She’s fucking about to, though.
When he starts calling the names of the players, our chunk of the crowd goes wild with the noise makers we brought. I see some of the other team physically flinch. Each starting player has a palm-sized volleyball they throw into the crowd, and they all come our direction.
“Starting at outside hitter from the University of Wisconsin, at six-feet, one-inch tall…”
I look at Jaden, Colin, Noah, and Mack. “Now!”
We all whip off our shirts just as Nash’s name is called. “Nashville Green!”
I scream until my lungs are burning, spinning my noise maker in the air.
“Let’s fucking go, Nash!” Jaden hollers from my right.
Nash steps up to throw her swag and looks right at me. Weare front and center, and she whips it at me. It hits me in the chest, and I juggle my arms trying to secure it. She twirls her pointer finger around, a laugh glossing her lips.
I look at Colin in confusion. “What’s she saying?”
Audrey turns around below us and barks a laugh. “You’re out of order, idiots.”
Chrissy turns at the sound of Audrey’s laugh and puts a hand over her mouth. “Wyatt and Noah, switch places.”
I look at Noah with a navy-blue O on his chest and realize we’ve been spelling MONOS. “Ope, lemme scooch right past ya there.”
Once we’re in the right order, Nash gives us a thumbs up. She turns to face her team, greeting the next player called. When Temi’s name is called, I elbow Jaden, and when she whips her little ball at him, I whoop a laugh. Seems like his persistence is paying off.
I hope mine will pay off, too.
Chapter Thirty-Four
NASH
For the first time stepping out onto the home court, I can feel the energy emanating from the stands. The United Care Center is absolutely buzzing, and it’s everything I dreamed it would be.
The bass is thumping in my chest as we line up at the outline of the court, waving as the crowd cheers. This is what we’ve been missing the whole time. Other stadiums we’ve been to have felt full, cheering for the other team. It’s more than just home court advantage. It’s seeing the pride you take in your city returned to you by its people.
I soak it all in as we go down the line taking turns throwing our ball into the boisterous crowd. Some seem to be targeting a particular fan, others just launching it and seeing where it lands. I nearly drop mine when I look for Wyatt to throw it to him, and I see him shirtless with a huge N on his chest. I throw my ball, beaming it at him. Wyatt barely has time to catch it and bobbles it a bit before finally securing it. My eyes go down the row once, and then again trying to make sense of the word. I can see the looks on their faces when they realizethey’re not in the right places. There’s some shuffling in the stands, and finally they’re in the right order. They whip their shirts in circles over their heads as they yell. I laugh when I see Colin say something to him that makes Wyatt smile. Probably something like, “That’s why you play defense.”
When the referee blows his whistle, we all move to our starting spots. I can’t hear the announcer’s commentary, but I can guess what they’re saying, “The Moons are the top blocking team in the league, finding success setting the pins and patrolling the middle.” They would be right. Daly is six-foot-four. She makes her sidestep to either the opposite or the outside look easy.
My heart is beating fast, normal for me since a brown sugar espresso is part of my pregame routine, but my overall nerves are closer to the surface tonight than usual. It feels like the stakes are higher than they’ve been all year.
I put—not all, but most of—my eggs in tonight’s basket. I called in so many favors to get the entire Hurricanes team here. I’ve asked Wyatt for so much lately, and all I’ve been giving him in return is Texas lessons, my friendship, and a singular kiss, which feels measly in comparison to what this sort of attention could do for the Moons. Between Wyatt and his teammates, and the fans that are here of their own accord…we need to put on a show.
Those thoughts continue floating around in my mind as we settle in for the first set.
Chapter Thirty-Five
WYATT
“The implementation of the electronic line judge has increased the speed of the game by eliminating the need for human line judges and challenges,” Jaden recites, and we stare at him like he just grew a second head. This man is all football all the time. No room for anything else in his mind, but now he’s spouting volleyball jargon like he’s an expert? “What?” He shrugs. “I did some reading.”
The look Noah gives me is knowing.
The speed of the game is mesmerizing. When you get to the nitty-gritty, football is a lot of standing around. If you recorded an entire game and fast-forwarded through all the commercials, time-outs, ref calls, and waiting in between plays, you would watch about thirty minutes of actual football, even though a full game is technically four, fifteen-minute quarters. Between the automatic replay technology, the electronic line judges, and the fifteen-second serve timer, volleyball has almost no downtime. Those things keep the next point coming, but the speed of the ball itself is bewildering. It’s almost like the puck in hockey. The velocity of the hits, and therapidity of the serve-receive is mind-boggling. You can’t take your eye away for a second or you’ll miss it.
I watch Nash the whole time, obviously, but in the moments when my focus widens and takes in the entire team, I watch in awe as they shift in sync. When it looks like the other team’s outside hitter is going to hit it down the line, they all shift one way. When it looks like a cross court hit, they all shift the other way. Like a school of fish, always on the lookout.
They’re close to putting this game away, if they can push through and win the third set. The score is too close for comfort to try and put this away in three. The Fire is up to serve.