Holy shit.
It’s in this moment that I know this should be my last game in a box, if I ever even have the opportunity again. Clearly, it has all gone to my head very quickly.
“Denver Colorado! Get on your feet!” The instruction seems redundant, given that everybody—except for me, obvi—is already standing, but go off I guess, Jack. “Make some noise, Denver!”
It’s week five of the season and the Mustangs are currently 4–0. And while yes, football is a team sport, a large portion of the credit is due to Quinton. Much to the dismay of his critics, who believe that his actions will distract from his—and his teammates’—performance, he’s on track to set a new record for the most touchdown passes thrown by a quarterback in a season.
The commotion is finally enough to pull Vonnie’s boys from the food, and they skip the steps until they’re at the front of the box.
The cheers explode as fire shoots from the sides of the tunnel and a real mustang runs onto the field being ridden by a woman in a full-on cowgirl outfit waving a huge Mustangs flag. The cheerleaders sprint onto the field, rubbing their pom-poms together as they split into two separate lines, a human extension of the tunnel.
“Here they come!” Jack’s voice, mixed with the screams and clapping, causes the floor beneath my feet to rattle. “YOUR DENVER MUSTANGS!”
A stampede of blue and orange bursts from the tunnel as players jump, sprint, or jog onto the field. They all raise their hands in the air, feeding the crowd, fueling up off of our energy.
“Look!” Jett points to the field before he starts waving. “There’s Dad!”
“And there’s Mr. Maxwell!” Jax shouts out.
The Lamar boys go crazy whooping and clapping up a storm and it’s not long until Brynn is standing next to them, blowing outrageous kisses to Maxwell. I look over to Vonnie, expecting her to be doing some version of the same, but instead, she’s doing the opposite. She’s not even looking at the field. Her focus is on her phone, like she’s looking at the most interesting thing ever. But since I tried with no avail to check my emails earlier, I know there’s no service here. In the back of my head, I know I should look away. Leave her be. I mean, I don’t even know her.
Her shoulders that were held back, in line with her perfect posture, are slumped down and the grip she has on her phone is so tight that her hand is shaking. Her legs are crossed and her Louboutin-booted feet won’t stop bouncing. Everything about her says this is the last place she wants to be right now. But it’s when I notice the glassy sheen of her perfectly lined eyes, that my heart breaks a little for her.
I look away as fast as I can and pretend I don’t notice anything when I see her wipe away a tear out of the corner of her eye.
It’s not long until the Lamar boys are calming down and Jack’s voice comes over the speaker again. The JumboTrons light up as the starting offense’s pictures flash on screen as they are announced one by one.
Unexpected knots fill my stomach as I wait with bated breath for Quinton to come out.
I haven’t been to a game since he first made his stand and this part of the game is never televised. Sure, I’ve found clips on YouTube, but this is the first time I’ll witness it in person since the confusion has cleared and fans have started picking their sides.
When his name finally shows up on the screen, it’s like my body can’t help but react. I stand automatically, taking in the crowd around me. Listening as the boos blend together with the cheers. Knowing what I know now about Quinton’s intentions and the mission at the heart of this, I feel an elevated sense of pride watching him now. And while I know that it’s controversial for some, I hope that once people learn what he’s actually fighting for, the boos will disappear. And maybe then people will worry less about where he’s protesting and more about the reason he’s doing it in the first place.
That wishful thinking is lost when I’m snapped back to reality by Donny’s unmistakable voice shouting from the front of the box as Quinton slowly and precisely covers the League’s logo with black tape. “Hell yeah, Q! Don’t ever fuckin’ stop what you’re doing!” Then, I guess somebody from somewhere says something to him, because his attention moves from the field and he yells, “Yeah? How about fuck you too, motherfucker? How about you say something when you’ve done something with your pitiful fuckin’ life, fuckin’ scumbag!”
And just like that, I slide back into PR mode.
“Whoa there.” I grab Donny by the sleeve and pull him up the steps. “I think Quinton has the bad press thing down without any help from you.”
While babysitting Donny isn’t exactly my dream job, at least the booze is free and he’s sure to keep me entertained. Today definitely could’ve been worse.
Thirteen
The day of the launch is pure pandemonium.
Between the vendors coming in and out all day, helping with setup, and Brynn forcing me to give my opinion on the signature cocktails she came up with, I’ve hardly even had time to go to the bathroom. My feet already hurt, I’m jittery from a caffeine overload, and my back is tighter than it’s ever been. And I’m loving every freaking second of it all.
Hannah and her crew are still putting up the balloons and someone else is stringing white lights across the ceiling. They aren’t even close to being finished.
The caterer is setting up stations all around the room so the crowds will have access to food
