Jordan returns, bringing Leah and Hayden with her before I get an answer. “Mr. Crosby,” I say, shaking his hand. Leah steps around him and takes my shoulders, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Mrs. Crosby,” I add. “Let me guess, you’re both here for the big game.”
Leah’s brows fly up. “There’s a game?”
“Don’t tease,” Jordan interjects. Her friend has always been tough on me. Not so much anymore, but it doesn’t bother me. Jordan couldn’t have picked a better friend if she tried. She and Jaxon barely left Jordan’s side during the World Cup. I watched every televised match and I was there for the final, surrounded by a proud bunch of screaming Australians when she kicked the goal that secured the win. I wanted to go to her then, be there for her the same way she always was for me, but I couldn’t move. My feet stuck to the ground and I choked, struggling with the fear that I’d left it too long, and it was too late.
In the end it was Jordan that found me. I was on the sidelines of the football field in Houston. The grass was freshly mowed and the yard lines painted a rich, brilliant white. A breeze blew low, ruffling my hair. From the bench behind me, I grabbed my baseball cap and tugged it down on my head, shielding bright afternoon sun from my face.
Jordan called my name then, the husky voice sending shivers curling up my spine. It was a voice I dreamed of hearing each night, leaving me awake and wondering if it was a sound I’d ever hear again.
I turned around and there she was. All the longing I’d pushed down for months came rushing to the surface, leaving me short of air. A few short strides and I could’ve touched her, but my feet still wouldn’t move. I held her eyes instead, rooted to the ground as I faced my biggest fear—losing her. “Jordan.”
A smile formed on her lips. It was hesitant and small, but there was hope in it, and love, and I knew then that everything was going to be okay. A beautiful sense of calm spread through my body where there was only blind panic just moments earlier.
“Brody?” Jordan takes hold of my bicep, bringing me back to the present. “You okay?”
I nod. “I’m good.”
Paige, Jordan’s old college teammate, steps in the room behind Hayden and Leah and suddenly Eddie’s face burns brighter. I have my answer. It’s one I like.
Grinning, I load up three big stacks of pancakes and hustle everyone out in the morning sun where the outdoor seating can fit us all. After breakfast and an impromptu game of soccer in the yard, I leave them all for the game. They’ll follow later.
When nighttime falls, the Houston Hurricanes gather in the locker room, tension thick in the air. It’s the first game of the season and it’s always the biggest. It sets the tone for every game that follows. It sends a message to fans, to the media, and to every team opposing us, that this is who we are and this is how we play.
I step inside the room, my second home.
“Coach is in the house!” says Assistant Coach Dawson in a loud, sharp voice.
The boys settle into silence when I step in front of them. “Take a knee,” I tell them. They all lower to the ground and lift their heads, looking at me, waiting for me to impart some magical wisdom that will help them win the game.
For three years I coached the Peewee League and I loved it. I had the best of both worlds. It was where I first found my own passion. Where the game meant nothing else but the joy it brought to my heart. No pressure, just a field of green and a ball to run over the line.
But I was good at coaching—too good—and I got poached. Now here I am, head coach for high school football team, the Houston Hurricanes. Being offered the position set off controversial opinions across the state of Texas. Most of them adamant that I didn’t deserve it, that it was the wrong decision, and that the fledging team I was charged with would suffer for it.
As I stand before the boys, taking in their expressions of determination, I know I’m not here to prove all those people wrong. I’m here because I want these boys to learn from someone who knows the pressure that awaits them in college football and beyond. There’s no one more qualified than me to prepare them for what lies ahead.
I open my mouth and deliver the best words I can. “Tonight is your game. Don’t let anyone in the stands or the media distract you,” I instruct them, concerned with public backlash for me being their coach. “Listen to what I tell you, run the plays I call, and have some fucking fun out there!” Cheers erupt and Dawson shouts for them to settle down. “One more thing,” I add. They quiet down and give me back their focus. “It’s not your opponent out there on the field that’s against you tonight. It’s yourself. You are your greatest competition. How can you defeat yourself? By believing. Believe in your team,” I tell the boys, my eyes grazing over each and every one of them. “Believe in why you’re here, believe in what you do, and believe in yourself, because when you do, everyone around you will start believing in you too.” I clap my hands and shout, “Let’s go!”
The boys get to their feet, rowdy and fired up. They jog out of the tunnel, and I follow behind, cap set forward and pride in my heart. I turn, my eyes seeking Jordan in the stands. She’s standing front row, Avery and Hadley in front of her, Nicky and our close friends beside her. I press my index and middle finger to my lips and then hold them up high.
She returns the gesture, a smile spreading wide on her face. Even from this far away I see the emotion burn in her eyes. It echoes in my own. It forms the image that gets splashed on the front page of the newspapers the next morning after we take a solid win against Texas City.
I skim the article as I stand at the kitchen counter, smile on my face, coffee in my hand, and my girls causing chaos around me. My life is not my past anymore, it’s my present and my future, and right now? It’s pretty damn good.
To my readers. Your support and enthusiasm for my books continually blows my mind. Every comment, message, tag, email, and tweet, never fails to give me warm fuzzies. I’m so very honoured to have you reading and enjoying my work. Please feel free to stick around—there’s more to come!
To all the bloggers who have helped spread the word about this book. There are no words to express the level of my gratitude and appreciation of your constant hard work and support. Thank you so very much.
To Max. As always, you save the day. You are my magical unicorn with your stabby wit, sprinkling rainbow dust over my words and making them glitter! Don’t ever leave me (I will find you).
To my betas:
Tammy Zautner, Maree Hunter, Simone Nicole, Kim Anderson Bias, L.B. Simmons and Rachel Grey.
Tammy - I adore you. Send me the hair-colouring bill for all the greys I added to your head while writing this book (and future books to come).
Maree - your encouragement means more to me than you will ever know. You put up with all the crazy memes I continually send your way (even while you were trying to have a baby) and yet you still never stopped supporting me. That is the definition of a true friend.
Simone thank you for letting me pick your brain on all the things related to dyslexia, and for basically putting up with me. I know I’m a handful, and crazy, but you are too.
Kim, L.B. Simmons and Rachel, thanks for helping me with all things US related, including football and Texas. The knowledge and notes were invaluable, as is your support and friendship.
To Kylie at Give Me Books. What would I do without you? You ensured The End Game got the best start out in the real world that was possible. There are not enough thank you’s in the world for me to send your way. I hope one will do. Thank you. Now let us drink.