Love Swap

Jordan

Blood roared in my ears—much louder than the thousands of viewers who were either cheering me on or booing mercilessly, hoping I’d throw an interception or fumble the ball on the final play of the game. The odds of that were unlikely. I was a three-time Super Bowl champ—unshakeable and confident in my abilities. All the hecklers did was add fuel to the fire.

My eyes snapped up to the game clock while we huddled, and we had ten seconds to score against our rivals or be forced into overtime.

“I’ll run the ball,” I announced to my teammates.

“What? That’s crazy,” our star wide receiver Deon Fitzgerald exclaimed.

“That’s sixty yards, QB,” Leo Johnson, our running back, mentioned.

“I’m aware, but they aren’t going to expect me to run the ball. They’ll expect me to throw a Hail Mary, and their defense will be all over you guys in the end zone. I’ll fake the pass and run it. Leo, I’m gonna pass right, and you shoot left. O-Line, I need you guys to be on fucking point. Do not let them break through. You got it?”

We broke the huddle and positioned ourselves on the forty-yard line. I toss a glance at the cheerleaders and find my favorite one of all. She jumped up and down with her pom poms beside my sister. I knew she was shouting my name, but the crowd was drowning out her tiny voice.

She’ll be hoarse in the morning.

I crouched for the snap and called out the snap count. The center snapped the ball to me, and I faked the pass to Leo. He shoots off down the left side of the field, drawing some of the opposing team’s defensive to chase after him. By the time they realized what the hell was going on, I was passing the twenty-yard line. I was nearly at the end zone when the opposing team’s cornerback rushed toward me. I was running too fast to stop or dodge him and opted instead to hurdle over him, landing in the end zone on my shoulder. A zing of pain shot through it, but the pain momentarily faded away when one of my teammates yanked me to my feet to celebrate.

“You’re a fucking badass, QB!” he shouted in my face, slapping my helmet.

“That was all you with the block,” I said, giving credit where credit was due.

I tore my helmet off and jogged to the center of the field where we shook hands with our opponents. I’d reached the quarterback of the Commanders, who refused to shake my hand and passed me by. There was bad blood between us, for sure, but I didn’t give a damn.

“Hey! You come back and shake my daddy’s hand!” Sky hollered, throwing her pom poms onto the ground. I laughed and shook my head, jogging towards her. I scooped her up and kissed her cheek. “Daddy, tell him to come back and shake your hand! It’s unsportsmanlike and disrespectful.”

“You’re right, baby, but I don’t want to touch him. He probably has cooties anyway. You don’t want me to get his cooties and give them to you, do you?”

“Ew! I don’t want cooties!”

“That’s what I thought. He’s a sore loser, and what do we say about sore losers?”

“A sore loser will never go far,” she recited.

“That’s rig—”

I was cut off when a microphone was suddenly shoved in my face.

“Jordan, I think I speak for everyone when I say you always keep the crowd guessing. Talk us through that incredible play. What was going through your mind during that moment, and how did the team execute it so flawlessly?”

I shifted Sky to my other arm once a deep ache started making its presence known.

“Well, it was all about the execution and element of surprise. I knew our opponents expected me to throw the ball downfield and needed to switch it up. My teammates were in disbelief when I made the call, but at the end of the day, they trusted me to lead our team to victory. Everyone did their job right, and when I saw the defense bite on the fake handoff, I knew we had a chance. The offensive line did amazing keeping the path clear for me, and once I saw the opening, it was all about running as fast as I could to the end zone. It was a team effort that played off in the end.”

“On social media, the fans are already raving about the hurdle into the end zone. Sky, what did you think about that?” the woman asked, holding the microphone towards my daughter.

“It was awesome! But also dangerous. He could’ve gotten hurt.”

“I agree with you, Sky. It was awesome. Jordan, you landed on that shoulder pretty hard, are you okay?”

Sky gazed up at me expectantly as I smiled through the pain.

“I’m never better,” I lied. I glanced at Sky and could tell from the troubled expression on her face that she wasn’t buying it. We wrapped up our interview and I led Sky back to Kaylynn on the sidelines.

“You’re a dummy,” she drawled.

I snorted.

“You’re not a very good cheerleader, you know that? You’re supposed to be cheering me on, not being a jerk.”

“I’m just calling it like I see it.”

“Uh-huh. Take Sky and I’ll meet you back at the hotel.”

Sky gasped.

“I’m not going to sit in on the post-game interview?”

“Not today, baby girl.”

Her lips slid into a tiny, disappointed frown.

“I’ll make it up to you later.”

Her frown turned upside down into a teasing smirk, warning me that she was about to put me through the wringer.

“Can we get room service?”

Hmph. I expected worse, like a plushie shopping spree.

“Of course we can. You can order anything off the menu.”

“I can order wine?”

My mouth dropped, and she snickered, clutching her stomach.

“Absolutely not, ma’am.”

“I’m just joking with you, Daddy. Wine is nasty.”

“How would you know?”

“One time, when I spent the night with Aunt Kay—”

Sky was cut off when Kaylynn covered her mouth with a hand.

“We’ll see you at the hotel. I’ll make sure she’s bathed and in her pajamas,” Kaylynn said before dragging Sky off the field.

***

I winced and tried not to cry out in pain when the physical therapist worked my shoulder out. He released me, and I immediately cupped my shoulder.

“The impact from the fall sprained your shoulder. Thankfully, it’s your non-dominant side. It’s a Grade 1 sprain and doesn’t require a sling, but it’d be best if you sit out for the next two to three games.”

“That’s not a problem,” my head coach, Coach Menendez growled. “Our next two games are easy matchups against the Jags and the Jets. We’ll bring the backup quarterback for those games,” he said to the physical therapist before turning his cold gaze onto me. “Jordan, I want you resting and icing that shoulder because we face off against the Eagles when you return. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Coach.”

He nodded.

“Good game today, Jordan. Hit the showers and get taped. We’re rolling out in thirty minutes.”

I showered quickly and returned to the therapist to have my shoulder taped up before boarding the charter bus that would take us to our hotel. During the ride, I responded to text messages from my family.

Dad: That was one of the best plays I’d ever seen.

Mom: That’s my baby!

Emori: Congrats, Big Bro.

Connor: You should’ve punched that guy for not shaking your hand.

I smiled and returned all their text messages before scrolling through social media. I spent the remainder of the bus ride deleting lewd messages from women and men propositioning me for sex. There was a rumor floating around that I was gay because I was never seen with a woman and blew them off when they approached me. There were even talks that Sky was a test tube baby, but they couldn’t be further from the truth.

For a brief second, my thoughts flitted to Naomi before I shut the thoughts down. Seven years later, I still couldn’t get her out of my head. I’d been celibate since her, and as the years passed, my resolve was slowly beginning to chip away. I was lonely, and the thought of companionship was appealing, but I didn’t even know where to start. I didn’t know how to seek out the right woman who would be interested in me and not what was in my bank account. I was the highest-paid NFL player, and with that came the women who would practically throw themselves at my feet for the chance to become Mrs. Jordan Scott.

For the remainder of the bus ride, I ignored my teammates discussing the low and highlights of the game and their plans to party and celebrate our win in favor of her.

I wonder how she’s doing.