Chapter 26

CHAPTER 26

AVA

By the time I see Jett's text, the team is already at the hotel, checked in to prepare for their game with the Nashville Blues, their division rivals.

My heart pounds at his simple words, and heat rushes through me to receive the first text from him since the night we broke up. I want to rush over to the hotel and beg to talk to him. My need to see him is hard to push back, as hard as remembering that just because he understands why I was against Hayden, doesn't mean that everything is forgiven between us.

I send a simple Thank you , but I leave it at that. This isn't a conversation for texting, and I don't want to have it over the phone. I can't go to the hotel, because tonight he needs to focus. In his five years with the Pumas, they've never beaten the Blues, despite some heartbreakingly close games. It's one of the biggest rivalries in the league. Jett's been starting quarterback for three of the losses, but I know how badly he must want this. I can only hope that Hayden's antics haven't taken him off his game too much.

I text Kristen to give her an update on the situation. It feels weird to keep her in the loop about everything when I'm normally pretty independent in my planning, only keeping her up-to-date in monthly staff meetings. But with the Rutledge account possibly on the line, I don't want to give Kristen any reason to doubt me.

Ava: The guest I was worried about posted some unflattering things about Gabriella this morning. Her people have the response handled. Shouldn't be any negative blowback on the event.

Her response comes in so quickly it's a little unnerving.

Kristen : Thanks for the update. Let me know if you need any more resources. Let's make sure this goes off without a hitch. We're in the home stretch! Two weeks and counting.

She adds a crossing-fingers emoji that makes my stomach clench. I don't need more reminders that this wedding needs to be perfect.

I end up at Gabriella's apartment on Saturday night. She's antsy after what went down with Hayden and nervous for Colby and this game. She shows me the post Dalton helped her come up with. Hayden's not mentioned at all. It's a rebuttal, but classier. She posted about her commitment to the best education for children, emphasizing some depressing stats for minority children in Texas, and promising that supporting parents without diminishing that education is her top priority. I've read the brilliant post multiple times, but I beam over it once more for Gabriella, telling her how perfect it is.

True to her form, Hayden comments on Gabriella's post with a laughing emoji .

"Wonder what Jett's going to do for a plus-one now," Gabriella says too innocently.

I can't help a snort of laughter. "Gabriella. You're not serious, right?"

"Well, he's definitely not taking her. Colby said she told him not to bother coming over to talk about it. That she and I had competing goals and it would always be that way. He ended up breaking up with her over the phone." Gabriella sets down the giant Diet Dr. Pepper she's been sipping from on the counter. No wonder she's so amped.

I lean my elbows on the counter. "What do you think that means, competing goals? That she's going to get into politics too?"

"She already kind of is, isn't she?" Gabriella pulls up Instagram and scrolls down Hayden's profile to a picture of her with Councilwoman Wilcox. "They're basically besties."

I hold up my water bottle pointedly at Gabriella and she rolls her eyes. "Well, Hayden's not very smart," I say. "Jett liked her. If she'd played her cards right, she could've gotten a football husband out of the deal and used him far better than this petty little post was worth."

Gabriella chuckles and shakes her head. "Jett would have seen the real her eventually."

I tilt my head. "But maybe she really is sweet in person and her claws only come out online. I know plenty of people like that."

"Based on what Jett said to Colby about his phone call with her, the claws came out then too." She takes a long drink of her soda, which I think might be magically refilling. Despite how much she's drunk, it still seems full. She has a little smile on her face that says she knows more than she's saying. And her being obvious about it says she wants me to ask.

"What?" Of course I give in. I want the details of what happened between Jett and Hayden, for better or worse.

She spills without any cajoling necessary. "Colby said Jett told him he was already starting to wonder why it wasn't more than ‘like' with her, even after a few weeks." Her look is knowing.

"I don't think that means what you think it means." I shake my head at her.

She puts a hand on mine. "Ava. He still has feelings for you. No one hangs on to hurt that long without hanging on to the love too."

I pat her hand and don't answer, then get up. "Seriously, Gabriella, throw out that soda. You're never going to sleep tonight." I head for her bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, Jett on my mind despite my outward dismissal of Gabriella's words.

"Like I'm going to sleep tonight anyway!" she calls after me.

I scrub at my teeth harder than I should, like I can scrub out the awful relief I feel that Jett broke up with Hayden. I never wanted him to be hurt, and I pray that I'm relieved because Gabriella's right—he would have seen it sometime down the road, maybe long enough to cause some serious damage to his heart. I could never want that for him.

I have a text from Dalton when I slip into the guest bed at Gabriella's apartment. I cringe as I realize that while I'm smiling, my reaction to receiving his text is nothing like getting one from Jett. Maybe having to be around Jett more often is a good reason to stay out of Gabriella's campaign. With this proximity, I'll never give up hope and move on. That can't be healthy.

