CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
KAYLA MARTIN
It’s an exciting game.
For the first time in a very long time, I went from working at The Ugly Duckling straight over to my dad’s place, by which I mean the Hungry Mallard, the bar he did actually run.
It seemed he was doing an excellent job, because it was busy for a late Thursday afternoon. The old dog still had a thing or two he could teach Gill about packing in the drinkers.
As I found my way to the bar, it became apparent what had drawn the crowd. The big screens were on with the sound turned up. Of course, there was a game on.
I ordered a bottle of beer and paid the unfamiliar staff member before asking after Barry Martin.
“He’s somewhere about.” The guy didn’t know me, of course. He glanced over his shoulder as if he expected my dad to be standing right beside him.
Helpful? At least I knew Dad was there at work, and I hadn’t turned up on his day off.
After running out at the family dinner, I needed to apologize in person. As soon as I walked away from Tyler, I sent Dad a text to say I’d slipped away as I hadn’t felt well and not to worry.
I turned to face the nearest screen, but I paid more attention to the crowd, searching through the faces for my elusive father. And for once, the game captured my attention.
It soon dawned on me that The Arlington Argonauts were in a bitter competition with their would-be rivals. And that was it; I was transfixed. Dad might have stood right in front of me, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
The game was in a tough spot for the boys. It was a tight game. The Argonauts were trailing 30-24 in the last quarter, the timer ticking down.
I looked on, feeling guilty at their predicament, wondering if they’d talked to one another and maybe this had driven a split in their team, making them fall behind.
Or perhaps there was some truth in the old wives’ tale and sex before games brought bad omens, or however it went. Sure, it may have been a bit of a few days earlier, but damn it, if they still felt the effects as I did. The intensity of it all still shook me.
Even as an outsider who only understood the game’s basics, watching the players work together was magic. The way they cooperated and anticipated each other’s next move was impressive. It was a bit like Becky and me working together in the kitchen: seamless and efficient. But was it good enough to triumph over their rivals?
My football-ese wasn’t up to scratch, but the team was more than fifty yards from their goal with mere minutes on the clock.
Ethan had the ball, and they had their shot.
With the pads and helmets, the only way I knew him was from the name on the back of his jersey, plus the camera zoomed in to give a close-up shot of his eyes—ditto for Tyler and the twins.
They huddled, they broke, they took their lines for their play.
“Ethan Paulson, looking confident,” the commentator sounded excited as he spoke in that tone that almost predicted what would happen next. “I wonder if we’re seeing the signature Reed Run play.”
The lines broke, Tyler rushed down the field, faster than any man I’d ever seen in full pads.
The twins quickly barged through their coverage, but the other team wasn’t distracted. The Argonaut’s opponents rushed from all directions right toward Tyler.
In a flash, the players were on him, colliding with him and crushing him to the ground.
I winced as they dogpiled onto him.
That’s gotta hurt.
I wasn’t the only one to think something like that, judging by the low sound of grumbling around me.
“That’s a rough play. Seems calculated, Jeff,” the commentator said. “The Knights have been known to target their opponent’s top scorers before.”
“Ow, yeah. The Reed Run is the Argonaut’s secret weapon.” Some woman standing next to me said as I glanced at her. She seemed to be thinking aloud.
I raised an eyebrow. “Which is just them giving Tyler the ball?”
“Tyler Reed is really, really, fast.” She didn’t take her eyes off the screen as she answered me. “Anyway, they have to gain a lot of ground, and without Tyler, they don’t have a chance of getting the touchdown they need to win the game. So they’re targeting him.”
“That’s gotta be illegal,” I complained.
“Probably is, but sometimes the penalties don’t matter if you still win.”
The medics checked on Tyler, and I was more worried about him than the final score and winning or losing. What if that was it for him?
I secretly prayed they’d take Tyler off the field and tend to him. Some of those hits looked nasty, and having a thousand pounds of men on top of you couldn’t possibly be good.