Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Chapter Fifteen
Baker
* * *
The atmosphere in the stadium is electric. It’s the first official game of the season, and we’re on fire. We won all of our preseason games, and that has the team and the coaching staff more amped up for today’s matchup. So far, it’s been warranted. We’re at the start of the third quarter and up by fourteen points.
For me, it’s more than that. My son is here today. Sloane has him in the suite with her, and I’m stoked. Sure, he’ll never remember this, but I will.
It’s been two months since Sloane started helping me with Camden, and life has been so much better with her around. Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Ward was great, but I didn’t come home to laughter and smiles. I came home to a quiet, maintained home. My son was happy, fed, and well cared for, but with Sloane, he’s thriving.
He’s talking up a storm, and she’s teaching him so much. He’s counting and learning his colors and shapes. I know she’s a teacher, and that’s what she does, but damn, to see the difference her influence is having on my son hits me in the chest.
Glancing up at the suite, I see Sloane standing with Camden on her hip. She’s pointing down to the field, and I wave to him. He waves back, and I grin. I fucking love that they’re both here today.
“How’s that going?” Knox asks, nodding toward the suite.
“Good, man. She’s teaching him so much.” I smile and shake my head. “He’s a little genius.”
Knox laughs. “Of course, he is. He’s got good genes.”
The whistle blows, and our offense takes the field. We quickly form a huddle as Knox calls the play.
The huddle breaks, and my heart races as I settle into position behind Knox. My fingers twitch on my thighs. My cleats dig into the turf, and my heartbeat roars louder than the crowd.
Knox calls the play. “Blast right. Blue 42. Blue 42. Hike!”
Ball’s coming to me.
I glance left. The linebackers are creeping in. They know the play. Doesn’t matter. I’m faster.
Our center, Greg McCormick, snaps the ball, and it slaps into Knox’s hands perfectly, and I’m on the move. I have a half a second of hesitation, then bang, I explode left, then cut back hard right. The O-line crashes like a collapsing wall. I spot the gap. Just enough daylight between the guard and tackle.
I hit it.
Low. Fast.
Helmet first, legs churning like pistons. Pads crack around me. A hand brushes my hip, but it’s too late. I’m through the line.
Ten yards. Safety’s coming downhill like a missile.
I shift the ball to my left arm, drop my shoulder, and boom. We collide, but I manage to stay on my feet. My world rattles, but I don’t stop. He stumbles, and I spin off. My feet barely touch the turf, and I’m still upright, so I keep moving. Keep pushing.
Fifteen. Twenty.
I see the sideline, hear the crowd. Their voices are loud, but not loud enough to drown out my thoughts—the ones that say my son, and my… Sloane are up there watching me. That’s my motivation to dig deeper and side-step another defenseman.
Cornerback’s closing in. I pump my arms, gripping the ball as if my life depends on it.
Another ten yards. My chest burns, and my legs are heavy. But I’m not going down. Not until they put me there.
Finally, two defenders catch me from behind. One wraps my waist, the other grabs at my legs.
As a group, we tumble forward, but it’s too little too late.
My face is buried in the turf, and my elbow is throbbing. I’m sure it’s scraped, and the ball is held tightly against my ribs.
The ref’s whistle cuts through the noise of the play. I don’t need to look up to see that both of his arms are held high in the air.
I lie here a moment, grinning through the pain.
Touchdown.
Let’s fucking go.
“Daddy fucking Sinclair!” Landry says, hauling me to my feet and crushing me in a hug. My feet leave the ground before he drops me back. “You’re on fire, my man. Three touchdowns. Hell yes!” He continues to cheer.
We’re now up by twenty-one points, all three touchdowns where I’ve carried the ball into the endzone. Our kicker, Hank Martin, with the powerful leg, came in clutch with the three field goal points, putting us ahead on the board. I’m not taking all the credit for me and Martin. Knox had to get the ball into my hands. McCormick had to get it into Knox’s, and the guys had to hold off their defense, but it feels fan-fucking-tastic to know I was the ball carrier on those three plays.
More teammates high-five me, slap me on the back, on the helmet, even on my ass, but I block them all out as my eyes scan to the suites. I see all the ladies, and the two little ones up there, but I’m only looking for two in particular. Sloane is jumping up and down with Camden in her arms, and I can see her smile from here.