Suppressing my irritation that they weren't taking this as seriously as I was, I crossed my arms over my chest and faced him with spread legs. "It has to be perfect, Rick."
My tersely spoken words hung in the air as they stared at me. Didn't they understand?
This was my chance. This was the way I could make her see.
Seeing Molly like that—when I was unprepared to speak to her, unprepared for the gut check of being around her, and seeing the way every emotion played out over her face—it flipped on every light that had been dark in her absence.
Maybe I hadn't seen it right away, that every second we spent together, every second she spent gently coaxing me out from behind the wall I'd built, had been us falling in love. But I saw it now.
I couldn't help but see it, in the hours and hours of film I had at my fingertips.
Watching the film was preparation.
Watching the film helped me understand myself and my opponent, and currently, the thing opposing me was the clock. Washington had a bye week, so the time for a big romantic gesture couldn't have been better.
But the time ticked down all the same. Bright, shifting numbers that got closer and closer to some imaginary buzzer going off.
And I was fighting against myself.
Showing Molly that I was capable of allowing room in my life for something other than football—not just something, her—would need to be big.
Those were pages fifteen through eighteen of the playbook, which included sketches of string lights across my back deck, a movie projector, and a giant screen stretched through the branches of the trees in my backyard. And some vague idea of moving my mattress onto the grass and topping it with pillows and blankets so we could watch our movie under the stars. My telescope was out there somewhere too, since I'd mapped out precisely what would be visible in the night sky.
This was the way to do it. Everything lined up correctly, the best defense against my own cluelessness. My own ambition blinded me to all the other things that could matter just as much as my career did. If I could pull this off correctly, if I could do this right …
My thoughts started stuttering in that same place every time. The if.
Rick must have sensed the change in direction in my head because I couldn't entertain the idea that maybe I'd read Molly wrong in all of this.
He laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Noah, it's perfect."
I shook my head. "I can make it better. I just need a little more time."
Marty and Rick shared a look.
"Molly won't need perfect," Marty said quietly. "You know that girl. Even when you were a giant horse’s ass, she felt something for you. Because she knew the real you was underneath there somewhere."
Rick nodded. "All you need to do is show her that she wasn't wrong about you. That what she saw, what she put her trust in, even for that one weekend, was worth it."
"Worth her job?" I asked dryly.
"Worth taking a risk," he corrected. "She took a risk because you were worth it to her. This"—he gestured to our little command center—"is you taking a risk too. Because you could get through everything you have planned, and she still might not say yes."
Panic was an icy claw that dug straight into my chest, gripped my spine tight, and threatened to tug. "Please never be a coach because that is the worst pep talk I've ever heard."
And I thought that figuring out how to get her to the house would be the hard part. I'd convinced myself up until the current moment that convincing Logan to help me was the hard part. But the hard part was letting go of the edge, one finger at a time, until I could fall back freely into whatever happened next.
In my ears, I could hear the hard pulse of my heart because I knew Rick was right.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I yanked out my phone and sent a text to her brother.
Me: Here's my address. Tell her whatever you need to get her here, but I'll be ready at 8pm tonight.
Logan: Understood.
I let out a slow breath.
Rick smiled. "All set?"
"I have eight hours to get everything set up."
"Plenty of time," he assured me. Then he eyed my face with concern. "You're going to shower, right? Because you look a little …"
"Homeless," Marty answered. "He looks homeless."
"Will you both shut up? Yes, I'm going to shower. But I have more important things to worry about right now."
Marty's eyes widened. "More than how terrible you look? I highly doubt it."
Rick smothered a smile. "What do you need?"