Clay, on the bench next to him, asked, “What you looking at?”
“Third row in block G, two to the right of the gangway.” Brett couldn’t look.
“Bastard!” Clay said softly, but still loud enough for Brett to hear above the crowd.
“He’s happy.” Brett risked a glimpse. Gavin and his wife were holding hands, smiling into each other’s faces. “That’s all I ever wanted for him.” Brett put his helmet back on and tried to catch the coach’s eye.
“And what about your happiness?” Clay grasped Brett’s face mask and forced Brett to look at him. “Don’t you deserve to be happy?”
Brett shrugged, not easy to do in his shoulder pads. Letting out a long breath, he said, “I don’t know.”
“Hell! I wanna go up there and…and…”
Brett put a hand on his best friend’s arm. “Nah, man. It’s cool. Don’t get into trouble with Coach.” Besides, Brett doubted the angels would permit physical violence stemming from anger.