A hand touches my shoulder, and I turn to find Temi shoving an open champagne bottle at me. “We fucking made it,” she screams in my ear.
I put my thumb over the top of the bottle and shake it. Champagne rains over us, sticky and wet, as we jump together and scream some more.
“Ladies,” Coach calls from the sideline, and I know we’ve run out of time to soak it all in and celebrate. We untangle ourselves and head in her direction. When I look around, I don’t see women with separate teams or titles anymore, I see us all together, the Houston Moons. “Congratulations on the win!” We scream again. “I never doubted you. And I’m so proud to have been a part of this team. Unfortunately, the bus is already here to take us to the airport. Get showered and changed. Meet in the back at nine sharp.”
I look back to the stands one more time as we head into the locker room, but I only see the back of Wyatt as he heads up the concrete stairs. My eyes well with tears as I watch him go. That could be him in just a week, walking out of my life when his brother’s wedding is done, our second season is scheduled, and there’s no longer a need to keep up this fake relationship. I wish he had jumped the barriers like he did at that home gameso he could rush to me, but the security here is way tighter, and we both don’t need him getting into any trouble.
Except whatever he gets into tonight with me.
TO THE MOON: Houston Women’s Volleyball Team Wins First League Championship
Houston Chronicle
The Moons defeat their opponents, the New Orleans Elite, in a reverse sweep to win the first-ever PVF championship game. This comes with the title of ‘the first to ever do it’, along with a share of one-million dollars and a Tiffany necklace for each player.
While the game went the full five sets, the Moons never quit. Nashville Green was astounding with twenty-two kills and five blocks. The stands were packed with fans from both teams, including Nashville Green’s boyfriend and fellow Houston athlete, Wyatt Vandergriff, who came to support his girlfriend. Victor Vega was there on premise for the game and reported that the “house was rockin’”.
After the trophy was awarded and the net cut down, the president of the league took the microphone to announce that next season there will be three more teams added to the league’s roster, and that a deal has been made with ESPN to air the games live on cable.
In just one season, the Moons have proven why they deserve to be here, why America needs a women’s volleyball team, and that they are unstoppable.
Chapter Forty-Two
WYATT
The entire time I pack my bag, call an Uber, and walk to my gate, I’m completely lost in thoughts of Nash. Never in my life have I felt pride like I did tonight watching her and her team reach the highest level of success as a professional sports team. I saw my best friend achieve greatness, and I’m absolutely buzzing from watching her shake that champagne bottle, soaking her blonde braid and the front of her Moons jersey.
I’m losing the internal battle between my need to return to Wisconsin and my love for Nash. The love that’s always been there has been set on fire and is blazing at one-thousand degrees. Like a moth to the flame, I’m ready to be incinerated.
I stow my backpack in the overhead bin above my first-class seat and settle in. Since the draft a few weeks ago, there’s been no news about Jared Clark’s status as a Butcher. He claims he doesn’t do social media, and yet in the locker room he always knew what every outlet was saying about him. I’m sure he’s knee deep in everyone’s take on the Jason Amara selection. He’s probably trying to decide if he’s going to let hisinner drama queen take over, or if he’s going to try and play nice. Thank God he’s not my problem anymore.
A young flight attendant with bright red hair approaches me. “What can I get you to drink?”
“A Diet Coke, no ice, please.” She moves back to the kitchen area to grab it, and I scroll through my phone while I wait.
When she brings it back, I thank her and take a hefty sip.
I nearly choke on my beverage when she steps past me to help the next passenger. Nash is bent over so she doesn’t hit her head on the ceiling of the plane. Her sweats are baggy and casual, but do nothing to quell the wave of need that rushes through me. “Nash.” Her name is out of my mouth before I can blink.
She looks at me, her mouth open in surprise. “Oh my God. What are the chances?”
I raise a brow at her. “That we’d all be on the only return flight to Houston this late tonight?”
She laughs as she waits for the gentleman to stand so she can slide into the row. She keeps talking to me from the other side of the aisle as she shoves her backpack under the seat back in front of her. “No, that we’d be right next to each other!”
With my first NFL paycheck, I pledged to myself that I would never squeeze my frame into an economy seat again. It’s been a joy and a privilege to fulfill that promise to myself. Hopefully now Nash has the success she needs to do the same.
I clock the slightly annoyed look on the gentleman in the aisle seat across from me right before he says, “Do you want to switch seats?”
I look quickly at Nash, who has a big smile on her face. “I’d love to.”
The gentleman and I do the awkward sidestep around each other, and I plop down into my new seat next to Nash just as the plane pushes back from the gate. The rest of the Moons are filling in the seats around us.
“That was nice of him,” she whispers to me, leaning in so close I can feel the warmth of her against my shoulder.
“He was probably worried about spending the next two hours as the monkey in the middle of us.”
She shrugs. “Works for us.”