Coach, p.26
Coach, page 26
MILLIE
Surrounded by thousands and thousands of Wildcat fans, hidden in a sea of royal blue and silver, I yelled.
I yelled and screamed and whistled.
My noise was lost in the chaos, just a whisper compared to the collective roar whirling through the stadium. For the first time since college, I was here only as a Wildcat fan, my single responsibility to cheer for my team against the Griz.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I leaned closer to Autumn, taking her gloved hand in mine.
“Anytime. How are you doing?”
“I just want to win.”
Nearly everyone from the athletics department was here today. None of them had so much as blinked when Autumn and I had walked through the gates. I’d been greeted with smiles and waves, which meant Kurt must not have told anyone I’d quit.
The only person I hadn’t seen today was Drew. If Kurt had told anyone, it would have been him. But Drew was probably crazy busy today if he was covering for me. Poor Drew. I felt awful for leaving him in the lurch.
But awful was the adjective for the past twenty-four hours.
I’d managed not to cave and call Ford last night. Instead, I’d called Autumn. She’d come over with a bottle of wine and pizza, both consumed while I’d told her about Adrian and Kurt and quitting my job.
Since I hadn’t trusted myself last night not to call Ford and have a breakdown, I’d asked her to hold my phone hostage until this morning. He needed to concentrate on the game, not my unemployment situation.
After breakfast, we’d donned our winter gear and made our way to the stadium, my phone still tucked safely in her coat pocket. But thirty minutes before the game had started, after Ford and his team had made the trek from the fieldhouse to the stadium and the stands had begun to fill with people, she’d given it back. So I’d slipped off my thick mittens and turned on my phone.
The first message he’d left this morning had been nice. Sweet. He missed me. Wanted me to have a good day. Told me to find him after the game. I’d breathed a sigh of relief that I’d gotten lucky. That he hadn’t found out I’d quit.
But then I’d listened to his second message.
Millicent.
Oh, I was in trouble.
Ford stood on the sidelines, his undivided attention on the game. But there was an edge to his movements today. A calculation. Not once had he casually put his hands in his pockets. Not once had he smiled.
Granted, this was the game of the season.
Except I knew that man to the core. He was angry, and football was his outlet. So he was giving everything he had to the game.
So far, it was paying off.
The Wildcats were leading the Grizzlies ten to seven. Both teams had scored during the first quarter, and since . . . nothing. The Griz defense had shown up to play. They weren’t giving the Wildcat offense a break. Thankfully, our defense had matched theirs beat for beat to keep them from scoring too.
The clock on the scoreboard kept ticking down. With only four and a half minutes left to play in the fourth quarter, if we could just hold them off for a little while longer, we’d be the Big Sky Conference champions. A feat no one had expected this year, not with a new coach and the drama from last year’s scandal.
People had underestimated Ford. Of course, he’d come here to win.
A surge of pride swelled in my chest, so strong it nearly brought me to tears for the hundredth time since yesterday.
I’d spent last night crying on Autumn’s shoulder, mourning the loss of my career. But this morning, when I’d woken to a beautiful, chilly November morning, the tears of sadness were gone. Today, the only tears I’d cried had been of joy. Of pride.
Ford was magnificent. He’d been born to lead this Wildcat team.
Not once since I’d been here today, watching the game, rooting for my alma mater, had I regretted my decision. If me quitting meant Ford could stand on the sidelines, exactly where he was meant to be, I’d do it a thousand times.
The sound system buzzed with the commentator announcing a third down by the Wildcats.
“Damn,” I muttered. With the time left, I’d expected the Grizzlies to get another possession, but I’d hoped that our offense would have made it farther and chewed up the clock. But they’d only managed eight rushing yards.
“The defense has got to be getting tired,” I told Autumn, smacking my hands together in frustration. “We can’t seem to keep them off the field.”
“We’re still winning,” she said.
“We’ll be okay.” As long as the Griz didn’t score on this drive. “If we can just hold them off here.”
“It’s scary how well you know football,” she said.
“Scary awesome.”
Autumn pointed to the Griz sideline. “That coach right there is smoking hot.”
“No.” I shook my head. “If you date a Griz coach, our friendship will never recover.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
The white puffs of our breaths mingled as the commentator came on again. “Maverick Houston on the field to punt for the Wildcats.”
