“You’re so bad,” Dominique said, swatting Reggie playfully on the arm. She looked up in time to see Jake’s frown before he turned away from her. But there was no chance to ponder the scowl and its meaning. Several raucous spectators began to chant: Through hail, snow, sleet, rain... we are the Hurricanes! It was time to play ball!

The Hurricanes took the field, and even though the game was a rout, with the Hurricanes winning 21–0, it was still a welcome diversion. Reggie’s ongoing commentary about everything from the cheerleaders’ less-than-creative chants to the referees he thought over-the-hill, and his commenting on the spectators’ wardrobes as if they were in a fashion show, kept Dominique laughing, thinking about the game and not about the conversation she’d have to have when it was over. Especially with her son, who’d delivered a lackluster performance at best. It was the first game where he hadn’t made a touchdown, and he’d fumbled the ball twice. She had drilled the lesson of excellence and doing one’s best in her son’s head since he was a toddler. Being unhappy with what life had handed him was no reason to—no pun intended—drop the ball.

“Come on, Reggie,” Dominique said, once the game ended. “Time to enter the fray and try and talk to the coach.”

“Miss Dom,” Reggie yelled into Dominique’s ear, “Quinn has been blowing up my phone. I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“Okay,” Dominique replied, noting that her voice faltered a bit. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Dominique and her four-inch heels made their way down the steps and onto the field. As usual, Jake was surrounded by his adoring public, and the reporter who’d interviewed him a week ago was front and center. Moving with purpose and determination, Dominique eased her way into the tight circle.

“Jake, can I speak with you?” she asked, once she’d reached his side.

“I’m kinda busy right now, Dominique,” he responded.

“I know, but I want to talk to you about Justin. He played so poorly today.”