“‘Night, Jude.” I love you. Only you.
Chapter Eighteen
Lila
We were a united front of blue and gold, a current of electricity running through the crowd, so palpable I could touch it. Taste it. Out there under the stadium lights, Jude McCallister was a god. Tonight he was on fire.
Until it all fell apart in the fourth quarter.
“Goddammit,” Patrick growled from the row directly in front of me. He threw up his hands. “What the hell was that? That’s the second interception Jude threw. We were so close to winning.”
“It’s not all about winning,” Kate told Patrick. “The boys put up a good fight. They played their hearts out and did their best. That’s what counts.”
He scowled, refusing to be placated. In the six months I’d been living with the McCallisters, I’d learned a lot about their family dynamics. And to say that Jude’s dad put a premium on winning was the understatement of the century. He was hard on his boys but he was the hardest on Jude. I’d never noticed it before and Jude never complained, but sometimes his dad could be a bit of an asshole.
“If their defense would have gotten their heads out of their asses, maybe we could have gotten somewhere,” Patrick said, snorting with disgust when he checked the scoreboard again. The digital numbers hadn’t changed. Mavericks – 40; Knights – 43. “Jude’s head wasn’t in the game. He let that last interception rattle him.”
Christy and I shared a look. She raised her brows. I was insulted on Jude’s behalf and wanted to defend him. What Patrick said wasn’t true. After Jude threw that interception, he didn’t just lay down and die, he kept playing, giving it his all just like he always did.
Something hit the back of my head and I brushed my hand over my hair then turned in my seat to glare at Brody. He just laughed and eased another handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth then leaned forward in his seat. “Lighten up, L.”
I gave him the finger and faced forward again, completely ignoring Kylie who was practically in his lap. Guess Jude and Brody were okay with sharing.
“I wonder if they had a threesome,” Christy mused. I sucked in a sharp breath. She slapped her hand over her mouth. “Sorry. Did I say that out loud?”
I crossed my arms over my chest, pushing Christy’s words out of my head, and watched the Mavericks lose more yards. Patrick was on his feet, shouting something at the refs. Kate grabbed his arm and yanked him back down into his seat. “Calm down,” she said firmly. “It’s only a game.”
“It is not only a game. It’s football. And it’s the last damn game you’ll ever see Jude play.”
“It’s not over yet,” Jesse said, his hands balling into fists. “Jude can still do it. He can turn this around.”
“Honey, it’s too late—”
Jesse cut off the rest of his mom’s sentence. “It’s not too late,” he insisted. “Jude can do it. I know he can.”
I loved Jesse’s blind faith in Jude and his optimism. He truly believed that his brother could turn this game around.
We were down by three with only three seconds remaining. Jude tapped his helmet, indicating that he was changing the play. I didn’t know what he had in mind but it would take a miracle or an act of God to win this game.
Jude took the snap, and with no time left on the clock, he launched the ball into the sky. It was a Hail Mary pass from the midfield, an act of desperation for a quarterback with a lot of yards to cover and no other options left to him.
Twelve thousand fans held their collective breaths as the ball spiraled toward the end zone. Austin Armacost jumped up between three defenders and made the catch.
“Holy shit,” Brody shouted behind me as I stared at the field, not quite believing what I’d just witnessed. “He did it. He actually fucking did it.”
We were on our feet, the shouts and cheers of the crowd reaching ear-splitting decibels. Everyone knew that they’d just witnessed something amazing. So spectacular you could almost call it a miracle. A forty-five-yard pass to score the winning touchdown in the Division I semi-finals.
“He caught the ball!” the announcer shouted, his excitement so great that he kept repeating it. “I can’t believe I was here to witness this. This is the stuff of legends. This is why we love Texas football.”
“What a throw from Jude McCallister. Forty-five yards right into the hands of the Mavericks’ wide receiver, Austin Armacost,” the other announcer said.
“That’s my boy!” Patrick shouted, changing his tune now that Jude was a winner.
“I told you he could do it!” Jesse screamed, punching the air. He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted into the crowd of screaming fans. “Yo. That’s my brother. Lucky Number Seven. We’re going to the state championships. Yeah baby.” Jesse did a little victory dance.
I was laughing and crying, hugging Christy as we both jumped up and down. She didn’t even like football, but tonight everyone was a fan.
I released Christy and searched the field until my gaze found Jude in the end zone. The players were celebrating their victory, spirits riding high as they jumped each other, thumping shoulders and pounding fists. So physical, even in their victory celebrations. They were a tangled mess of limbs and boy sweat as they tackled each other to the ground and ended up in a heap.
It wasn’t every day that you got to see your boyfriend make a forty-five-yard pass for the winning touchdown. But if anyone could create magic, it was Jude. He had the Midas touch. Everything he touched turned to gold. I wondered if I was shimmering as much as the gold dusting my cheekbones and eyelids. I felt like I was lit up from the inside, so bright it
