“Hey, Coach Mom.” Tucker leaned over Jade’s laptop, his beach-sand locks long and drifting down the sides of his face. Confidence finally resided in his gray-blue eyes. “We’re going to play some ball.” He spun the football in his hands. “Coach is going to teach us midnight football. Want to play?”
Jade paused from her e-mail. It’d been a week since she told Max about the baby so she figured she’d share the joy with Aiden and Willow too.
“Midnight football? First of all, it’s only seven o’clock. Second of all, that’s my game and what does Coach know about it?”
Tuck grinned. “That’s what he said you’d say.” He motioned for her to come on. “Teach us. The game works before midnight, doesn’t it?”
“Har, har.” It was a Saturday night and the boys, truck by truck, car by car, made their way to the house. “I’d love to teach you the game. Give me five minutes. Y’all set up a fifty-yard field and blast some tunes. Midnight football works best to The Boss, but y’all can listen to Chesney or Rascal Flatts, Johnny Mathis for all I care.”
“Who?” He crinkled his lip.
“Johnny Mathis, you know, velvet voice, African American singer.” Kids today had no culture. At all. The world’s history began the day they were born. “After football season, all y’all are getting vintage music lessons from me.”
“What for?”
“To make sure you don’t repeat the past.”
“Uh?”
“To humor me.”
“Oh, okay.” He raised his chin, eyes squinting with confusion. “See you out there?”
“On my way.” She couldn’t play, of course. Nothing, not even a reminiscent game of midnight football, was worth risking the baby’s safety.
The door crashed and slammed. “Hey, Coach Mom is on her way. Get the cones. Fifty-yard field.” Tuck’s voice faded as he ran west of the house.
Jade stared at her computer screen, fingers poised over the keyboard. She reread the last line of her e-mail to Aiden and Willow.
Max and I are so excited about the baby. We are hopeful. For us, for the baby, for a new life in Colby.
“Coach Mom.” Dylan dashed into the room. “Game’s waiting on you.” His bangs tangled above his hazel eyes and his ruddy cheeks popped with his smile.
“On my way.”
He dashed out the same way he came in. Bam. Slam. “She’s coming. Let’s choose up sides.”
Gotta run. Teaching the boys midnight football. Aiden, remember the time we snuck out to play and Granny was waiting for us on the porch at two a.m.? We were all tiptoeing and whispering. She said, loud as ever, “Where you kids been?” LOL. She had to peel us off the ceiling.
Miss you both. Write. Call. Something.
With love,
Jade-o
Tugging on her Tennessee Volunteers sweatshirt, Jade headed across the yard to where the boys waited, through a blast of October chill. The Boss sang “Born in the USA” from Noah’s truck.
Max was positioned between two teams of three, Asa riding on his shoulders. The boys saw her and cheered.
“All right, Coach Mom.”
Jade jogged toward the makeshift field. “Okay, it’s three on three. These are the rules . . .” As she explained, Max caught her attention with his smile. Pearls of love drifted through her, warming her soul with its incandescent glow.
Max crouched with his hands on his knees, watching as Noah took the hike, dropping back, handing the ball to Calvin. Just four little yards and he’d be in the end zone. But the Lubbock Westerners blitzed. Hard. Unwilling to lose to the last-in-the-league Warriors.
Calvin tucked the ball away but ran into a wall of defenders, and instead of gaining four yards, he lost three. Driven back by a determined inside linebacker.
Max shoved his hat back on his head. “Time. Time.”
The clock on the scoreboard stopped. The score blared red: 9–7.
Noah led the offense to the sideline. Hines and Haley huddled around Max. “What do you want to do?” Hines said, scanning his play card. “Option to the weak side?”
“Coach, pass.” Noah pulled off his helmet. “I can see over their lineman a good two seconds before they blitz. Calvin will be in the end zone with the ball and all they think is blitz, blitz, blitz.”
“Calvin has been running into the same linebacker all night.”
Hines flipped his card over. “But their corner can run stride for stride with Calvin, Noah. He sees you set to pass, he’s going to line up with Cal.”
Max glanced down the line. “Walberg, front and center.” He’d not called on Tucker since his three-field-goal-attempt calamity. But he’d been practicing.
Hard. This was their next to the last game and he only had another four quarters to make a goal this year. And Max wasn’t leaving this season—leaving this team, this town, this short career if God willed it to end—without Tucker putting three on the board.
“Coach, we can do it.” Calvin jutted in front of Max. “I can cut around that corner. I know I can.”
“Haley, get your boys ready to defend the last two minutes and forty seconds of the game like they’ve never defended before. With any luck, we’ll get the ball back and run the clock out. Kicking team, let’s go, on the field.” Tucker jumped up, exchanging his bored expression for terror. “Walberg, let’s go.”
He jumped into action, moving on reflex instead of heart. But Max grabbed him by the pads as he ran past and peered through his face mask. “Get rid of that fear, Tucker. Missing is all in your head. How many did you hit in practice yesterday?”
“Twenty.”
“So go out there and hit twenty-one.”
“Y-yes, Coach.”
