Page 44 of The Comeback
Ava: I didn’t like being right about this. Jett liked her.
The dots dance around on Dalton’s screen for what feels like a long time before a too-short text finally comes through.
Dalton: Did they break up?
I shouldn’t be laughing at how long it took him to decide that was the best text to send. I want to know what other versions he considered. But he has every right to ponder this news carefully. When he asked me about Jett yesterday, Hayden was one of the reasons I told Dalton he didn’t need to worry. She disappeared quickly—in part, thanks to me. And my brain keeps reminding me that means Jett is available, even though that point is likely useless.
Ava: They did.
Dalton: That’s too bad.
Ava: Are we still going to be on for dinner?
Dalton is the better choice for my heart, and I do like him.
He sends a laughing emoji and then a message.
Dalton: Planning on it.
He adds a thumbs-up.
I won’t blame him for taking things slowly with us. Considering how much I’ve thought about Jett’s text and what it means, I don’t even know where my heart is right now. The last thing I want to do is hurt Dalton.
By the time I get up the next morning, I’m a bundle of nerves and I can’t explain where they’ve come from. I’ve watched Jett play over the last several years. I couldn’t help myself in college, and now he plays for my hometown team, the team I grew up cheering for. Of course I’ve watched. That one text, where he apologized for not trusting me, has somehow shifted everything. It’s not tangible, not something I can put to words, but it’s there. Maybe because part of me wants to believe this could lead to trusting that I might’ve been right on other things, like leaving him in order to save his career.
It’s chillier today, so I bring a lightweight Pumas hoodie to wear with a pair of distressed jeans and tennis shoes. I throw a beanie into my bag, just in case, but the sun is shining, so I probably won’t need it.
Neither Gabriella nor I talk on the way to the game, beyond a little chitchat. We’re in our seats by eleven a.m., almost an hour before the game starts with plenty of time for my anxiety to build as we sit and wait. The day is already getting warmer. I might not even need the hoodie by the time the game is over.
Today our seats are only a couple of rows up. With about twenty minutes left before the game starts, Colby motions to Gabriella and she heads down to the railing. He reaches up from where he stands below her and takes her hands in his. They bow their heads and pray together. The nerves make me emotional over it. They’re so right for each other. My gaze finds Jett because it reminds me of those same kinds of moments between us before his games. He’s watching them too, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and after a moment, his eyes meet mine.
I smile confidently at him and mouth, You’ve got this. Then I put my hands together in a prayer pose and nod at him. He’s grinning by the time he turns away. My cheeks are heated, my brain spinning again at what that grin means. I look around us, trying to distract myself from those thoughts by watching the fans. Is Jett’s family nearby? Devin, Jenna, and Jett’s dad will be here, for sure. Since it’s a Blues game, will his mom come? She was never a fervent fan. I don’t see them, so maybe they’re up in the boxes. I focus on all the reasons they might choose box seats today, to keep my thoughts in check, like maybe they brought the kids and it’s easier to keep them entertained up there. Or maybe Miss Maggie came. But once my brain has quickly exhausted the logical questions, it slips into daydreams of what it would be like to have gone down to pray with him, like Gabriella did with Colby. To hold his hand before such a big game and give him a kiss for good luck. To fall asleep next to him tonight, after he’s won, of course, and smile as he recounts all the great plays.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Heaven help me; I don’t know if I’ll ever be over him.
There’s been a spark of hope since the night of my allergic reaction that maybe we could have a second chance. I’ve tried to stomp out that spark, to keep my heart safe, convince myself that’s a foolish dream. That spark has started a small fire of hope since his text last night, and I hurry to try and put this out too. Saying he was sorry for not trusting me probably just means about Hayden—definitely not about everything. I need to remember that.
We can finally be friends, I tell myself. And that’s okay.
Mostly okay.
The game is as intense as Gabriella and I suspected it would be. The teams go back and forth, the Pumas scoring a hard-fought-for touchdown, then the Blues coming back and answering with one of their own. Jett is playing so well, but the Blues’ defense has a line on him. They seem to thwart every great play with spectacular defensive plays.
In the final minutes of the game, it’s tied fourteen to fourteen, and the Pumas’ first break comes when the Blues get down to the red zone and the Pumas’ defense holds them to a field goal and then blocks it. The team goes wild on the sideline, and even Jett, who was sitting with his head down minutes before, trying to get into a chill zone, is pumping his fist into the air. The Pumas have five minutes to score and end the game. As the offense prepares to take the field, Jett jogs out alongside Colby. Colby puts his arm around him, and Gabriella reaches over to take my hand.
“They can totally do this,” she says.
I nod. My heart is beating double-time, and the last time I remember being this nervous in a game was during the state championship Jett’s senior year.
The Pumas fight their way down the field, only to get caught in a fourth-and-ten situation at the twenty-five. I suck in a breath when the coach sends Jett and the offense back onto the field after their final timeout. The place kicker got hurt in the third quarter, and they must not trust the backup. They’re going for it.
Of course it’s a passing play, and although the offensive line fights their hearts out to keep Jett protected, he’s losing time and every receiver is covered. I can sense his panic as he’s getting backed up, and when he throws the pass to Colby, I almost cry out.
The Blues defender intercepts the pass on the two-yard line, but Colby drags him down before he can go anywhere.
I let out a long breath. “It’s okay, Jett,” I murmur.
They’re on the three-yard line with only fifteen seconds. In terms of something going wrong, this turned out okay. We’ll go into overtime.