The team was decked out in special uniforms today, a vintage-inspired set of blue jerseys and gray pants with silver helmets.
Special teams took their places, the crowd on their feet as Maverick took his position. Then the long snapper sent the ball flying into Maverick’s waiting hands. He kicked it, the ball sailing toward the other end of the field, where the receiver signaled for a fair catch.
The referees rushed to put the ball on the line of scrimmage as our defense once again took the field.
The next three minutes were agony.
Not a single person sat on the icy, metal benches. Thousands and thousands of people were on their feet, jumping and moving in place with the flow of the game.
The Griz managed to get a first down, advancing the chains. The fatigue on our defense was noticeable. Sluggish legs. Panting chests. But they didn’t give up. And by the third down, they’d held the Grizzlies to only two yards gained. Not enough to keep the ball.
“Oh, thank God.” The air rushed from my lungs as the defense jogged off the field. “This could be it. If we don’t make a mistake, if we keep them from getting the ball back, we’ll win.”
“We’re going to win.” Autumn clutched my hand tight.
My heart was in my throat as the Grizzlies punted. The receiver attempted to run but was stopped at the nineteen yard line.
So the offense jogged onto the field, led by Rush Ramsey as he took his position behind the center. He shifted, stepping back as he started talking to another player. There must have been a miscommunication because when Rush should have been getting ready for the snap, he was shaking his head, glancing to the sidelines and Parks O’Haire.
The two shared hand signals, back and forth, all while the play clock ticked.
“Watch the clock!” I screamed, my arm flying toward the scoreboard. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. “Hurry up!”
“What are they waiting for?” a man behind me asked.
My heart was in my throat, my gaze glued to the field. But then there was Ford, stepping up beside Parks to signal the play.
Twins right, special.
I’d been paying attention to Ford’s playbook this week as he’d prepped for the game. This was one of the simpler plays, but nonetheless effective. Especially when you had a quarterback who could run the ball if his running back wasn’t open.
Rush ran to his spot behind center, hands ready as he called it out. Hike.
The center snapped him the ball and Rush dropped back into the pocket, looking for his receiver. Except he was under tight coverage, that freaking Grizzly defense almost impenetrable. So Rush tucked the ball and took off.
It was one of Rush’s greatest strengths as a quarterback. He was a beast, strong and fast, and wasn’t afraid to get hit. Running the ball was a risk, it opened up quarterbacks to injuries, but he ran regardless, gaining the Wildcats six yards.
“Yes,” I breathed, letting my shoulders sag. Then I clapped, ready for the next play like I was out there on the field myself. “Four more. Let’s get four more yards.”
The confusion from the first play was gone. This time, as the offense took formation and Rush waited, the delay was intentional. Let the play clock run to eat up the game clock.
The snap came and Rush handed the ball to a running back, the kid busting past the line and gaining five yards before he was brought down.
“Yes.” My arms shot in the air.
“First down, Wildcats!” The commentator’s voice filled the stadium along with a chorus of cheers.
While a handful of the other coaches were cheering, Ford stood stoically on the sideline, gaze locked on the field as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You got this,” I murmured, willing my words to hitch a ride on the slight breeze and float their way to Ford.
His arms uncrossed. His gaze drifted from the field to the stands.
It was ridiculous to think he could see me, but I smiled all the same.
Then, like Ford, I shifted my attention to the Wildcats.
We just had to run down the clock. “Don’t fumble the ball. Do not fumble the ball.”
“Should you even be putting that out in the universe, Millie?”
“Sorry.” I held my breath as the ball was snapped and Rush took a few steps back, arm raised like he was going to throw it. “No,” I gasped.
A pass was too risky. We couldn’t risk an interception, not now.
But Rush threw the ball anyway, sending it straight into the arms of Erik Manning, our star wide receiver.
Erik took off running for the end zone. His long legs stretched, his body pushed to the extreme as he outmatched every Grizzly attempting to take him down. In that moment, he looked a lot like Ford.
And I was taken ten years into the past, to a game not all that different from this one, when I’d cheered for the man of my dreams as he’d run the ball the length of this exact field to score the winning touchdown.
Every single person in the stadium was locked on Erik.
But I only had eyes for Ford.
