Red Zone
Avery Sam
Red Zone
by Avery Sam
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Red Zone
by Avery Sam
© 2025 Avery Sam
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Author: Avery Sam
Contact details: averysam.parachute371@passinbox.com
Book cover, illustration: Avery Sam
Editing, proofreading: Avery Sam
This e-book, including its portions, is protected by copyright and may not be reproduced, resold, or redistributed without the permission of the author.
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Table of Contents
Copyright Information
Table of Contents
Lovely Couple
Team Spirit
Number One Booster
Goal Line
The Wind Beneath His Wings
Distractions
Hot Towel
Sis-Boom-Bah
Burning Angel
Final Score
Touchdown
Also by Avery Sam
Lovely Couple
“You two make such a lovely couple,” said the photographer.
Instantly, I felt a shiver of pleasure run down my spine. I’d been hesitant to splurge on a professional photoshoot, but then I reminded myself that you only get to be the starting quarterback during your senior year once in a lifetime, so I’d done my research and forked over a hefty sum for a guy that everyone said was the best in the business.
And with that little comment, he’d definitely earned his fee.
“Um, actually she’s my mom,” said Kyle. He’s a fantastic looking boy with the throwing arm of a Greek god, but sometimes he opens his mouth without thinking.
“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” said the photographer, his face going beet red. “Perhaps you want to put your shirt back on then, Kyle?”
“Nah,” I said, gesturing for him to continue.
After all, I’d paid a lot of good money for that photoshoot, and I wanted to capture Kyle at his absolute best. Because even though I was far from being unbiased on the subject, no one had a body quite like his, strong and well-proportioned without being too bulky or stocky.
In some ways, his was almost a swimmer’s body, but he had the endurance and power of a weightlifter as he powered through tackles to get that crucial first down when his clumsy wide receivers failed to escape their coverage.
By the time the photoshoot was done, I was buzzing all over. Kyle, meanwhile, was staring at his phone on the ride home, which irked me, but not enough to dispel my high.
“So, I was thinking of making some of that popcorn you like with the protein flakes,” I said, glancing up in the rearview mirror to try and catch his eye. “Then maybe we could watch a movie.”
“Nah,” said Kyle, not even bothering to look up. “I’m gonna go hang out with the guys.”
“Aww, come on,” I said. “This is your last week of freedom, Kyle. After this, it’s gonna be non-stop practice and games right until you win the state championship, honey. Don’t you want to spend a little time with me?”
“Mom, come on,” said Kyle, his voice whiny in a way that made me grit my teeth.
“Hey, I told you!” I said, forcing myself to keep it breezy and light. “You’re a young man now. Call me Lacey. All that Mom stuff is so old-fashioned.”
“Whatever,” muttered Kyle.
God help him, but sometimes he really insisted on acting like a petulant brat. Definitely something he got from his father because there’s no way I would ever take that tone with someone, especially not someone who had put her entire life on hold to support her son’s career as a future hall of famer.
“I mean it, Kyle,” I said, tapping the brakes for the pleasure of watching him nearly drop his phone. “Calling my Mom makes me feel old. I need you to get in the habit of calling me Lacey so that you’ll do it when other people are around.”
“Fine!” said Kyle, finally setting his phone down. “It just feels kinda weird, you know?”
“Why? What’s weird about it?” I asked.
“None of the other guys call their moms by their first names,” said Kyle, now staring out the window as we inched our way through traffic.
“Well, guess what, baby?” I said. “You’re not like other guys. I know they’re your friends and teammates now, but when they’re calling out your name on national television as a first-round draft pick, they’re gonna be sitting at home on their sofas.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Kyle, a hint of a smile on his face warming my heart.
“You’re a superstar, baby,” I said. “And you’re going to go all the way. I know it.”
“Yeah,” said Kyle, now smiling for real.
“And I’m gonna be right there with you every step of the way,” I said.
Team Spirit
The heat in August was brutal that year, just one long, hot, sticky day after another.
Even standing on the sidelines in my shortest shorts and halter top, I could feel myself getting a little misty as I watched Coach Harris mercilessly drill the boys until their entire upper bodies were glistening with sweat.
