I wonder how much a pyrotechnics guy would charge to get some fire at HERS.
Eh. Never mind.
I’ll just buy some sparklers.
A deep voice rumbles from the speakers. “Mustangs fans, get on your feet and make some noise for YOUR DENVER MUSTANGS!”
I get that it’s his job, but considering everyone is already on their feet and I could barely hear him over the noise, his instructions felt a bit redundant and unnecessary.
“Look for Daddy,” Vonnie tells Jagger, Jett, and Jax as the players filter out of the tunnel, jumping around and pointing to the fans engulfing them.
While they do that, I look for Maxwell.
I thought it would be easier.
Whenever the game is on at the bar, my friends can find their men like they are holding neon signs above their heads. I know Maxwell is number 29, but everyone matches and my eyes aren’t what they used to be.
“Did you tell Maxwell you were sitting with us?” Vonnie asks curiously.
“No, I didn’t have time to talk to him, why?”
She points to a Mustangs player standing by the bench, looking into the crowd. “Because he’s staring at his empty seats like someone kicked his puppy.”
“Oh shit.” I tug my bottom lip between my teeth. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“Damn, girl. Are you trying to chew a hole through your lip?” She turns away from me and starts waving her arms above her head, matching the frantic motions of her kids.
I follow her line of sight until I see Justin turning our way. I’m not really sure why they’re waving. If Maxwell can find his two seats in a crowd of what? Seventy thousand? Then I’m pretty sure Justin can locate his box without their help. Holding his helmet with one hand, he waves up to his family with the other.
“No!” Vonnie yells like there’s a chance in hell that he could even remotely hear her. “Tell Maxwell . . .” She points wildly at Maxwell. “That Brynn . . .” She grabs my hand and starts waving it with her. “Is sitting with us!”
Holy shit.
And I thought the cheers were loud. My ears are going to be ringing for a month.
“Vonnie.” I plug and unplug my ears. “He can’t hear you and now I can’t hear anything.”
“Look.” She points to the field.
I watch in shock as Justin jogs over to the sideline, taps Maxwell on the shoulder, and then points to us.
My jaw falls to the floor and I wave like an idiot to Maxwell, who, now that I know it’s him, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to look away from. “Do you guys have ESP or something? That was impressive.”
“Once you’ve been with someone as long as we’ve been together, it’s more of a surprise not knowing what the other person is thinking.” She sits down, unfolding the cushy seat and putting her glass on the built-in table in front of us. “It’s a blessing and a curse. Sometimes I want no part in the craziness going on in that man’s head.”
“We’re here!” a frazzled woman with a topknot bun and a baby strapped onto her chest shouts. “And we didn’t miss kickoff! Suck it, Ethan!”
I follow her pointing finger to a huge . . . and I mean huge . . . man in a 96 jersey with shaggy red hair falling around his face aiming his helmet toward our seats, his broad smile apparent even from here.
“Oh, shoot.” She brushes a loose piece of hair out of her eye before extending a hand to me. “Sorry about that. I’m Lucy, you must be Brynn.”
“I am, nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, slightly taken aback.
I know that Vonnie told me she wasn’t big on attention and wasn’t a card-carrying member of the Lady Mustangs, but I still assumed she’d be decked out with hair, makeup, heels, and crystals.
Instead, Lucy is wearing a pair of brown riding boots that have the scuffs of being well-loved, black leggings, and a plaid tunic I’d kill for. There is not one speck of makeup on her gorgeous, caramel complexion, and her tight curls are trying their hardest to escape from the elastic band holding them on top of her head.
“What was with the entrance?” Vonnie asks, not bothering to stand up.
“Ethan bet me five nights of midnight feedings that I wouldn’t make it to the game before kickoff.” She wiggles her hips, holding the tiny little head against her chest. “Never underestimate the determination of a sleep-deprived mother.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” I say.
One of the many reasons I don’t think I’m mom material is my dire need of sleep. When I don’t have it, I fear that I will end up being an episode of Dateline called “Why She Snapped.” It will show a close-up of me in a padded room, rocking back and forth chanting, “Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.”
“Eh. Olly doesn’t really take a bottle, so I don’t think it’s going to actually happen, but it doesn’t mean I can’t hope.” Lucy shrugs the enormous diaper bag off of her shoulder and tosses it carelessly onto the seat next to her. “Ruth and Clara, no candy before you eat some real food,” she yells back without looking.
I turn around just in time to see two little redheaded girls’ shoulders slump as they put the gummy bears back in the bowl.
I’m really starting to believe that moms do actually have another set of eyes in the back of their heads. “How do you guys do that?” I ask like a little kid at a magic show.
“Do what?” Vonnie asks.
“Know what your kids are doing without looking,” I clarify.
Lucy smiles and I swear her eyes sparkle. “Kids are creatures of habit. Everywhere we go, every single time, they do the same thing and I repeat myself a million times. I’m always talking, but I only say the same ten phrases.”
“Mommy, can you help me and Clara?” the taller of the redheaded girls asks from the doorway. She’s painfully adorable with loose, messy curls framing her round face. She has a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and her green eyes pop against her tan skin. She’s in a polka-dot dress paired with striped tights and sparkling ruby-red Mary Janes. I might not want kids, but my ovaries ache looking at her.
“Of course, darling,” Lucy says, rising from her seat. “Do you want anything while I’m in there?” she asks me and Vonnie.
“No, thank you,” I say.
Vonnie points to the half-full glass in front of her. “I have everything I need right here.”
I turn my attention back to the field as the crowd who had settled down for a few moments rumbles back to life. The Mustangs players are taking their places on the field. The crowd—impressively so—slow claps in rhythm, speeding up with each step the kicker takes, bursting into maniacal applause as the ball takes flight and sails past the end zone.