Page 150 of Forever Offsides

Mason comes over and drops his arm on my shoulder, his helmet in his hand. Crew is standing in front of us, rocking back and forth with his hands pulling down on his jersey and pads. He’s anxious to get back out there. He dropped a pass and it’s eating at him. I mean, he also caught a dozen others and scored two of our touchdowns, but that one drop will haunt him if they don’t win.

This season has been off the hook.

Russel was cut before my father left the hospital. He’d texted Russel’s agent, then called him to make sure he got it when he didn’t hear back immediately. He also let him know that he’d contacted the NFL about what he overheard and was completely onboard with any investigation they deemed necessary.

It was a total and complete shitshow.

For my dad, for Crew and Mason, for me for sure, but most of all for Rhett.

He had to make a public statement that was not in favor of his son’s actions and agreed with the punishment Asher set forth. I knew it hurt him in an all-new way. He admitted that his relationship with Russel had been weak and strained over the years. He wouldn’t comment on why Russel came to the team—or if he had been used to make that happen—but he told the world point-blank that he didn’t know about the betting until Russel admitted it to him the morning he was cut. He said he hoped his son got help and that he loved him and that if Russel needed him, he’d like to one day be part of his life.

There was a ton of speculation that Rhett was part of it, but he stayed steady and steadfast and consistent, and the team rallied around him. They rallied around me too. I corroborated Rhett’s story to the point where I told the press that Russel had been using me to garner a better reputation, but that he and I had never rekindled our relationship. My brothers and father stated the same thing when asked.

As far as I’m concerned, Russel can burn.

As for Rhett, I love him and it’s his son so I didn’t crucify him as hard as I could have.

At the end, Russel was found guilty of betting and suspended from the league for one full year, which makes it longer than only this season.

He cannot return until the end of October next season.

And of course, a team would have to pick him up because as of right now, he has none.

Braelyn is pregnant. Skylar’s little girl is a freaking gem of a baby. Haye’s situation… well, that’s a story for another time because right now San Francisco is on our thirty-yard line with a first down.

Mason pulls away and starts to pace back toward the benches behind us. He hates watching when the defense is on the field. The clock ticks down, San Francisco burning as much of it as they can, and we only have one time out left. We could burn it, and part of me thinks maybe we should? I don’t know. I’m not a football girl. Not fully. I mean, my guy is and I trust him.

My dad, still stuck with his coach’s brain is mumbling for Rhett to take the time out.

And for a moment, Rhett looks like he’s about to. Especially as the clock ticks down to the one-minute mark. Yet as San Fran lines up, Rhett pulls back and reaches behind his back and wiggles his fingers at us.

Rhett just signed ‘wait’ to us.

“Holy fuck.” That’s Mason.

“Yeah.” That’s my dad.

“Quinn, is that legit?”

That’s Crew, and all I can do is nod because he’s been trying to learn ASL over the last several months.

“Fuck!” My dad. “I guess we’re waiting?”

“Have faith, Dad.” Crew twists his head to us.

“You realize that because he’s in love with my daughter, I can’t fire him now?”

I laugh. So does Crew.

“You’re not firing him because we’re not fucking losing.” That’s Mason and I smile. We all do. That tone is his fierce warrior, we’re going to win this motherfucker tone.

San Fran lines up like they’re going to throw the ball, but Rhett shakes his head and says something to his defensive coordinator, who speaks into his headset.

“It’s a fake,” Crew says. “Or at least he thinks it’s a fake. Fuck!”

Crew spins around and drops his face onto my shoulder. I hold him by the back of his head while he breathes as if he’s running sprints.

“Shit. Am I hurting you?” he breathes against me.