Whenever there was a lull in the action, I ran over to Kyle to ply him with cups of water and orange slices. Some of the other boys had parents who couldn’t be bothered to attend practice, so I always made sure to bring extra for them as well, which always got me a lot of appreciative looks.
Even Coach Harris, who had initially put up a fuss when I’d started attending practices during Kyle’s freshman year, had come around. Now, instead of chastising me for babying his players, he’d smile and greedily accept a cup of water from me.
Truth be told, I think he had a bit of a crush on me even though he was well aware that I was far beyond his league. But if the poor guy gets a little pep in his step as he guides my beautiful Kyle towards a championship season, then all the better.
After practice, I’d help collect the balls and other equipment. I then head into the locker room and hand out towels to the boys after their showers, laughing and joking with them.
I always took time to give each boy a note of encouragement or a positive word, even the second-string players who were never going to make it to college ball, much less the NFL, because boosting team morale was what I was all about.
There were some mutterings at first about how it was inappropriate to have a “lady” in the locker room, but that soon died down once everyone appreciated how much I was helping build team spirit.
A lot of parents are under the mistaken impression that winning games is purely about diagraming and executing plays on the field, but the truth is that football is a brutal sport, and young men need encouragement when times get tough or else they might crack under pressure.
Besides, it made me feel good to have so many handsome, virile young men call me Lacey, and I always made sure to return all that positive sentiment in spades. After my husband ran off with his secretary, a move so dumb that you couldn’t get away with it even in a cheesy romance book, I felt pretty rough there for a while.
I’d sacrificed everything to help him get his business up and running, and then he’d cast me aside for some blonde bimbo as soon as the company went public, too dumb to realize that she was only into him for his money.
Luckily, my friend Susan had turned me onto a great divorce lawyer, so I walked away with a very generous settlement. But all the cash in the world doesn’t help warm your bed at night, and so I started to drift for a bit, losing myself in bottles of wine every night in order to blot out the fact that I no longer had any compelling reason to get up in the morning.
What pulled me out of my slump was seeing Kyle race toward the end zone in his final year of junior high, and something about the roar of the crowd and seeing him pump those legs as he effortlessly juked away from the defenders’ outstretched hands awoke a new sense of purpose in me.
Sure, his dad was a Grade A royal asshole, but that didn’t mean my son had to be one, and so I started getting involved in every aspect of football until I could instantly spot zone coverage just by the way the other team was lined up.
With his father frequently out of town on business trips, it was up to me to make sure that Kyle’s potential as an athlete was nurtured. I was the one getting to my feet, cheering him on from the top of my lungs even on those freezing cold nights in January and February when the bleachers would suck all the heat right out of you even when you were sitting on a cushion.
They lost a lot of games in those early years, and there were plenty of times when you could’ve fit every person in the stands into a single vehicle, but I was there with Kyle through it all. And then Coach Harris started finding ways to get the boys to click together, to understand the true meaning of a team sport, and slowly but surely, they got better.
By the time Kyle’s junior year ended, there were no longer any free spots in the parking lot unless I arrived two hours before game time, which I did. The local paper started sending a photographer to every game, and I even heard talk amongst some of the parents that a few college scouts were coming by to look for prospects, which was heady news in a small town like ours far from the usual regions like Texas and Ohio where that kind of thing is common.
We lost the first game of the playoffs in a heartbreaker, 10-7, but that didn’t matter. Kyle had scored the team’s only touchdown on a bootleg scramble out of the pocket, and that was what ended up earning him the starting position for the next season.
So damn right I was gonna be there for every practice and in the locker room afterwards, encouraging the boys with some friendly banter and a clean towel. They’d worked hard to get where they were, and I wanted them to have the best shot possible at bringing home the school’s first-ever championship trophy.
And, of course, my Kyle was the young man leading them on, the field marshal directing his troops as they marched down the field to victory.
Number One Booster
Our first game of the season was against Westmoreland.
In some states, schools are divided into leagues based upon their winning records, but in our little neck of the woods, everyone in the same district played against one another. Because Westmoreland was a magnet school with a focus on science and computer programming, the game was considered a “gimme” and an automatic win.