“Concentrate. Follow through, head down. Keep those hips toward the goal. Kick that ball like you’re a winner. Because, Tucker, this is for the win.”
Max shot his fist in the air and the team leaned into him. “Warriors on three.
One, two, three.”
“Warriors!”
The kicking team ran onto the field. Tucker brought up the rear, snapping on his chin strap. Lift your head up, boy. Lift your head up.
The fans stood with a mixed, mingling murmur of support. Coach, what are you doing? Come on, Tucker. Anticipation took the chill in the air down a degree or two.
Max scanned the stands for Jade. She watched with her hands balled at her cheeks, staring ahead. Mariah stood next to her, yelling, arms flailing, fingers pointing toward the field. Sit down, Mariah. Cheer for your son.
On the other side of Jade, Brenda bounced Asa on her hip. Then she moved, like a coiled snake, snatched Mariah’s arm, gave it a twist and the irate mom melted down to the bleachers.
You go, Brenda.
Max faced the field. “Let’s go, Tucker.” Max stepped and leaned over the sideline, urging on his brave kicker. Whispering a prayer.
Haley lined up off his right shoulder. “Max, it’s a twenty-four-yard kick.”
“He can do it, Haley. We can’t get much closer.”
The ref whistled the play alive and Noah, the ball holder, encouraged Tuck by holding up his fist of solidarity. Then he called for the snap. The breeze landed on the field. The bleachers went silent.
Noah T’d the ball.
Tucker stepped, one, two, three, drawing back his kicking leg, his ankle straight, his plant foot pointed toward the goal. When he made contact, his hips rotated toward the posts and the ball arched end over end. High. Right . . . on . . . the . . . money.
Max’s heart beat with each spiral. He was afraid to breathe.
The ball sailed through a bright wash of stadium light and for a second, Max lost sight of it. Then whoosh, it splashed into view and soared through the uprights. Smack down the middle.
The refs whistled and ran forward with their arms in the air. Good! The kick was good. The Warriors scored.
For a second, the earth stood still. Then the team erupted onto the field and the stands went wild. A stunned Tucker ended up buried under a pile of boys showing their undying gratitude.
Even Lubbock players applauded.
Finally pulled from the bottom of the pile, Tucker ran for Max, flying into him. “I did it, Coach. I did it.”
Max wrapped his hand around his helmet, drew him in. “I told you, you could. I told you. How’s it feel to be a football player?”
“It . . . it feels awesome.” Tucker bucked back his emotion, but Max wouldn’t blame him for bawling like a baby. A season’s worth of tension and failure needed to be let out.
When Max let him go, Tucker ran to the fence, peered up at Jade who was jumping and waving. Mariah was nowhere to be seen.
“Defense, let’s hold Tucker’s lead.” It was only by one. But it was their one.
Haley ran past Max. “I’m on it, Coach. Defense on me. This is what we’ve been working for all year.”
He did it. Jade wiped away her tears. “Look at that, look at that,” Brenda muttered over and over.
Tucker kicked a field goal. The Warriors were ahead. And the D was battling like their lives depended on it.
Jade glanced down the row where Mariah should’ve been, seeing her son win the game. But she was gone. When Max had called Tucker up, Mariah went ballistic, reaming Jade out because “your husband” put “my son” in the game just to humiliate him.
No, Mariah, you’re doing that all by yourself.
“You think you can steal my son . . . Miss High and Mighty . . . Where were you when he had a fever and diarrhea?” She ranted. Railed. “Who do you think you are?”
Jade peered at her. “Just a woman who loves your son.”
Fuel to her flame, those words. Mariah started back into it, growing louder, then Brenda reached around with some kind of scary kung fu grip and down she went. “Go clean yourself up, Mariah.”
She steamed and stormed off. Just as Tucker made the kick. Women. Such a complicated species.
As the D ran onto the field, Jade winced. For the last few minutes, a discomfort settled in her lower abdomen. A second sharp pang awakened her senses. Something was wrong.
She’d had pain and cramping off and on for a couple of days. Dr. Gelman said, “The womb making room,” and laughed at her own pun.
But this didn’t feel like womb room. Another sharp pang fired up through Jade’s abdomen and bent her forward. Then she felt it. The warm gush.
“Brenda, I’ll be back.” Jade tugged her jacket tight and moved down the bleachers.
“You all right, shug?” She bounced Asa. “Come on D, read the play. Get off the line.”
Panic burped in Jade’s mind and soured her heart. This wasn’t happening. She was thirteen weeks. Past the old danger zone. The baby moved. Dr. Gelman verified the heartbeat.
Don’t die on me, little one.
Following the signs to Warrior Women, Jade rounded the brick wall and ran into Mariah Walberg. “Mariah, I’m sorry, excuse me.” She stepped around her. “You missed your son’s kick. He scored.” Jade shoved the door.
“Was that what all the cheering was about?” Was that remorse in her tone?
Jade held her next step forward. “I’m not trying to steal your son, Mariah.” Jade winced with another cramping wave. Followed by another warm rush. “I’m sorry, but I need to go.”