I watched him as he stood, unmoving, as the rest of the players and coaches were waving Erik on, screaming and cheering. I watched Ford do a fist pump, then shoot that arm straight in the air as the crowd erupted. I watched Ford as everyone around him converged, jumping and leaping on him while the cannon fired its thundering boom in the background.
I watched Ford as the football sailed through the goal posts for the extra point, the clock ticked to zero, and the Wildcats declared victory over the Grizzlies.
We won.
“We won.”
My eyes flooded. My chin quivered. I sucked in a breath, willing myself not to cry. Then I started clapping with muffled thwacks of my mittens.
“Hey.” Autumn nudged my elbow, then pointed toward the jumbotron.
And there I was.
Ollie, a cameraman I’d known for years, was on the field below my section. He’d zoomed in so close that my face filled the massive screen.
I smiled, then raised an arm in the air. “Go Big Blue!”
Autumn laughed as the screen changed to another group of fans. And I turned my attention again to the field.
To Ford.
Who was staring straight at me.
No hiding this time. My cheeks flushed because he did not look happy. But I simply shrugged, lifted a mitten to my face and blew him a kiss.
He pointed at me. Then he pointed to the field. A clear get your ass down here if I’d ever seen one.
“And that’s my cue to go home and unthaw.” Autumn pulled me into a hug. “Call me tomorrow.”
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“It was fun.” Her gaze drifted to the Griz coach she’d been ogling earlier.
“Autumn,” I warned.
“What?” She feigned innocence. “Maybe he needs consoling.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go. Console.”
She giggled, then slipped past me while I made my way to the railing that bordered the field. It was a solid eight foot drop to the turf.
But I didn’t have to worry about jumping down.
Ford stalked through the crush of players and staff and fans on the field, only stopping to shake hands with the Grizzly head coach. Then he kept on walking, his long strides eating up the distance between us. People parted around him, some watching to see where he was going.
I climbed over the railing, sitting on the cold metal bar as Ford stopped beneath me, extending his arms to catch me as I dropped.
The moment I was on my feet, he planted his hands on his hips. “Millicent.”
“Congratulations, Coach. Great game.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You lied to me.”
“Coach Ellis.” A man appeared at his side but Ford dismissed him with a headshake.
“We can talk about this later,” I said.
“No.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“No secrets, Millie. Not from each other.”
“Promise.”
The scowl on his face faded. “You quit your job.”
“Yep.”
“I was going to quit.”
“You’d better not. Now that I’m not working for the school, I need you to get me VIP access passes.”
Ford shook his head, fighting a grin. “Do not make me laugh when I’m mad at you.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
He stepped forward, his knuckles coming to brush against my cheek. Regret filled those brilliant blue eyes. “I didn’t want you to quit. I don’t want you giving anything up for me.”
I leaned into his touch. “And I would give up anything for you.”
“No. That’s not how it should be.”
“It’s okay, Ford. Really. I’m oddly good with this.”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I.” President Cruz came to a stop at our sides.
Next to her stood Kurt. His chin was bowed, his shoulders hunched. This was not the look of a man whose team had just won an important game. No, this was a guy who’d just received an epic ass chewing.
I really loved President Cruz.
“Millie, you can’t quit,” Kurt said. “Would you please consider staying?”
My jaw dropped. He actually looked sincere. “What about the no-fraternization policy?”
“Amended,” President Cruz answered for him. “Effective immediately. It’s antiquated. I see no reason why two people can’t be in a relationship as long as it doesn’t impact the quality of their work and one party doesn’t supervise the other.”
Oh my God. I looked to Ford.
He grinned. “Problem solved.”
“Just like that?” My gaze darted everywhere. To President Cruz. To Kurt. To Ford. This seemed too simple. Too good to be true.
“Just like that.” President Cruz nodded. “Fantastic game, Ford.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his chin.
“So you’ll come back, Millie?” Kurt asked. “Monday morning?”
“I’d lov—” Wait. “I want the men’s basketball team under my umbrella.” Kurt could keep football. He could be Ford’s boss. My boss. But I wanted everything else. It was time for more equality across our sports.
Those teams that brought in more revenue would always have larger budgets, but if they were all under my supervision, I could ensure that the smaller programs weren’t forced to make unnecessary cuts.
And even if football remained with Kurt, I had Ford in my corner.
Kurt opened his mouth, probably to tell me no, but President Cruz cleared her throat. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about delegating more your way.”