“No, no, baby,” I said as I cooked Kyle a pre-game meal of plain spaghetti with just a hint of marinara sauce to make it more palatable. “It’s all about your stats. You’ve got to get your numbers up so when the recruiters come sniffing around towards the end of the season, you’ll be the one that gets their attention.”
“I told you already,” said Kyle with a huffy sigh. “I’ll do my best, all right? Jeez!”
“I know you will, baby. I know you will,” I said, giving him a kiss on the forehead before leaving the kitchen.
For some reason, he was always shy about me watching him eat. I thought it was silly, but sometimes you’ve got to indulge men with their little foibles and save your powder for the important stuff.
It was the first week of September, and the weather had just started to turn a bit cool, especially at night. But I was so fired up about my sweet angel’s championship season that I went with a miniskirt and crop top so I wouldn’t be constricted as I cheered him on.
One of the guys in the stands even said I looked like a cheerleader, which made me smile because that’s exactly what I was - the number one booster of the best player that dinky little school had ever seen.
Just watching them huddle up and then Kyle directing his guys for the first play left me with goosebumps. Under the bright arc lights, I could see him becoming the man I’d always known he could be, and he just looked so confident and self-assured as they trotted onto the field.
Sure enough, we were up by three touchdowns by the half, and my voice was getting raw from all the shouting as I watched Kyle throw for two 40+ yard catches and then rush for one on a trick play that had all the defenders fooled, swarming for the running back when Kyle had secretly tucked the ball under his arm and run the opposite way.
It was such a brilliant display of dominance that I found myself running down the bleachers and over to the sidelines in order to congratulate the team. It was only when Coach Harris pulled me aside that I remembered his admonishment about how I wasn’t allowed to do that during games anymore, but he wasn’t too angry. After all, he knew just how much I had contributed to get them to that position.
Surprisingly, Westmoreland scored right away in the third quarter when the running back fumbled a handoff from Kyle and then they ran it all the way in for a touchdown despite Kyle scrambling to chase them down. Admittedly, it was a bit of a dampener on morale, but I wasn’t too worried. And just as I had predicted, we bounced back with a long drive that set up a field goal.
Westmoreland never threatened us again, and by the time the ref blew his whistle to signify the game was over, I was on fire. Sure, it had been an easy win against a school better known for their academic prowess than ball handling skills, but a win is a win. And my beautiful Kyle played every minute of every quarter, proving that he was born for the role.
“Oh my God, baby, that was fantastic!” I said, throwing my arms around him as the team marched off the field.
He pretended like he was irritated with me, but nothing could wipe that goofy grin off of his face. Because he knew just as well as I did that he had played the best game of his life, racking up a combined total of 187 yards of offense.
Remembering the rules, I waited outside the locker room for Coach Harris to give them their victory speech. There were a dozen or so other fans out there with me, many of whom were familiar faces, but alongside them were a couple of high school girls that I presumed were Kyle’s classmates.
One in particular had brunette hair in two ponytails and a tight tee that showed off her well-toned abdomen, and she kept giving me dirty looks for no reason.
“What?” I said, making a menacing gesture, forcing her to take a step back.
But instead of responding like a decent human being, she just scowled and rolled her eyes, making me mad enough that I wanted to punch her in her smug little face. Of course, I didn’t do that. She just reminded me of all those stupid cool girls back when I’d been a teenager myself, able to get under your skin with just the tiniest look.
I don’t know what Coach Harris was doing in there with the boys, but it felt like forever before the doors opened and the players began filing out. There was a bit of a rush from the people around me as they surged forward to congratulate everyone on their win. Then, to my total surprise, the brunette bitch ran up to Kyle and threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh my god, you were, like, so fantastic out there,” she squealed.
“Um, thanks,” said Kyle, clearly taken aback by her brazenness.
“Um, excuse me,” I said, ripping her arm free from its grasp on my boy. “Good job, baby. You did great.”
“Yeah, it was all pretty cool,” said Kyle, his eyes wide. I think he was still processing the fact that he was the starting quarterback and so largely responsible for that first big win of the season.
“So, like, you want to go hang out later?” said the brunette, grabbing his hand and trying to pull him closer to her.
“Um, maybe?” said Kyle, clearly confused.
