Disclaimer: The following is a fictional adaptation. I do not work for Pixelberry Studios, the game developer, or own the rights to the characters Chris Powell, Logan, Darren or the Hartfeld Knights. All other events, descriptions and characters were developed originally by me.
Author’s Note: A request was made by a reader for a story based on Bon Jovi’s “Thank You for Loving Me.” This is the story in response to that request. Contains brief strong language.
Thank You for Loving Me: A Chris Powell Short
“K-N-I-G-H-T-S! Yell it! Go, Knights, go!”
I make my way around a pyramid of cheerleaders in barely there red and black uniforms, yelling in voices too high pitched and nasally to effectively fire up the throngs of Hartfeld Knight fans in the stands. As the cheerleaders wrap up, one dismounting in a flurry of twirls before being basket cradled by two others, the Hartfeld band drumline begins a methodic beat before the horns kick in on Land of a Thousand Dances. They sway and move their instruments in rhythm to the music in the choreographed stand routine, sure to be picked up by the television cameras.
I ease around the training table, nervously inspecting the occupant sitting on top of it. Wide receiver Bryson Beal is getting his ankle re-taped, a good sign because just minutes before he had hobbled off the field and was in doubt to return. We need him. Chris needs him.
I glance up at the scoreboard. There is just 2:28 left in the game and the Knights are trailing by two. If we can get the ball back around the two minute mark, that would be plenty of time for our star quarterback Chris Powell to work his magic and get the Knights within field goal range. That is one of my many current but very small worries: if we get the ball back.
I look up at the night time sky and silently say a prayer. I have not always been big on faith but I want to our team to win and to see the romantic dream of a lovesick and dedicated young man become a reality. Moths swirl around the bright glow of halogen stadium lights but it’s the earth’s lantern that catches my attention. There is a blue moon out tonight. It is so bright, beautiful and rare I take it as an omen: It has to be tonight.
My name is Katrina Cromwell and I am a senior team manager for Knights football. I pat the pocket of my khakis again, manically. I have checked to make sure the box is still there no less than fifty times since the game started. Running back and forth, checking on equipment and helping players adjusts helmets and pads, I have been concerned that with all the jostling around it would somehow spring free and end up lost in the chaos of players, coaches and trainers on the sideline. That fear may be of my own paranoid creation, I realize, but it’s not every day I holds someone’s future in my pocket.
Players have made all sorts of odd requests in my four years with the team. I remember Logan and his unnatural consumption of Icy-Hot on a weekly basis, constantly asking me for a new jar to take home. I later learned he was using it for pranks and felt like somehow I had been conned into being an accomplice in his harmless but humorous crimes. Darren Taylor, the school’s quarterback before Powell, had asked me for rolls of athletic tape. Not just one or two, but entire packages. I never knew what he did with all of the tape I gave him and found it odd given I never even saw his fingers taped up.
A few small invasions of the supply closet were nothing compared to the request I received from Chris the day before, as the team boarded the plane to Harrisonburg, Virginia to take on James Madison University in the FCS Division I Semifinals. A win over JMU and we would play for the national championship just after the New Year holiday. As much as Chris wanted to win a third championship while at Hartfeld, I soon learned the semifinal game may have been even more important to him.
I noticed him hanging back from the team, trailing slowly as I walked towards the boarding stairs of the plane on the tarmac.
“Katrina, you got a sec?” he asked, backpack over one shoulder. His face was almost timid and his tone bashful as his blue eyes peeked over at me curiously.
“Sure, what’s up?” I asked in return.
“Cool if I sit next to you on the plane and we talk about it? I…don’t really want the guys to know yet,” he said.
I arched an eyebrow at the request. Chris had always been friendly and respectful. We had a great working relationship. I trusted him to take care of his business as an athlete and he trusted me to take care of the team as I was hired to do.
“Okay,” I shrugged. Once on board the 747, I took my seat next to the window and Chris stowed his backpack in the overhead bin. He took the seat beside me, a row back from the coaches.
“So what’s up?” I asked.
He took a slow deep breath and began to speak in a low voice, glancing around to make sure no one was paying attention to our conversation.
“I need your help,” He began. “Tomorrow, it’s an important date for me. December 15th, that’s the date that I took my girlfriend, MC, to the Winter Formal three years ago,” he explained.
I nodded. I knew MC. Hell, all of Hartfeld knew MC. She was always involved in campus events, working with different student groups and had written numerous articles for the campus paper The Knightly News. She was Mrs. Hartfeld. Everyone also knew she was Chris’s girl. I never knew how she managed to be so involved with campus life, date the star quarterback and manage to attend class as well.