That actually sounded like the truth.
“Then I’ll see you Monday morning.”
The relief on Kurt’s face was palpable. “Thank goodness.”
President Cruz winked at me. “I’ll let you all celebrate. Kurt, I’ll see you Tuesday at our standing meeting.”
“Have a great weekend.”
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kurt behind. He extended his hand to Ford. “Big Sky champs. It’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Ford shook Kurt’s hand.
“See you both next week.” Kurt turned, like he was about to leave, but he stopped. And this time, he held his hand out to me. “We’re a better department with you, Millie.”
My jaw hit the turf for the second time in five minutes. More sincerity. Who was this Kurt imposter? “Um, thank you.”
“Monday.”
I nodded. “Monday.”
With a wave, he vanished into the crowd too.
“Did that just happen?” I whispered.
Ford dropped his forehead to mine. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
His arms wrapped around me, hauling me off my feet.
Movement over his shoulder had my eyes going wide. I opened my mouth, ready to warn him, but I was too late. I buried my face in his shoulder just as Rush Ramsey and Maverick Houston hefted a water cooler over their heads.
And dumped it on Ford.
He shifted, doing his best to shield me, but we both got soaked.
“Ah!” I laughed, pulling a lock of hair out of my mouth before taking off my wet beanie, stuffing it into my coat pocket. Then after Ford set me on my feet, I shoved his arm. “Go. Celebrate. I’ll see you at home.”
Ford just shook his head, stretched out an arm and pulled me close. Then he sealed his mouth over mine.
Catcalls from his team erupted as they circled around us.
Ford just kept kissing me.
Ollie got footage of that kiss too.
EPILOGUE
FORD
Seven years later . . .
“I’m pissed at you,” I panted, shooting a glare at Millie.
“Me?” She rolled her eyes as we jogged. “This is not my fault.”
There were at least a hundred blisters on my feet. My lungs were on fire, and if I didn’t puke before this race was over, it would be a marvel. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have had such a big breakfast.”
Millie hummed.
“Just say it,” I snapped.
“I told you so.” No hesitation.
Surrounded by thousands and thousands of Wildcat fans, hidden in a sea of royal blue and silver, I yelled.
I yelled and screamed and whistled.
My noise was lost in the chaos, just a whisper compared to the collective roar whirling through the stadium. For the first time since college, I was here only as a Wildcat fan, my single responsibility to cheer for my team against the Griz.
“Thanks for coming with me.” I leaned closer to Autumn, taking her gloved hand in mine.
“Anytime. How are you doing?”
“I just want to win.”
Nearly everyone from the athletics department was here today. None of them had so much as blinked when Autumn and I had walked through the gates. I’d been greeted with smiles and waves, which meant Kurt must not have told anyone I’d quit.
The only person I hadn’t seen today was Drew. If Kurt had told anyone, it would have been him. But Drew was probably crazy busy today if he was covering for me. Poor Drew. I felt awful for leaving him in the lurch.
But awful was the adjective for the past twenty-four hours.
I’d managed not to cave and call Ford last night. Instead, I’d called Autumn. She’d come over with a bottle of wine and pizza, both consumed while I’d told her about Adrian and Kurt and quitting my job.
Since I hadn’t trusted myself last night not to call Ford and have a breakdown, I’d asked her to hold my phone hostage until this morning. He needed to concentrate on the game, not my unemployment situation.
After breakfast, we’d donned our winter gear and made our way to the stadium, my phone still tucked safely in her coat pocket. But thirty minutes before the game had started, after Ford and his team had made the trek from the fieldhouse to the stadium and the stands had begun to fill with people, she’d given it back. So I’d slipped off my thick mittens and turned on my phone.
The first message he’d left this morning had been nice. Sweet. He missed me. Wanted me to have a good day. Told me to find him after the game. I’d breathed a sigh of relief that I’d gotten lucky. That he hadn’t found out I’d quit.
But then I’d listened to his second message.
Millicent.
Oh, I was in trouble.
Ford stood on the sidelines, his undivided attention on the game. But there was an edge to his movements today. A calculation. Not once had he casually put his hands in his pockets. Not once had he smiled.
Granted, this was the game of the season.
Except I knew that man to the core. He was angry, and football was his outlet. So he was giving everything he had to the game.
So far, it was paying off.