“Actually,” I said, wrapping my arm around Kyle’s waist. “We’re going to go get some ice cream. It’s our post-game tradition.”
“Oh,” said the brunette, and the disappointment I could see in her eyes made my heart sing.
“I’ll, uh, call you later, I guess,” said Kyle as I led him away from that bimbo’s clutches and toward the parking lot.
“What was that all about?” I asked once we were in the car.
“Huh?” said Kyle.
“That little brunette tart, throwing herself all over you,” I said. “You got groupies now?”
“Nah,” said Kyle, although his smile gave it away. “She’s just a girl I know.”
“A girl you know, huh?” I said, trying to play it cool.
I could tell something more was going on, but I decided to let it drop. Yet even after we had gotten our ice cream and were sitting at the table, I could tell he was still thinking about it.
“What?” I said.
“Well, Homecoming’s in two weeks,” said Kyle, studiously avoiding my gaze as he licked his ice cream.
“Sure, of course,” I said. “And your first real game of the season. But we’re on home turf, so I know you’ll do great, baby.”
“Um, yeah,” said Kyle. “But there’s also, like, this parade thing beforehand and stuff.”
“Right...” I said.
“And, like, they had this vote or whatever,” said Kyle. “And they picked me as Homecoming King.”
“Oh my god, baby! That’s wonderful!” I said, standing up and walking over to him so I could wrap him up in a big hug. “You see? That just shows you that everyone knows how special you are, just like I told you!”
“Yeah, I guess,” said Kyle, a big grin on his face.
“Wow, I guess this means we’re going to have to pick out a nice suit for you,” I said. “That’ll be fun.”
“Uh-huh,” said Kyle.
“Gosh, you’re gonna look so handsome!” I said. “I’m gonna take a million pictures.”
“Um, yeah,” said Kyle. “Well, the thing is, um, there’s also a Homecoming Queen.”
“Sure, sure,” I said with a little wave of my hand. “Probably some dumb blonde who’s the leader of the cool kids. That’s how it was in my day, anyway.”
“Well, um, no,” said Kyle. “It’s Ashley.”
“Ashley?” I said, wracking my brain. “Do I know her? That name doesn’t sound familiar. Hold on, let me Google her.”
“No, Mom,” said Kyle, his cheeks turning pink. “You met her tonight.”
“I did? What?” I said, completely confused.
“After the game,” said Kyle, his eyes looking in every direction but at me.
“Wait, you mean outside the locker room?” I said, horrified. “The one who tried to put her filthy hands on you?”
“Come on, Mom. It wasn’t like that,” said Kyle, the whiny tone in his voice irritating me to no end.
“I told you to call me Lacey!” I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one else at the ice cream place was watching us.
“Fine, I’m sorry,” said Kyle. “Look, it’s no big deal.”
“You’re right,” I said after taking a brief moment to compose myself. “It is no big deal. Being Homecoming Queen is just a simple formality, and it means nothing.”
“Yeah, mm-hmm,” said Kyle, suddenly focused on his ice cream.
“I mean, don’t misunderstand me,” I said, reaching over to give him a reassuring touch on his arm. “Being selected by your peers to be Homecoming King is a great honor. I understand the position comes with some... obligation. I didn’t mean to steal your thunder, baby.”
“No, it’s fine,” said Kyle.
“Good,” I said, standing up and tossing the rest of my ice cream into the trash, my appetite gone. “Now hurry up and let’s go home. I’m starting to get a chill.”
Goal Line
Sure enough, the trip out to Gary’s Formals to get Kyle a tuxedo was a blast.
With his broad chest and exquisite proportions, he looked good in everything the shop assistant brought out for him to try on. And just like I had promised, I took about a million photos of him, including a few candid ones when I snuck into the dressing room, the surprised look on his face priceless.
After doing some research on the school website, I learned that the Homecoming King and Queen would ride in an open-top car at the head of a parade. After the game, everyone would gather in the gymnasium for a little speech before there was a dance, with the King and Queen expected to lead the first dance.
My investigations into that skank Ashley confirmed my worst fears, regularly mugging the camera and making those stupid duck faces across all of her social media accounts.
