it up with an outstretched hand as the ref raises his arms high over his head, signaling a touchdown. One beat later, the kick is good, and Walker wins. Walker wins! Oh my God, Walker wins!
The stadium erupts with fans shouting and hugging and dancing and crying and snapping photos all around me. But I hold perfectly still, in utter disbelief, doing my best to memorize the moment, keeping my eyes fixed on just one man down on the field, tracing his every move, as he’s embraced by his players, then doused with the customary cooler of Gatorade.
More pandemonium ensues, the stadium filling with teal streamers and confetti and the light from thousands of flashes as Miller never stops shouting in my ear, his voice hoarse and crazed. Something finally breaks my trance, and I start to hug Lucy, but she is hugging Lawton, so I settle for Miller, who reciprocates with a wet kiss on my mouth. I give him a startled look, and he retorts, “Don’t worry. I’m going to kiss your mother like that, too!” Then he does. I laugh as Lawton jumps onto Miller’s back, toppling both my mother and me. Then Lucy piles on top of us as if re-creating the final play of the game, shouting how much she loves me.
“I love you, too,” I say, laughing and crying at once, then struggling to get up so I can watch Coach some more. Seconds later, J.J. appears, out of breath, with VIP all-access passes, telling Lucy and Lawton to come with him. They need to get down to the field for the trophy ceremony.
“Not without Shea,” Lucy says.
“Well, come on then! All three of you!” he yells.
I shake my head in protest, but I can tell right away that I have no choice in the matter. So I allow myself to be whisked down the rows of metal stands, hugging friends, acquaintances, and strangers along the way. Right as I’m about to step onto the field, I see a little boy, about ten years old, sobbing, the red A’s painted onto his cheeks now streaked by tears. I pause, kneel, and tell him that it’s going to be okay.
“You’ll get us next year,” I say.
He is inconsolable, but, in a strange way, I am happy for him. One day, the memory of this night will return to him, making the taste of victory all the sweeter.
We keep walking, in circles, until we find Coach. He is drenched from sweat and Gatorade, but I can tell that he’s also been crying, the whites of his eyes pink. I watch him hug Lucy and hear him say, “This is for her, Luce.”
“I know, Daddy,” she says, now sobbing. “She’d be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”
Then it’s Lawton’s turn, and he starts crying like a baby, too, and I can’t help remembering his face at his mother’s funeral. “I wish she were here,” he tells his only parent. “So much.”
“She is here,” Coach says, comforting his son, as I realize how much true grief can resemble pure joy.
I start to tremble, just as I feel Lucy’s hand on my back. She is pushing me toward her father, right into his arms. I give her a confused look, thinking surely she doesn’t mean for me to hug him, but she nods and says, “I was wrong, Shea. Go to him. You belong with him.”
I stare at her, processing what she’s told me, realizing that I’ve never heard her say those words before: I was wrong.
“Go,” she says, smiling through tears, pushing me again.
So I step forward. Coach grins at me.
“Congratulations!” I shout over the mayhem. Then I close my eyes and collapse against his broad chest, feeling his heart beat through his wet shirt, inhaling his salty skin. “You did it, Coach,” I say, more quietly, directly into his ear.
“Yes, we did it, girl,” he whispers back, squeezing me tighter. “We finally did it.”
I pull back and look into his eyes, and can tell that Lucy has talked to him. That he knew before the game what she has only just said to me. I was wrong.
Then, confirming my wishful thinking, he leans in and brushes his lips against mine. It is the quickest kiss ever, but very much a real kiss, right there in front of Lucy and the entire world. It is the sweetest moment of my life, yet I know there will be even better ones to come. And soon.
“I gotta go,” he says, beaming at me. “But I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”
Light-headed with elation, I smile and nod, then watch as he slips back into a mob of teal. For a moment, he is gone, but he soon reappears, hoisted high on the shoulders of a lucky few players, representatives of everyone who has ever put on a Walker jersey, Miller and Ryan among them. I stare up at Coach, against the backdrop of a black-velvet sky filled with a million stars, a planetarium above the most famous stadium in college football, and marvel that we can be this happy from winning a game.
Then again, I know it’s not the win itself, but everything that went into the victory. The effort. The passion. The faith. The things that Coach Clive Carr has taught me to believe in. The things that endure in defeat, and even death. The things that make football like life—and life like a game of football.
For my uncle, Doug Elgin,
who inspired my love of college sports …
and taught me that it’s more than just a game
Acknowledgments
This is my seventh novel—and every one has begun the same way: with an unformed idea followed by exhaustive discussion with my mother, sister, and best friend. Thank you, Mary Ann Elgin, Sarah Giffin, and Nancy LeCroy Mohler, for all of your support with this one, from beginning to end.
I am so grateful to Stephen Lee, the most loyal publicist in the world. I can’t imagine this publishing journey without your friendship. Thanks, too, for the never-ending supply of peanut M&M’s.
To my editor, Jennifer Hershey: thank you for believing in me and elevating this story the way you did. Your notes nearly killed me, but you were right, and I’m so glad I trusted you.
Many thanks to my entire A-plus team at Random House, including Gina Centrello, Libby McGuire, Kim Hovey, Theresa Zoro, Susan Corcoran, Jennifer Garza, Sanyu Dillon, Debbie Aroff, Melissa Milsten, Cynthia Lasky, Scott Shannon, Loren Noveck, Susan Brown, Kate Childs, Joey McGarvey, Matt Schwartz, and Paolo Pepe.
Deep appreciation to my brilliant agent, Theresa Park, for the unwavering guidance, wisdom, and thoughtfulness—and to everyone at Park Literary, especially Emily Sweet, Abby Koons, and Pete Knapp. Thank you to Mollie Smith for being the consummate behind-the-scenes pro, and Rich Green for all your work to bring my stories to the big screen.
A few words to my friends at St. Martin’s Press, especially Jennifer Enderlin, John Murphy, and the late, great Matthew Shear: you remain in my heart, and I will forever be thankful for our decade and six books together.
I’m enormously grateful to three college coaches who are also among my dearest friends: Dave Odom, Jim Boeheim, and Billy Schmidt. I have loved your passionate, colorful, quirky world since I was a little girl, and although I changed basketball to football for this story, much of the dynamic is the same. Thank you for your generous insight into Coach Clive Carr. He had some big shoes to fill (but Coach O: he still walks around barefoot in his house).
Thank you to Jennifer New, Allyson Wenig Jacoutot, Doug Elgin, Lisa Ponder, Kate McDavid, Julie Portera, Jim Konrad, Kevin Garnett, Ralph Sampson, McGraw Milhaven, J.R. Moehringer, Michelle Fuller, Cameron Sherrill, Vahe Gregorian, and Bill and Kristina Giffin, for fielding various queries about this book or its cover.
Thanks also to Coach June Jones, Brad Sutton, and Herman Hudson for allowing me to soak up the atmosphere at SMU’s spring practice. (Go Ponies!)
On the home front, I am indebted to Kate Hardie and Martha Arias for their daily support and kindness—and to Jeff MacFarland for keeping me physically and mentally strong enough to meet every deadline along the way.
To all other family and friends: while you may not have contributed in tangible ways to this novel, I thank you for your love, moral support, and uplifting emojis.
And, finally, I thank Buddy Blaha for wearing so many hats, including football consultant, proofreader, short-order cook, workout partner, car-pool driver, homework checker, Little League coach, chicken caretaker, friend, husband, and father to our three beautiful children.
Edward, George, and Harriet: I love the chaos around here, most of it happy, none of it dull. Life with you sparkles.