The Wildcats were leading the Grizzlies ten to seven. Both teams had scored during the first quarter, and since . . . nothing. The Griz defense had shown up to play. They weren’t giving the Wildcat offense a break. Thankfully, our defense had matched theirs beat for beat to keep them from scoring too.
The clock on the scoreboard kept ticking down. With only four and a half minutes left to play in the fourth quarter, if we could just hold them off for a little while longer, we’d be the Big Sky Conference champions. A feat no one had expected this year, not with a new coach and the drama from last year’s scandal.
People had underestimated Ford. Of course, he’d come here to win.
A surge of pride swelled in my chest, so strong it nearly brought me to tears for the hundredth time since yesterday.
I’d spent last night crying on Autumn’s shoulder, mourning the loss of my career. But this morning, when I’d woken to a beautiful, chilly November morning, the tears of sadness were gone. Today, the only tears I’d cried had been of joy. Of pride.
Ford was magnificent. He’d been born to lead this Wildcat team.
Not once since I’d been here today, watching the game, rooting for my alma mater, had I regretted my decision. If me quitting meant Ford could stand on the sidelines, exactly where he was meant to be, I’d do it a thousand times.
The sound system buzzed with the commentator announcing a third down by the Wildcats.
“Damn,” I muttered. With the time left, I’d expected the Grizzlies to get another possession, but I’d hoped that our offense would have made it farther and chewed up the clock. But they’d only managed eight rushing yards.
“The defense has got to be getting tired,” I told Autumn, smacking my hands together in frustration. “We can’t seem to keep them off the field.”
“We’re still winning,” she said.
“We’ll be okay.” As long as the Griz didn’t score on this drive. “If we can just hold them off here.”
“It’s scary how well you know football,” she said.
“Scary awesome.”
Autumn pointed to the Griz sideline. “That coach right there is smoking hot.”
“No.” I shook my head. “If you date a Griz coach, our friendship will never recover.”
“Fine,” she muttered.
The white puffs of our breaths mingled as the commentator came on again. “Maverick Houston on the field to punt for the Wildcats.”
The team was decked out in special uniforms today, a vintage-inspired set of blue jerseys and gray pants with silver helmets.
Special teams took their places, the crowd on their feet as Maverick took his position. Then the long snapper sent the ball flying into Maverick’s waiting hands. He kicked it, the ball sailing toward the other end of the field, where the receiver signaled for a fair catch.
The referees rushed to put the ball on the line of scrimmage as our defense once again took the field.
The next three minutes were agony.
Not a single person sat on the icy, metal benches. Thousands and thousands of people were on their feet, jumping and moving in place with the flow of the game.
The Griz managed to get a first down, advancing the chains. The fatigue on our defense was noticeable. Sluggish legs. Panting chests. But they didn’t give up. And by the third down, they’d held the Grizzlies to only two yards gained. Not enough to keep the ball.
“Oh, thank God.” The air rushed from my lungs as the defense jogged off the field. “This could be it. If we don’t make a mistake, if we keep them from getting the ball back, we’ll win.”
“We’re going to win.” Autumn clutched my hand tight.
My heart was in my throat as the Grizzlies punted. The receiver attempted to run but was stopped at the nineteen yard line.
So the offense jogged onto the field, led by Rush Ramsey as he took his position behind the center. He shifted, stepping back as he started talking to another player. There must have been a miscommunication because when Rush should have been getting ready for the snap, he was shaking his head, glancing to the sidelines and Parks O’Haire.
The two shared hand signals, back and forth, all while the play clock ticked.
“Watch the clock!” I screamed, my arm flying toward the scoreboard. Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. “Hurry up!”
“What are they waiting for?” a man behind me asked.
My heart was in my throat, my gaze glued to the field. But then there was Ford, stepping up beside Parks to signal the play.
Twins right, special.
I’d been paying attention to Ford’s playbook this week as he’d prepped for the game. This was one of the simpler plays, but nonetheless effective. Especially when you had a quarterback who could run the ball if his running back wasn’t open.
Rush ran to his spot behind center, hands ready as he called it out. Hike.
The center snapped him the ball and Rush dropped back into the pocket, looking for his receiver. Except he was under tight coverage, that freaking Grizzly defense almost impenetrable. So Rush tucked the ball and took off.