“Aw, it’s your anniversary?” I asked with a grin.
He nodded and his face and neck colored slightly. “Yeah, it is.”
“That’s sweet. Wow, three years, that’s a long time,” I replied.
Our conversation was momentarily halted as the flight attendant began the emergency demonstration at the front of the plane near us.
Once she was done and our plane made its ascent, we turned the attention back to our talk.
“You are right, three years is a long time and we moved in together, to our own place this year,” Chris sighs. “I’ve known for a long time that MC…that she’s the one,” he pauses and I smile.
“So, what do you need my help for?” I asked.
When he told me his plan, I had a few immediate responses.
“What if we lose?” I said unfiltered. I winced after it was out of my mouth.
Chris looked at me with an arched brow and blinked slowly.
“I’m not saying we won’t win, I’m just saying…in football games there are winners and losers and so…what happens if we aren’t, like, the winner?” I cleared my throat.
“We’re not going to lose,” he said decisively. He shook his head. “I’m not going to let that happen. We have to win. I have to do this tomorrow night. It’s perfect. We will win.”
I hesitated briefly. The James Madison Dukes were ranked second in the nation. Hartfeld was ranked fourth and the defending national champion but this was still no drop in the bucket for the Knights. When I saw the tenacity in Chris’s eyes, the resolve to make his hopes real, I was convinced he was right.
“Okay,” I smiled. “But why are you asking me to help?”
“I know how hard you work. You are very diligent and I trust you with this. You won’t blab it to everyone and I know you’d take this seriously.”
My eyes narrowed at him. “You charmer,” I sighed.
“What? It’s the truth!” Chris defended.
“Alright fine Powell, I’ll do it,” I agreed and he bumped his fist against mine with a pleased smile.
As we boarded the bus to the stadium from the team hotel this afternoon, he had entrusted the small box to me that was now wrecking my psyche and causing heart palpitations. The responsibility to hold on to this thing was overwhelming. I don’t know who was more anxious for her to say yes, me or Chris.
The other part of the deal was also causing me stress.
I turned and looked to the visiting team stands. Seated in the third row, just behind the players bench was MC. Ever the supportive girlfriend, she was wearing a red sweater with a black leather jacket and a white and black scarf: Hartfeld school colors.
I’ve periodically kept my eye on her throughout the game, unreasonably suspicious that she would somehow move and I would lose track at her for that critical moment.
Her brow is furrowed as she claps her hands. She then cups them around her mouth and yells “Let’s go Knights!”
Chris stands beside our head coach, helmet in one hand and looking at the clip board with the offensive coordinator. They are reviewing a few plays in hopes that we will in fact get the ball back.
My prayers, Chris’s goodwill karma or MC’s encouragement all must have kicked in at once because my attention is pulled away from the stands back to the field. The Knights players erupt in celebration jumping up and thrusting their fists into the air.
Terrance Walker intercepted the Dukes’ Chandler Martin’s pass. The Knights had the ball back!
I clap my hands and watch Chris slide his helmet back on, snapping the chin strap into place and putting his mouth guard in before jogging out onto the field with the offense. The band plays a portion of the fight song and Knights fans are cheering for another Powell miracle. I turn and look over my shoulder again at MC. Her hands are clinched together under her chin as if in prayer and she watches expectantly as Chris gets ready to work.
Out on the field, the Knights huddle. There is now 1:49 left in the game. Plenty of time for Chris “Powerball” Powell to get us downfield for at least a field goal
I have to admit, even down by two, I was not truly worried. I would feel a lot more comfortable if we were up by two instead but after speaking to Chris on the plane, I know there is no way he will lose on this night. He wouldn’t even allow the thought of failure to creep into his mind. Nothing less than a victory for him, and for his MC, was acceptable.
Chris claps his hands and the Knights take their places at the line of scrimmage, he looks to his left and then to his right, stomps his foot and the center snaps the ball back to him. He looks to throw the ball to his left but finds none of his receivers open, he dodges a defender, rolling to his right but his running back is locked up with one of the Dukes defensive ends.
He has a split second to react and somehow finds the tiniest seam. He tight ropes through a pair of Dukes player that miss at his feet. Chris races from the 52, down to the 40, the 30 and soon the Knights stands begin to roar as their quarterback has nothing but wide open space in front of him. They are on their feet, hands in the air, cheering and screaming like crazy.
