Reese mumbled, arms folded as she watched Ryder lining up the offense for another drive. Over her shoulder, Reese heard the crowd chanting, catcalls from New England’s side that were stupid and taunting but so far no requests for her to iron anyone’s shirt. But then she hadn’t gotten a shot at being on the field yet.
Until just then, when Ryder threw a pass that dropped smoothly into Hanson’s waiting arms.
“Yes!” Reese shouted, echoing the rest of the players and coaches on the sideline and the massive, elated crowd screaming in the stands.
She passed a look at Ricks, who’d steadfastly ignored her all game. He continued to ignore her, listening to something Mills said to him. Ricks looked at his playbook, holding it over his mouth as he said something to the special-teams coach that Reese couldn’t make out. Then, without looking at her, Ricks shouted, “Noble! Get out there.”
She didn’t hesitate, heading out onto the field along with Wilkens and their defenders. But as soon as she hit the field, something unsettling inched into her stomach, and Reese didn’t like the sensation. She felt nervous and paranoid as Wilkens readied himself on his knee waiting for her to angle up her kick.
“You good?” he shouted, looking at her like she’d gone green and was about to spew.
“Yeah…”
The chanting started low, a hum of noise she couldn’t quite make out. She thought she heard a name she recognized, then something else, but when she glanced up at the crowd, Reese’s face flamed and that queasy feeling in her gut churned into a burning, insufferable ache as she spotted a sign telling her exactly what they were chanting.
“What are they…?” Wilkens started frowning at Reese when she shook her head.
“Let’s go,” she told him, trying hard to ignore the refrain getting louder and louder.
Breathe, she told herself, hearing the command in her father’s voice.
“RIDE HER…”
Just breathe, she repeated, inhaling as she stepped back.
“RIDE HER, RYDER!”
Reese closed her eyes as her foot connected with the ball. Her toe went high, hitting the ball in the middle, and it shot across the field. She released the breath she held, fists balled at her sides, then Reese hit the field, falling to her knees when one of New England’s blockers jumped, using his teammate’s back as traction, and hit Reese’s kicked ball, tipping it so that it went low then fell just three yards shy of the uprights.
“Shit,” she said, hands on her head as the crowd around her booed and cried and leveled the most vulgar, vicious curses at her.
“It happens,” Wilkens said, tapping her on the shoulder.
Reese moved, head down, but shifted her gaze up to the stands, finding her parents’ faces as she ran toward the sidelines. She ignored the look Hanson gave her to search her father’s face, nodding back to him when he gave her a wink.
“It’s okay, baby!” he yelled at her, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Get ‘em next time.”
She wanted to be sick. Reese wanted to run out of the stadium and find the nearest bathroom to vomit in. This had only happened to her twice in her career. One of those times the blockers used an illegal formation to hit her ball out of the way of the uprights. The other, Reese was running a hundred-and-two degree temperature and had no business playing.
But she wasn’t sick, and there had been no illegal formation on New England’s part. She just let the crowd get to her. She let the crowd and her teammates’ cold shoulders, her manager and coach’s cold shoulders, get to her.
Reese had forgotten to block out the distractions all around her.
“It’s okay.” She heard, turning to look up at Baker as he stood next to her. He gave her shoulder a squeeze and offered her a warm, welcoming smile. “You can’t be perfect all the time.”
“I’d settle for once,” she told him, arms crossed as she watched the defensive line jog out onto the field. “This is a disaster.”
“It’s one game, Noble.” Baker nudged her with his elbow, and she looked up, neck aching a little. He was a giant, but apparently a gentle one. “One game in what’s gonna be a long career.”
“Ha. I don’t know so much about that.” She sounded pathetic, whiny to her own ears, and hurried to right her tone. “But thanks, Baker. I appreciate you saying that.”
“It’s what I do, right?” The guard tilted his head, that wide smile lowering into a smirk. “Got your back.