It was one of Rush’s greatest strengths as a quarterback. He was a beast, strong and fast, and wasn’t afraid to get hit. Running the ball was a risk, it opened up quarterbacks to injuries, but he ran regardless, gaining the Wildcats six yards.
“Yes,” I breathed, letting my shoulders sag. Then I clapped, ready for the next play like I was out there on the field myself. “Four more. Let’s get four more yards.”
The confusion from the first play was gone. This time, as the offense took formation and Rush waited, the delay was intentional. Let the play clock run to eat up the game clock.
The snap came and Rush handed the ball to a running back, the kid busting past the line and gaining five yards before he was brought down.
“Yes.” My arms shot in the air.
“First down, Wildcats!” The commentator’s voice filled the stadium along with a chorus of cheers.
While a handful of the other coaches were cheering, Ford stood stoically on the sideline, gaze locked on the field as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“You got this,” I murmured, willing my words to hitch a ride on the slight breeze and float their way to Ford.
His arms uncrossed. His gaze drifted from the field to the stands.
It was ridiculous to think he could see me, but I smiled all the same.
Then, like Ford, I shifted my attention to the Wildcats.
We just had to run down the clock. “Don’t fumble the ball. Do not fumble the ball.”
“Should you even be putting that out in the universe, Millie?”
“Sorry.” I held my breath as the ball was snapped and Rush took a few steps back, arm raised like he was going to throw it. “No,” I gasped.
A pass was too risky. We couldn’t risk an interception, not now.
But Rush threw the ball anyway, sending it straight into the arms of Erik Manning, our star wide receiver.
Erik took off running for the end zone. His long legs stretched, his body pushed to the extreme as he outmatched every Grizzly attempting to take him down. In that moment, he looked a lot like Ford.
And I was taken ten years into the past, to a game not all that different from this one, when I’d cheered for the man of my dreams as he’d run the ball the length of this exact field to score the winning touchdown.
Every single person in the stadium was locked on Erik.
But I only had eyes for Ford.
I watched him as he stood, unmoving, as the rest of the players and coaches were waving Erik on, screaming and cheering. I watched Ford do a fist pump, then shoot that arm straight in the air as the crowd erupted. I watched Ford as everyone around him converged, jumping and leaping on him while the cannon fired its thundering boom in the background.
I watched Ford as the football sailed through the goal posts for the extra point, the clock ticked to zero, and the Wildcats declared victory over the Grizzlies.
We won.
“We won.”
My eyes flooded. My chin quivered. I sucked in a breath, willing myself not to cry. Then I started clapping with muffled thwacks of my mittens.
“Hey.” Autumn nudged my elbow, then pointed toward the jumbotron.
And there I was.
Ollie, a cameraman I’d known for years, was on the field below my section. He’d zoomed in so close that my face filled the massive screen.
I smiled, then raised an arm in the air. “Go Big Blue!”
Autumn laughed as the screen changed to another group of fans. And I turned my attention again to the field.
To Ford.
Who was staring straight at me.
No hiding this time. My cheeks flushed because he did not look happy. But I simply shrugged, lifted a mitten to my face and blew him a kiss.
He pointed at me. Then he pointed to the field. A clear get your ass down here if I’d ever seen one.
“And that’s my cue to go home and unthaw.” Autumn pulled me into a hug. “Call me tomorrow.”
“Thanks for coming with me.”
“It was fun.” Her gaze drifted to the Griz coach she’d been ogling earlier.
“Autumn,” I warned.
“What?” She feigned innocence. “Maybe he needs consoling.”
I rolled my eyes. “Go. Console.”
She giggled, then slipped past me while I made my way to the railing that bordered the field. It was a solid eight foot drop to the turf.
But I didn’t have to worry about jumping down.
Ford stalked through the crush of players and staff and fans on the field, only stopping to shake hands with the Grizzly head coach. Then he kept on walking, his long strides eating up the distance between us. People parted around him, some watching to see where he was going.
I climbed over the railing, sitting on the cold metal bar as Ford stopped beneath me, extending his arms to catch me as I dropped.
The moment I was on my feet, he planted his hands on his hips. “Millicent.”
“Congratulations, Coach. Great game.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You lied to me.”
“Coach Ellis.” A man appeared at his side but Ford dismissed him with a headshake.
“We can talk about this later,” I said.
“No.”
I sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“No secrets, Millie. Not from each other.”