Chris looks around as his legs move as fast as they can carry him, the ball tucked under his arm, and quickly realizes no one is around him as he crosses the goal line.
I scream and one of the student trainers grabs a hold of me as we bounce up and down together. Suddenly the fear hits me again and I reach down and touch my pocket, making sure I feel the object, before she and I hug once more screaming at the tops of our lungs.
In the end zone, Chris is swarmed by his teammates, slapping him on the helmet and back as he jogs off the field and back towards the sideline. Special teams takes the field and as Chris celebrates with the coaches, the extra point is good and the Knights take a 42 to 37 point lead with just one minute remaining in the game.
I watch our quarterback. He’s like a little boy at Disney World. He runs towards the metal bench and steps onto it in his cleats. He pumps his fist and slaps his chest and holds up a number one to the Knights fans as they cheer and go wild. MC claps wildly, smiling from ear to ear at the man she loves.
Chris hops down off the bench and surveys the sideline until he spots me. He smiles and approaches, unfastening his helmet and holding it in one hand. I smile in return and give him a thumbs up.
I am about to speak when the university’s sports information director glides into view, stepping directly in front of me to face Chris.
I can only see their lips moving as the band plays our fight song and the raucous cheering of Knight fans reaches an ear bursting level. But I do see the SID point to the sideline reporter and her camera man lingering near the Knights bench. They must want an interview with Chris after the game. Chris nods and looks around the SID director at me. He gives me a head nod and a thumbs up and I know that’s my cue to go get MC.
I hurry towards the stands as the Knights prepare to kick-off to the Dukes in their last minute attempt to win the game. Knights fans cheer in an explosion of sound as James Madison is pinned back at their own 10 yard line.
From down below, I stand in front of the section where MC is and wave my hands over my head. A few fans around her point to themselves and I wave them off and point to her. She looks at one of them curiously as they tap her and point down at me. I wave to her with a smile and motion my hand for her to come down towards the staircase.
Bewildered she nods slowly and eases through the sea of fans and makes her way to the stairs. I let the security guard know it’s okay and he steps out of the way as she steps down onto the track.
“Hi,” I say loudly as she bends over to hear. “I’m Katrina.”
“Hi,” she says still looking confused. “What’s going on?” she shouts over the music.
“Chris asked me to bring you down to the field,” I say. “I guess he’s just so happy he wants to celebrate with you,” I smile knowingly.
MC chuckles lightly and nods. She walks to the white strip on the edge of the turf and stands beside me. We both look all around for Chris but can no longer see his number 8. Every Knights player is on their feet, ready to rush out onto the field.
“Shit,” I say out loud, trying to spot Chris. “Shit, shit, shit…”
“What is it?” MC looks over at me.
“Oh!” I jump a little in response to her hearing my complaint. “Just…this game, still time on the clock, you know?” I continue to swivel my head around looking for the quarterback. How am I supposed to bring her near him when I can’t find him?
“I think we got it though,” MC smiles.
As the clock ticks down, the James Madison quarterback drops back in a futile attempt at a Hail Mary and Terrence is there again to pick it off. Game over. Knights win.
Hands in the air, the Knights players run out to the middle of the field in celebration, hugging and high-fiving, pounding their fists. The band cranks up with the victory melody and the fans in the stands applaud and salute their victorious team.
When the sideline clears, I finally spot Chris and breathe a sigh of relief. He is walking with our SID towards the reporter. The bright light on the camera gives a blinding glare as it points towards him. He looks back over his shoulder and his eyes meet mine briefly. He notices MC at my side and smiles before he nods his head.
The blonde reporter swings her long, perfectly curled hair out of the way and she stands at Chris’s side, holding the microphone up to his mouth.
“MC,” I say and turn and face her. “I think we should move down here. That way he can see you as soon as he’s done,” I say politely, hoping my excuse isn’t too obvious.
She nods in agreement and walks with me towards the cameraman and reporter. Chris is sweating and breathing heavy but answers her questions, wiping his forehead on the red wrist band he wears. Hands on his hips he recaps the play that sealed their victory.
“What was going through your mind when you crossed the end zone?” Laura Gessler asks. The veteran college sideline reporter has witnessed some exciting game moments tonight but the biggest moment of them all is still to come.
“I was just happy,” Chris laughs a little. “Happy to score, happy to get this victory for my team, happy to be headed back to the championship game,” he nods.
MC and I step behind the camera man to watch the interview. I look to her and she is beaming with pride at the football hero and love of her life. I am not even sure if she is aware how brightly she is smiling at him.
