a giggle from Valerie.

Reluctantly, I lean back and stare stonily at the reporter shoving a microphone in my face.

Valerie lowers onto her heels, but she doesn’t step out of my arms.

“Carter,” the man continues unapologetically. “You and the Rough Riders just won the Super Bowl after one hell of a season.”

Oh, yeah… I did. Didn’t I?

“How do you plan to celebrate?”

I look back at Valerie and the twins.

“With my family.” I match my kids’ smiles and press another light kiss on Valerie’s lips. “How does that sound?” I ask her quietly.

Her eyes shine, but her smile is just as bright as mine. “That sounds great to me.”