Barricading herself in the first stall, Jade realized her fears. Blood, soaking blood. “No, no, no.” White spots paraded across her vision and her heart beat so frantically Jade lost control of her trembling hands and quivering legs.
The thin sheets of toilet paper shredded when she tried to rip them from the roll. “Oh, come on.” Jade smashed the metal dispenser with her hand.
“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus . . . please, please.” Tears burned a hot trail down her cheeks.
“Hey in there, are you okay?” The tips of Mariah’s boots barely showed beneath the stall.
“No . . . I’m not. Get Max, Max. Please.”
“Coach? He’s on the field.”
“I . . . I’m bleeding, Mariah. Get him, please.”
“Do you need a tampon?” Mariah’s boot tips turned toward the opposite wall. “Oh, there’s no machine.”
“No, no, I’m pregnant.” Jade held back a blue word. “Was pregnant.”
“You’re pregnant?” Mariah banged on the door. “Open up. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“Mariah, please, get Max.” Jade collected herself as best she could and opened the stall door. The cramping came in small waves followed by purple swells of panic. “I need Max.” She left her phone in the truck, but Max never took his phone onto the field. “Mariah, I need my husband.” Jade lowered to the floor, stretching out on the cold, wet tile. Please, God, this one was supposed to be different. Supposed to live.
“What are you doing? You can’t lie down on this floor, it’s filthy.” Mariah snapped a wad of paper towels from the dispenser and dropped to the floor, mopping up some of the grime.
“I’d lie on a mountain of mud to save this baby.”
“Where’s your car? I’ll get it. Drive you.” This stubborn woman was not the same insulting Mariah who’d dressed her down in the stands a few minutes ago.
“Go get Max. Get a deputy to help you.”
“Are you sure? I can drive you to the ER, then come back to tell him.”
“Mariah.”
She bolted from the bathroom with a click-clack of her boot heels, then click-clacked back. “I’m really sorry . . . about earlier.”
“Mariah, it’s okay. I understand.”
“I was jealous is all. Tucker thinks you hung the moon. Oh, I’ll shut up. Hold on, I’ll be right back. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Lying on the cold, hard floor, eyes shut, heart wide open, Jade pleaded with the Lord of life to save her child.
“Coach.” A sheriff deputy tapped him on the shoulder. “The woman at the fence says she needs you. Emergency.”
Max turned. Jade? But it was Mariah. What? They had the ball back, a minute to go, and Noah was hitting Calvin in the numbers. They were down by two again. Lubbock had kicked a field goal but the Warriors were marching down the field.
“Coach.” She waved him over.
Max checked down the line at Tucker. He watched, sheepish and distant.
“Coach.” Again with the frantic arm wave. Max gazed up to the stands. Where was Jade?
He ran to the fence. “What?”
“Jade . . . in the bathroom. She’s bleeding.”
In one move, Max cleared the fence and raced for the low stone building by the concession stand, crashing shoulders, shoving bodies, hollering, “Out of my way.”
Behind him, the crowd gasped. A whistle blew. He jerked open the bathroom door. “Jade.” He dropped to one knee. “What’s going on?” Her hair was soaked in a puddle of muddy water. Her eyes were red and raw.
“I’m losing the baby . . . I’m losing . . . it’s never going to be right, is it? It’ll always be almost but . . . never. Never.” She shook with a sorrowful sob.
“Hush, you’re not losing this baby.” Max slipped his arms under her and lifted her off the floor. “The ambulance is right outside the door.” Kicking his way out the bathroom door, he ran toward the red and white emergency vehicle. “Medic!”
The EMTs in the aisle watching the game bolted into action. “My wife might be miscarrying.”
“Got you, Coach.” The men in blue went into action, pulling out the stretcher, taking Jade from Max’s arms.
Mariah danced and pranced off to the side.
“Mariah, where’s Asa?” he said, turning to her.
“With Miss Brenda.”
“After the game, get Tuck and take him to our house with Asa. Can you handle that? There’s a spare key out on the carport. Under the flowerpot.”
“Y-you’d trust . . . me?”
“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”
Her eyes grew wide and round. “No, sir.” She swallowed and sobered. “Miss Brenda can come, too, help out.”
“You probably can’t stop her. But Tuck knows Asa’s routine.”
“Don’t worry, Jade.” Mariah reached for Jade’s hand as the paramedics moved her into the wagon. “I’ll take care of him.”
“Just make sure he gets something to eat before he goes to bed. He likes applesauce or yogurt. Tuck knows.”
Max climbed into the back and the medic clapped the doors closed. The engine fired up and the ambulance surged out of the parking lot. Jade gripped his hand so fiercely he couldn’t feel his fingertips, but he held on to her.
Jade lay there, weeping, tears flowing with the speed of the vehicle. Max had no words. Only prayer. After a moment, he bent down to her face.
“Look at me, Jade. It’s going to be all right. We didn’t come this far by God’s grace to fail.”
“I can’t do this again, Max. I can’t lose another baby.”
“We got to have faith, babe. What can we do—but believe?”
“I can’t believe. I can’t . . .” She winced, squeezing her eyes shut so water gushed from the corners. “Where are the lights of life now, Max? Where?”