“National championship game on January 6th, you’ll find out who your opponent is later tonight in the game out on the west coast. Any hopes for who you would like to face?” Laura asks Chris.
He knows better than to answer that trap question and smiles. “We will prepare for whoever we face with the same focus on what we do best, just like we do every week,” he says. His eyes move from Laura to search the field and he spots us standing near the camera man.
“Laura…if you don’t mind, there’s something, I’d like to do,” Chris says in a rush. Laura’s head jerks back in her stunned reaction.
“Oh, um-“ she replies to the unexpected statement.
Chris says not a word but smiles, swallowing down his nerves. He takes a few steps towards us and reaches his hand out to MC. The cameraman swings the camera to follow the action, the bright light shining on both her and Chris now.
“Chris?” MC asks as she takes his hand and he pulls her towards him. She glances nervously towards the camera, squinting at the white light in her face.
Chris smiles and takes a deep breath.
“MC,” he says and she turns to face him. He gives both her hands a squeeze, looking into her eyes, as he slowly lowers down onto one knee.
“Chris….” She stammers. Her jaw begins to tremble. She raises her free hand to cover her mouth. Her eyes are as big and wide as the moon over the stadium. I notice her hand begins to shake as well. “Oh my god…”
“MC,” Chris repeats still holding on to one hand and placing his other on top of it. Laura eases closer, holding the mic out towards Chris as the camera continues to roll live on the feed to the national audience. “Three years ago, on this night,” he takes a deep breath. His hair brown hair is damp and droplets of sweat fall down the side of his temple, even in the chilly December air. He rushed for the touchdown minutes ago but his breathing now is as fast as it was as he hustled towards the end zone. He licks his lips. “You and I had our first real date.”
MC’s trembling hand remains up to her mouth as she nods her head in memory.
“In three years, you have helped me to become a better man. You… are my eyes. You helped me to see the bigger picture in life and the world around me. You are the breath that I need. Sometimes all I have to do is just look at you and everything suddenly makes sense. I never knew what dreams were until you gave me the dream of being a husband and a father with you as my wife someday,” he looks into her eyes. Her mouth falls open.
“Chris,” MC says. I can see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. My own are watering as well.
“Thank you for loving me. Thank you for rescuing me. I want you in my life, always. MC…will you marry me?” Chris asks. This is my cue. I pull the box from my pocket and step forward. MC looks to me confused at first but then awareness and understanding sink in and she gasps. Chris takes the box from me with his free hand, briefly letting go of MC’s to flip back the top revealing the glittering diamond ring inside.
I watch her. You want to know just how much MC loves Chris Powell? She doesn’t even look at the ring, her eyes are on him.
“Yes!” She shouts, a cry of ecstatic joy. She collapses down against him, throwing her arms around his neck, she begins to sob with happiness.
Hartfeld players had gathered around to watch and they let out a cheer. Those in the stands who had been watching the proposal give a celebratory applause. Chris stands up, wrapping his arms around MC’s waist as he lifts her up off the ground.
“Well, Hartfeld University’s Chris Powell winning the game tonight and winning the heart of a special young lady,” Laura smiles into the camera. “Guys, back to you in the studio.”
MC lifts her head from the crook of Chris’s neck and presses her forehead against his, not caring if he is drenched in sweat.
“I love you so much,” Chris says to her.
“I love you too,” she coos, tears of elation cascade down over her cheeks. Chris reaches up and with his thumb brushes them away. He lowers her to the ground He looks down at the box and takes the ring out. He grabs her hand and slides the diamond down over her finger, looking into her eyes.
She finally looks down at it on her hand.
“Oh Chris, it’s beautiful. But baby this is too much, you can’t–,”
“Shhh,” he interrupts. He smiles and shakes his head at her. “I’ve been saving for that since freshman year.”
MC’s eyes dart back and forth as she searches his face. Seeing the sincerity in his statement, she melts. Her shoulders relax as she sighs at this unbelievably thoughtful man. He leans in and seals their future as man and wife with one kiss. In that moment, every ounce of love they hold for each other tingles with the touch of their lips. Chris stifles her delighted gasp with his mouth over hers, as a sense of euphoria washes over them both.
My job is done. I back away from the loving couple, smiling to myself and looking up to the sky and mouthing a “thank you” to the universe.
Chris and MC pull away from each other, smiling happily, feeling the hope and promise of the rest of their lives ahead of them. He holds her hand in his as they cross the field, his teammates and fans cheering as they walk by.