Page 110 of The Check Down

The plane ride to Buffalo is less lively than just about any other flight this season. We’re all calm, focused. I sit next to Beau and complete a couple of crosswords while he studies the playbook on his iPad. When his eyes blur from too much screen time, we play a few rounds of blackjack and talk in low voices about his first playoff appearance. He doesn’t seem nervous, and I don’t think the playoff game hoopla will rattle him. He’s as poised and steady as ever.

“You wanna talk about it?” He deals the next round.

I tap the tray and glance up from my hand. “I did the right thing, telling her to go?”

Beau deals me another card. “Yeah. It would be a bad move to convince her to turn down the interview. She could end up resenting you down the line.”

Nodding, I collect the cards I’ve won. “Gonna gut me if she takes the job, though.”

“Paige will be devastated if she leaves.” My friend frowns. “You willing to pack it all up and move to Florida after next season? Memphis is your town. And your family is close.”

“I’d follow that girl to the ends of the earth, Cap.”

He studies me for a beat, then shakes his head, smiling. “Yeah. I know that feeling well.”

When we land in Buffalo, we’re greeted by six inches of snow and a wind chill of ten degrees. A few of the guys complain, but not me. I fucking love a snow game.

After team meetings and a run-through of our formations, we’re released with enough time to grab dinner and make it back to the hotel before our curfew. Brynn and I have a quick chat before bed, and when we hang up, I’m certain I’ll toss and turn all night. But the stress of the last few days takes me under, and I get a solid eight hours.

While we’re killing time in the locker room on Sunday, several texts from Brynn come through.

Brynn

Just landed. Love you!

Oh my gosh, it’s freezing there! Stay warm!

Almost time! Watching with Mom and Dad. I love you so much.

Just before we take the field for warm-ups, I dig through my bag until I find it—the tiny velvet pouch Celeste gave me in Charlotte. I’ve carried it to each game since that day, with the exception of last week, when Brynn asked to borrow the green one.

I hold the two stones in my palm—one for luck, and one for love—until they’re as warm as my skin.

In the end, though I have both luck and love on my side, and though our team plays their fucking hearts out in brutalconditions, the Blues come up short. Final score: twenty-four to twenty-one. Even though we’re not the victors, we’ve built something to be proud of this season that will hopefully carry into the next.

Brynn sends me a single text after the game:

I love you.

The apartment is quiet and empty when I make it home around four a.m., but Brynn left a lamp on in the living room for me. I crash on the couch, not wanting to sleep in our bed without her, and stare up at the ceiling, fingers laced behind my head, imagining what my life will be like next season if she’s not living in Memphis.

Studying the patterns above me, it hits. The pain and depression I suffered last year when I got hurt and the Tors let me go is nothing compared to the agony I’ll experience if she’s not here with me. If she’s not around to make me laugh and give me hell. She loves me so well, better than anyone ever has. I don’t want to wait days or weeks for her love to shine on me.

I want to fall asleep and wake up beside her as often as I can.

I might be a selfish ass when it comes to that woman, but I’m still dedicated to letting her make the decision, regardless of what I want. She has to choose her path on her own.

But that doesn’t mean I can’t be there to support her when she does.

I sit up and check the time. It’s not quite Seth’s early-bird gym hour, but I tap on his contact anyway. If he doesn’t pick up, I’ll leave a voicemail, and he’ll have this handled in an hour. Too wired to sit still, I pace while I wait for his recorded greeting. When I scan the kitchen, I freeze in my tracks.

The white board has a new puzzle.

Three words. Eight boxes. And a clue that reads “This is all that matters.”

Seth answers an instant before his voicemail picks up, his voice scratchy. “Ugh, Griff. You better pay me overtime for this.”

Zeroed in on the board, I say, “I need you to get me a flight to Florida. Today.”