Dalton : Guess you were right about Hayden Reid.

He adds a wide-eyed emoji.

Ava: I didn't like being right about this. Jett liked her.

The dots dance around on Dalton's screen for what feels like a long time before a too-short text finally comes through .

Dalton: Did they break up?

I shouldn't be laughing at how long it took him to decide that was the best text to send. I want to know what other versions he considered. But he has every right to ponder this news carefully. When he asked me about Jett yesterday, Hayden was one of the reasons I told Dalton he didn't need to worry. She disappeared quickly—in part, thanks to me. And my brain keeps reminding me that means Jett is available, even though that point is likely useless.

Ava: They did.

Dalton: That's too bad.

Ava: Are we still going to be on for dinner?

Dalton is the better choice for my heart, and I do like him.

He sends a laughing emoji and then a message.

Dalton: Planning on it.

He adds a thumbs-up.

I won't blame him for taking things slowly with us. Considering how much I've thought about Jett's text and what it means, I don't even know where my heart is right now. The last thing I want to do is hurt Dalton.

By the time I get up the next morning, I'm a bundle of nerves and I can't explain where they've come from. I've watched Jett play over the last several years. I couldn't help myself in college, and now he plays for my hometown team, the team I grew up cheering for. Of course I've watched. That one text, where he apologized for not trusting me, has somehow shifted everything. It's not tangible, not something I can put to words, but it's there. Maybe because part of me wants to believe this could lead to trusting that I might've been right on other things, like leaving him in order to save his career.

It's chillier today, so I bring a lightweight Pumas hoodie to wear with a pair of distressed jeans and tennis shoes. I throw a beanie into my bag, just in case, but the sun is shining, so I probably won't need it.

Neither Gabriella nor I talk on the way to the game, beyond a little chitchat. We're in our seats by eleven a.m., almost an hour before the game starts with plenty of time for my anxiety to build as we sit and wait. The day is already getting warmer. I might not even need the hoodie by the time the game is over.

Today our seats are only a couple of rows up. With about twenty minutes left before the game starts, Colby motions to Gabriella and she heads down to the railing. He reaches up from where he stands below her and takes her hands in his. They bow their heads and pray together. The nerves make me emotional over it. They're so right for each other. My gaze finds Jett because it reminds me of those same kinds of moments between us before his games. He's watching them too, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and after a moment, his eyes meet mine.

I smile confidently at him and mouth, You've got this . Then I put my hands together in a prayer pose and nod at him. He's grinning by the time he turns away. My cheeks are heated, my brain spinning again at what that grin means. I look around us, trying to distract myself from those thoughts by watching the fans. Is Jett's family nearby? Devin, Jenna, and Jett's dad will be here, for sure. Since it's a Blues game, will his mom come? She was never a fervent fan. I don't see them, so maybe they're up in the boxes. I focus on all the reasons they might choose box seats today, to keep my thoughts in check, like maybe they brought the kids and it's easier to keep them entertained up there. Or maybe Miss Maggie came. But once my brain has quickly exhausted the logical questions, it slips into daydreams of what it would be like to have gone down to pray with him, like Gabriella did with Colby. To hold his hand before such a big game and give him a kiss for good luck. To fall asleep next to him tonight, after he's won, of course, and smile as he recounts all the great plays.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Heaven help me; I don't know if I'll ever be over him.

There's been a spark of hope since the night of my allergic reaction that maybe we could have a second chance. I've tried to stomp out that spark, to keep my heart safe, convince myself that's a foolish dream. That spark has started a small fire of hope since his text last night, and I hurry to try and put this out too. Saying he was sorry for not trusting me probably just means about Hayden—definitely not about everything . I need to remember that.

We can finally be friends, I tell myself. And that's okay.

Mostly okay.

The game is as intense as Gabriella and I suspected it would be. The teams go back and forth, the Pumas scoring a hard-fought-for touchdown, then the Blues coming back and answering with one of their own. Jett is playing so well, but the Blues' defense has a line on him. They seem to thwart every great play with spectacular defensive plays.

In the final minutes of the game, it's tied fourteen to fourteen, and the Pumas' first break comes when the Blues get down to the red zone and the Pumas' defense holds them to a field goal and then blocks it. The team goes wild on the sideline, and even Jett, who was sitting with his head down minutes before, trying to get into a chill zone, is pumping his fist into the air. The Pumas have five minutes to score and end the game. As the offense prepares to take the field, Jett jogs out alongside Colby. Colby puts his arm around him, and Gabriella reaches over to take my hand .

"They can totally do this," she says.

I nod. My heart is beating double-time, and the last time I remember being this nervous in a game was during the state championship Jett's senior year.

The Pumas fight their way down the field, only to get caught in a fourth-and-ten situation at the twenty-five. I suck in a breath when the coach sends Jett and the offense back onto the field after their final timeout. The place kicker got hurt in the third quarter, and they must not trust the backup. They're going for it.

