“I really don’t mind,” she said, reaching for the remote.
I clamped my hand down on hers, not taking my eyes off the next program in my hand. “Leave it.”
If I’d have looked up at her in that moment, I know I would have seen her smirking all proud of herself. She knew as well as I did that I wanted to see the game, too. It didn’t matter that I didn’t understand any of it, or care about football in the least.
Makoa was playing.
And despite everything that had happened between us, I wanted him to do well.
I kept my eyes on the task at hand through most of the first quarter, only glancing up at the screen when Gemma made a grunt of despair or clapped in celebration. The two of us were on the floor, and Zach was on the couch behind us, tending to his own duty of writing cards to his groomsmen and family that he’d give them on the big day.
“Mak’s in.”
Zach said the words casually, as if they wouldn’t steal the next breath from my chest and leave me deprived of oxygen. I pretended not to care, still working on the programs, but my eyes flicked to the screen just in time to see number thirteen line up.
Even with the helmet and visor on, even with shoulder pads, I’d know that body anywhere. I was thankful Zach had convinced Gemma to get a seventy-five-inch gargantuan television last fall, because I could see every detail — even down to the edge of his turtle tattoo peeking out from under his jersey.
The ball was snapped, and to me it looked like nothing happened but apparently someone ran the ball a few yards. They lined up again, and this time, the quarterback threw the ball to Makoa.
He caught it, though it was bobbled a little, and he didn’t make it but a couple feet before he was taken down. I glanced at Gemma, whose little mouth pulled to the side, and she exchanged glances with Zach that told me what he’d done wasn’t the best.
I swallowed, cracking my neck before I reached for another string of ribbon and a program. A few more plays happened, earning them a first down, and when I chanced another look, it was just in time to see the quarterback launch a perfect pass to Makoa down field.
The ball bobbled between his hands again, and in what felt like a millisecond, the guy defending him snatched the ball from the air and took off down field in the other direction.
“Fuck!” Zach said, throwing his hands up to lace on top of his head.
Gemma was on her knees now, watching the screen with her hands covering her mouth. When the defender managed to run it all the way back for a touchdown, she closed her eyes on a sigh, cursing under her breath.
“He’s off his game,” Zach said. “Big time.”
Gemma nodded in sad agreement as Makoa jogged back to the bench, and a few players clapped him on the shoulder as if to assure him it was okay.
But when he ripped his helmet off and plopped down on the bench, it was easy to see it wasn’t.
The commentator mentioned Makoa’s time with the 49ers briefly, listing off some stats before the camera was on the other team about to kick the ball for their extra goal or bonus point or whatever it was that came after the touchdown.
I frowned. “I don’t understand. It’s just the pre-season game, right? Do these things even really count?”
“Not for the team’s record, and not really to the veteran players, but for Makoa…” Zach clucked his tongue. “He signed as a free agent. These pre-season games are kind of like his Super Bowl. They’re his only chance to secure his spot on the team.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, gesturing toward the TV. “He’s already on the team.”
“No, remember what I told you last week?” Gemma asked. “They’re going to cut a bunch of guys before the regular season kicks off. They only keep a certain number for each position — first, second, third, maybe fourth string.” She shook her head, eyes finding the screen again. “If Makoa doesn’t impress the coaches…”
“Then, he’s out,” Zach finished for her.
My stomach sank, and as the Bears offense jogged out onto the field after the kick-thing, I noticed that Makoa wasn’t with them this round. The screen cut to commercial, and I stood, throwing my hands up.
“Wait, so they’re just not going to play him anymore? That’s bullshit. It was one mistake!”
“One mistake that cost them a turnover and a touchdown,” Zach pointed out.
I frowned. “Whatever. They should put him back in.”
“They might later, but… they could also sit him for the rest of the game, if coach thinks he’s off.” Gemma touched my arm. “It’s okay, he’ll—”
“This is all my fault,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I haven’t talked to him all week, and he’s probably all up in his head thinking he’s lost me, and that I hate him, and he probably can’t sleep or eat just like I can’t and…”
“Has he lost you?” Zach asked.
I rolled my lips together, still shaking my head as my gaze fell to the ribbon in my fingers. “I don’t think he ever could.”
Gemma and Zach gave each other a knowing look, and Gemma stood to stand beside me. “I knew you’d pull your head out of your ass.”
But I couldn’t congratulate her on her rightness, because I was too busy fuming at the stupid coach for pulling Makoa out of the game. “I need to get to New York.”
“What? Why?” Gemma asked, but I was already across her condo and pulling my shoes on.
“I need to get to this game and tell him I love him so he can play and not fuck this up.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Gemma said, pulling me to a stop once my other shoe was on. “First of all, this game is in New Jersey. Secondly, there’s no
