no need to pace, puke, or pray. Because Walker kicked the shit out of Texas. We were faster, sharper, and better on nearly every play. It was an art and a science and a thing of beauty and a glorious act of God, the final scoreboard glowing brighter than the moon: Walker 28, Texas 0.
Buoyant, I sprinted to the press conference, counting down the minutes until I could see Coach, hear him recapping the game with his usual matter-of-fact preamble. When he walked in, he scanned the room as if looking for something or someone. Then he spotted me, standing in the back with a couple of guys from The Dallas Morning News. Our eyes locked, and he threw me a wink. My insides melted, and I couldn’t help but grin back at him.
“Let me guess,” one of the reporters next to me said in a snide voice. “You went to Walker.”
“Yep. And let me guess. You went to UT-Austin,” I said, knowing that he had. The Austin infuriated Longhorn fans, who liked to think of their school as the University of Texas—which his irate expression confirmed.
A few seconds later, the press conference was under way, and I furiously scribbled notes and quotes, waiting until the end to ask my own question.
“Yes? Shea,” Coach said, pointing to me.
“Congratulations on an undefeated regular season,” I began, wanting these to be my first postgame words to him.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding, waiting for the question.
I took a deep breath and said, “So … We all know that you’ve had an exceptionally difficult year … and I was hoping you might say a few words about what this season has meant to you personally.”
Coach nodded, his face somber. “Yes, this year has been enormously difficult and emotional for me and for my children, Lucy and Lawton … My wife, Connie, meant everything to us and this program and community, and there’s been a void without her …” He stopped, blinked, then looked down, seemingly rattled, and, for a few seconds, I regretted the question. But when he looked up again, he had his composure back and said, “So to end the regular season this way means a tremendous amount to me … and I think it is the ultimate tribute to her.” He cleared his throat and continued, “I’d like to thank my players, coaches, and the Bronco nation for making today possible. Thank you.”
Then he smiled, stood, and walked off the platform.
The press conference continued with Mack Brown and a couple of his key players, and I stayed, gathering a few quotes. But I already had what I needed for my story, my angle, and I left as soon as possible to rush back to the press box and write. I was getting faster, and that night, words, sentences, whole paragraphs flew from my fingers, the entire piece written in just under ninety minutes—a record. It was factual reporting, but poetic, too—and I was prouder of it than of anything I’d ever written, concluding with Coach’s quote about Mrs. Carr. I emailed it to Smiley, who wrote back, “Well done. Congrats.”
I wasn’t sure if he was congratulating me on my piece or the game, but I took it as both, and drove straight to the Third Rail, where Lucy, Neil, Lawton, and Ryan were in full celebration, along with dozens of other friends, acquaintances, and former colleagues from Walker. Every bar in town would be jamming tonight, but I couldn’t imagine more of a scene than the one here, as I was pretty sure that word had gotten out that this was Ryan’s new hangout. We all hugged and kissed and hollered and high-fived. I couldn’t remember ever feeling so grateful or euphoric after a ball game. Couldn’t remember a night more thrilling.
Until it wasn’t.
Thirty-two
“Well, well,” Ryan said, tendons appearing in his neck as he stared beyond me. “Look who it is.”
I knew who it was even before I turned around to see Miller, loping toward us, looking as happy as I’d felt only a few seconds before. When he got to the table, I saw the credit card in his hand.
I stood, considering my options. I knew that hugging him hello and whispering in his ear would be problematic, but it was the best chance I had. My only hope.
So I did just that, cutting Ryan off, sidling up to Miller, leaning in and frantically whispering, “Don’t say anything about the other night.”