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She kisses my chin. Which I fucking love. “Easy. You won her when she was a naïve teenager.” She laughs again, kisses me one more time on the lips, and twirls out of my arms.
Blythe’s eyes follow Gillian’s retreat. “Girl back home story?”
I clear my throat. “Let’s stick to football.”
She smiles, still watching Gillian. I clear my throat again, and she brings her attention back to me. “All right. This is what’s going to happen. Our guy is going to film the entire time. He’ll get some B-roll footage to use for any voice-overs we might do. I’m going to go around and do the interviews. After we’re done, I’ll edit, and it will air. Easy peasy.”
“Okay, sounds good.”
“Do you mind if I walk around and grab a player here or there?”
“No. Go ahead.” I motion to the field where they all are.
Blythe does exactly as she said. I’m interviewed for ten minutes, and she didn’t ask one question about Gillian, which I’m thankful for.
Once they’re done for the day, Blythe comes back over. “It will air next Thursday night. I’ll send you an email. Thank you so much. It’s very impressive what you’ve put together here.”
“That one kid.” The cameraman glances toward the junior varsity team. “Adams?”
My gut twists. “Yeah?”
“I can see that kid going pro someday. Got those hands.” He shakes his head. “Unbelievable for his age.”
Blythe leans to the left to get a better look at Clayton and jots his number on her pad. I’m close to saying don’t spotlight the kid, but I keep my mouth shut.
“Yeah, he’s got massive potential. Thank you, guys.” I shake their hands, and they walk away.
They both wave to the stands, the cameraman filming as the Willowbrook residents chant, “Go Wildcats!”
On the Thursday the show airs, I sit with Gillian and Clayton in front of their television. We ordered pizza, and it was as good an excuse as any to get Clayton to do something with us. Although he’s pretty much been on his phone the entire time. He looks bored, but I have a feeling he’ll perk up if he sees himself on TV.
“It’s going to be on soon.” Gillian is giddier than anyone.
“Great.” Clayton glances at the television and back at his phone.
The segment comes on with a picture of me. “Next up, where is Ben Noughton, San Francisco’s star wide receiver, now months after retirement?”
I lean back onto the couch, annoyed already. I’m not sure why I feel that way, other than being retired makes me feel fucking old.
Gillian is chewing on her piece of pizza five minutes later when the piece comes on. She drops it onto her plate and hits me in the thigh. “It’s on.”
“I’m not sleeping,” I say with a chuckle.
“Jeez, Mom, calm down.” Clayton turns his attention to the television.
Blythe is in the studio when it starts. “Last week, we had the opportunity to catch up with Ben Noughton.” Clips of some of my plays come on the screen, and most are some of the best catches I made in my career. “The retired San Francisco wide receiver went back home to his small Nebraska town known more for their cattle ranch farms than producing professional football players.” There’s an aerial view of town. “After his high school football coach suffered a heart attack, Ben stepped into the role to make sure that this small team didn’t have to go without a season.”
“Boy, they sure put a spin on it,” Clayton says.
I agree with him. That’s not quite how it all went down.
“He welcomed us to the field to watch his practice.”
A clip of me blowing my whistle shows, then my face pops onto the screen from her interview with me. “I was once a Wildcat, and I’m happy to have the opportunity to coach a new group of Wildcats. It’s about getting back to the roots, where the love of the game is bred while learning how to be a team player, relying on a group of guys all driven toward one single goal. It’s fulfilling.”
“I think part of the reason for Ben Noughton’s smile might be the fact that he may have sparked a flame with his high school sweetheart.” A picture of Gillian appears.
Clayton lets out an annoyed grunt.
