fact became clear throughout the game, when Carolina’s quarterback, Paul Dean, started an obnoxious chant of “iron my shirt” as Reese stepped up for her first field goal attempt. The Steamers were close, and it was an easy extra point shot, but Carolina’s fans had caught wind of the stupid chant, and by the time Reese stood in front of Wilkens, lining up her footing, the entire stadium was echoing the same “iron my shirt” mantra. She still made the shot.
But Reese wasn’t some amateur. This kind of chest-thumping bullshit was something she’d endured at Duke, sometimes from her own teammates, but that didn’t mean Ryder had to like it. So when another field goal attempt came around, Ryder thought Reese would manage it, no problem.
Their teammates, though, seemed worried.
“Come on, Noble.” He heard from his side, glancing over his shoulder at Pérez as he watched her readying to kick. “I don’t like this,” the man admitted, standing next to Ryder.
“She can handle it,” he told Pérez. “She’s been through this shit before.”
Next to him, Pérez clenched his jaw, eyes narrowed, wary, biting his thumbnail like he could barely stand the effort it took to watch Reese trying another field goal. Not when the game was close. Not when Carolina looked anxious and mean and ready to strike. Another glance around the sidelines and Ryder spotted Wilson and Baker standing back with the same worried expression on their faces.
“These assholes are getting ballsier,” Pérez said. “They’re trying to spook her.”
Ryder nodded but didn’t speak. He was too focused on Reese’s face and the way she swept her hand against her pants. Shit, he thought, recognizing the small nervous tell. He’d picked up on a few things that had him worried throughout the game—how pale she’d gotten, how whenever they were close to scoring, she’d look ready to puke. He got it. This was her first pro game. She was supposed to be nervous, but hell, he hoped she could suck it up and do her job.
He hated seeing her like this.
Come on, Reese, he thought, holding his breath when she charged forward.
Her foot connected perfectly, and her form was ideal. Reese’s strong leg shot out in front of her, and she kept her attention on the ball as it flew forward. But Ryder saw what no one else did, least of all Reese. Number forty-two, and one of the biggest blockers on South Carolina’s team, came straight at Reese just as she engaged with the ball, her kicking leg still uplifted, her focus on nothing else but the trajectory of the ball heading right between the uprights.
“Fuck!” Ryder screamed, close to rushing the field when the blocker went straight for the leg still planted on the ground.
The roar of the crowd was unlike anything Ryder had heard before. All around them, on the Steamers’ sidelines and in their side of the stands, the indignation and fury came out like a wave. Players stepped forward, but all got held back by the assistant coaches, except for Ricks who ran straight at a ref, tearing off his hat to throw it to the ground.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he screamed when the ref claimed to not see a thing, and then, finally, one of the other men in black and white blew his whistle, throwing a flag on the field.
Ryder didn’t care about penalties or fouls. He didn’t care about anything at all but heading out on that field to get at Reese. When the blocker ran into her, taking out her planted leg, her body flipped completely, and she landed hard on her left side. She lay there for a few seconds while pandemonium wailed on around them. Ryder didn’t care about disrupting rules or earning himself any penalties. Without thinking, he ran onto the field, getting only four steps from the sideline when Reese got up, limping just a bit, right as Baker, the quiet, giant guard, went straight for Carolina’s blocker.
Baker got right in the blocker’s face, head turning, spittle and curses flying from his mouth. Ryder stopped, eyes rounded, as Reese ran for Baker, tugging him back and then whirling back to the blocker, shoving him once so hard that the man stumbled back.
It took Baker grabbing her for Reese to get off the field, but it was a movement Baker couldn’t have timed more perfectly. The ref’s call got announced, and the man came near the sidelines, adjusting his mic as he called the foul on Carolina’s