She might not have been blonde, but in every other way, she was the epitome of another egocentric teenage girl who thinks she’s the coolest thing since sliced bread and that the whole world revolves around her. Sickening, really.
But I was willing to be the bigger woman, so to speak. Even though they should’ve picked someone more mature and intelligent like myself, for instance, I understood there were rules, and the Homecoming Queen had to be somebody from the school. Still, though, I had a bad feeling about that girl.
Only students were allowed to participate in the parade, leaving the rest of us as bystanders along the route. I thought I might get into some kind of VIP section or something as the mother of the Homecoming King, but apparently, they didn’t have the foresight to set up something like that, so I was forced to stand in the crowd like everyone else.
Which was a shame as I’d put on a lovely dress I’d been saving for a special occasion, and the oaf next to me kept stepping on my feet.
Still, though, I nearly cried from happiness when Kyle came past, looking truly majestic wearing a gilded crown and a sash across his manly chest as he waved to people on both sides of the route. I took as many pictures as I could to capture the special moment, although I was disappointed that he couldn’t see me in the throng as he never once looked directly at me.
Without waiting for the rest of the parade to go by, I broke free of the crowd and hustled my way over to the field to get a good spot on the bleachers.
Knowing how nippy the nights were getting, I’d brought a little throw jacket with me to stay warm, but even with it on, it wasn’t long before I started getting cold. As the parade dragged on and on, I even went and bought a cup of hot chocolate, but the relief was only temporary.
It was only when the band began playing a warm-up tune and people started filing onto the bleachers that I began to warm up, excited to know that I’d soon see my beautiful boy play in front of a packed hometown audience. Sure enough, by the time the PA squealed and the announcer started addressing the crowd, I was so fired up that I no longer needed my jacket.
There was a ceremony at mid-field where Coach Harris gave a long-winded speech, something about good sportsmanship and tradition, and then they brought out a few ex-players from years gone past.
I had no idea who those guys were, but none of them looked too pleased to be there. Even the crowd was starting to get bored. Who cares about some losers from yesteryear when today’s winners are about to play?
After what seemed like an eternity, the band swung into action, playing an exciting uptempo number as the announcer read out the names of the players one by one as they came dashing out of the tunnel from the locker room.
There were plenty of cheers for all the boys, but no one could compete with the love and adoration from the crowd like what my beautiful Kyle got, and I was right there with them, cheering him on at the top of my lungs.
The game then began in earnest, and Oakville was no joke. Some of their defensive linemen looked big enough to be 30-year-old construction workers. We won the coin toss, but even though Kyle had two successful passes, it still wasn’t enough to get a first down, especially with those behemoths completely shutting down the middle of the field.
Oakville put up a pretty impressive drive on their possession, getting three first downs before we finally managed to stop them just outside of field goal range. The rest of the first quarter went just like that, two titans battling it out with neither able to make much headway.
Finally, one of our wide receivers was able to break his coverage, taking a short six-yard pass and turning it into a 35-yard gain, sending the crowd to their feet.
For some reason, Coach Harris then called two run plays that got stuffed behind the line of scrimmage, knocking the wind out of our sails even though we did get three points on the board following a field goal that just barely managed to float past the uprights.
Oakville’s ground game then got going in the second quarter, their monstrous fullback bulldozing over our guys as they kept jamming it up the center of the field. Somehow, we managed to stop them at the three-yard line, forcing them to kick a field goal, but I could see our guys were battered and exhausted.
There were only three minutes to play in the half when Kyle took over, and I could feel my whole body tense up as I watched him walk up to the line.
Knowing how tough they were at defending the center, the first play was a screen pass to the right, which netted us five yards. Kyle then initiated a hurry-up offense, calling audibles on every play, and that’s when the magic started to happen right before my eyes.
The hairs on my arm stood up as he dove and juked, scrambled and pivoted, tossed underhanded passes and perfect long-range spirals until we were knocking on their door with a full 38 seconds left to go.
The crowd was electric as the center hiked the ball. Kyle rolled out, looking like he was going to hit the wide receiver in the corner of the end zone.
Oakville thought the same thing as all their guys slanted that way, but at the last second, Kyle did a spin move and then dove over the top of his own left tackle, his hand holding the football outstretched to try and break the plane of the goal line.