“Promise.”
The scowl on his face faded. “You quit your job.”
“Yep.”
“I was going to quit.”
“You’d better not. Now that I’m not working for the school, I need you to get me VIP access passes.”
Ford shook his head, fighting a grin. “Do not make me laugh when I’m mad at you.”
“Don’t be mad at me.”
He stepped forward, his knuckles coming to brush against my cheek. Regret filled those brilliant blue eyes. “I didn’t want you to quit. I don’t want you giving anything up for me.”
I leaned into his touch. “And I would give up anything for you.”
“No. That’s not how it should be.”
“It’s okay, Ford. Really. I’m oddly good with this.”
“I’m not.”
“Neither am I.” President Cruz came to a stop at our sides.
Next to her stood Kurt. His chin was bowed, his shoulders hunched. This was not the look of a man whose team had just won an important game. No, this was a guy who’d just received an epic ass chewing.
I really loved President Cruz.
“Millie, you can’t quit,” Kurt said. “Would you please consider staying?”
My jaw dropped. He actually looked sincere. “What about the no-fraternization policy?”
“Amended,” President Cruz answered for him. “Effective immediately. It’s antiquated. I see no reason why two people can’t be in a relationship as long as it doesn’t impact the quality of their work and one party doesn’t supervise the other.”
Oh my God. I looked to Ford.
He grinned. “Problem solved.”
“Just like that?” My gaze darted everywhere. To President Cruz. To Kurt. To Ford. This seemed too simple. Too good to be true.
“Just like that.” President Cruz nodded. “Fantastic game, Ford.”
“Thank you.” He dipped his chin.
“So you’ll come back, Millie?” Kurt asked. “Monday morning?”
“I’d lov—” Wait. “I want the men’s basketball team under my umbrella.” Kurt could keep football. He could be Ford’s boss. My boss. But I wanted everything else. It was time for more equality across our sports.
Those teams that brought in more revenue would always have larger budgets, but if they were all under my supervision, I could ensure that the smaller programs weren’t forced to make unnecessary cuts.
And even if football remained with Kurt, I had Ford in my corner.
Kurt opened his mouth, probably to tell me no, but President Cruz cleared her throat. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about delegating more your way.”
That actually sounded like the truth.
“Then I’ll see you Monday morning.”
The relief on Kurt’s face was palpable. “Thank goodness.”
President Cruz winked at me. “I’ll let you all celebrate. Kurt, I’ll see you Tuesday at our standing meeting.”
“Have a great weekend.”
She disappeared into the crowd, leaving Kurt behind. He extended his hand to Ford. “Big Sky champs. It’s incredible. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Ford shook Kurt’s hand.
“See you both next week.” Kurt turned, like he was about to leave, but he stopped. And this time, he held his hand out to me. “We’re a better department with you, Millie.”
My jaw hit the turf for the second time in five minutes. More sincerity. Who was this Kurt imposter? “Um, thank you.”
“Monday.”
I nodded. “Monday.”
With a wave, he vanished into the crowd too.
“Did that just happen?” I whispered.
Ford dropped his forehead to mine. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
His arms wrapped around me, hauling me off my feet.
Movement over his shoulder had my eyes going wide. I opened my mouth, ready to warn him, but I was too late. I buried my face in his shoulder just as Rush Ramsey and Maverick Houston hefted a water cooler over their heads.
And dumped it on Ford.
He shifted, doing his best to shield me, but we both got soaked.
“Ah!” I laughed, pulling a lock of hair out of my mouth before taking off my wet beanie, stuffing it into my coat pocket. Then after Ford set me on my feet, I shoved his arm. “Go. Celebrate. I’ll see you at home.”
Ford just shook his head, stretched out an arm and pulled me close. Then he sealed his mouth over mine.
Catcalls from his team erupted as they circled around us.
Ford just kept kissing me.
Ollie got footage of that kiss too.
EPILOGUE
FORD
Seven years later . . .
“I’m pissed at you,” I panted, shooting a glare at Millie.
“Me?” She rolled her eyes as we jogged. “This is not my fault.”
There were at least a hundred blisters on my feet. My lungs were on fire, and if I didn’t puke before this race was over, it would be a marvel. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have had such a big breakfast.”
Millie hummed.
“Just say it,” I snapped.
“I told you so.” No hesitation.