Of course it's a passing play, and although the offensive line fights their hearts out to keep Jett protected, he's losing time and every receiver is covered. I can sense his panic as he's getting backed up, and when he throws the pass to Colby, I almost cry out.

The Blues defender intercepts the pass on the two-yard line, but Colby drags him down before he can go anywhere.

I let out a long breath. "It's okay, Jett," I murmur.

They're on the three-yard line with only fifteen seconds. In terms of something going wrong, this turned out okay. We'll go into overtime.

But Jett and the rest of the offense, not to mention the defense, look gassed. It's been a tough, gritty game.

The Blues score first in overtime, kicking a field goal and making it. The fans go wild for the Pumas' defense for not letting them score a touchdown. I'm not sure if I can watch Jett run out onto the field again. He has to be shaken after what happened at the end of the fourth quarter.

He's off, and it's obvious when he gets sacked on first down. Gabriella squeezes my shoulder, murmuring something in Spanish that I can't understand.

"It's fine. It's fine," I chant, mostly to myself. I also pray that somehow Jett can hear me.

And then his face turns toward the stands. I swallow. He must be looking at me. He has to be. Logically, it doesn't make sense. His family is probably all here. They wouldn't miss this game, and maybe I just didn't see that they were somewhere in the crowd around me when I scanned it before the game.

But I put my fist on my heart, the way I used to. I'm here, Jett.

He turns back. His pads rise and fall in a deep breath, and the crowd is near silent as Jett counts off. He passes for a first down, and Gabriella and I both jump up and down and scream.

The next play seems to happen in slow motion.

Jett passes to Colby, but instead of leading him so Colby can escape the defender sticking to him like glue, the pass comes up short. Colby turns to grab the ball, but the defender snatches it before Colby can reach it.

The air deflates from the stadium as a whole. The defender turns to run up the field.

Like before, Colby scrambles to tackle, chopping down hard on the defender's arms, doing anything he can to make him fumble.

Bless the heavens, it works.

The ball tumbles onto the field. A Pumas offensive lineman scoops it up, dragging two defenders into the end zone with him and scoring a Pumas touchdown to win the game.

My gaze goes to Jett. He's already jogging off the field, ignoring the celebrations of his teammates behind him. They won. They won! It's huge, but his stiff motions say he doesn't feel the joy the rest of the team does.

I clasp my hands together in front of my face, holding in my own emotion, even as the fans around me cheer in triumph. The refs reviewing the call dims no one's elation, and it erupts even louder when the refs confirm that the pass was complete—an interception—and that the fumble stands.

Jett sits on a bench, ignoring his teammates giving him comforting pats on the shoulders and then walking away when he doesn't respond. I can't sit here. I can't watch this emotional pain so evident in his features and not do anything. I hurry down the steps to the railing that separates us from the field and vault myself over .

Of course a security guard is at my side in seconds. "Ma'am, you can't be down here."

"I just need to talk to Jett. I'm … I'm his…" I don't want to lie, but they're not going to let his ex see him. Maybe not even if I was his wife. I'm not sure how many rules this is breaking.

"She's fine," a voice says, and then Colby has me by the elbow, escorting me through the players even though the security guard protests.

"Thanks," I say under my breath. I jog the rest of the way to Jett, coming to stand in front of him. He doesn't look up, so I plant myself right between his knees. "Hey," I say when his gaze finally raises to mine.

His expression is the worst. I swallow back emotion at how broken it looks, how much he's beating himself up. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him toward me. His arms come around my waist, and I lean over him. I know he doesn't want to hear that it's fine because they won. He doesn't want to hear that he fought hard in this game. He doesn't want to hear that everyone makes mistakes.

So I just whisper that I'm sorry and hold him closer. I melt into the way he clutches me, and I struggle to focus on him and not how much I miss him and I miss this. How normal this would be if I hadn't left all those years ago.

It seems like forever but not long enough before he stands up, keeping his hands on my waist. "Thanks, Ave," he whispers.

I reach up and brush some sweaty hair across his forehead. "J, you beat the Blues. You threw a touchdown pass, and you rushed one of your own. You. Beat. The. Blues. " I say the last one word at a time, making him hear me.

He laughs, soft at first and then it turns more genuine. He reaches down to hug me, lifting me off my feet. "We beat the Blues," he says, his voice finally holding the triumph it needs to. When he sets me down, he looks around at his team. He needs to congratulate them and let them comfort him too. "Celebration at my house tonight? I'll tell Colby. "

I'm leaning into him. I don't want this moment to end. I don't know what it even means. "I'll be there. No guac, though, so that'll put a damper on things."

Jett breaks into another laugh. "We'll survive it."

I stare up at him. "Yeah. We will."