Chapter Text
THE PAT McAFEE SHOW
AUGUST 30, 2021
PAT McAFEE: Alright, can we talk about Michigan for a second? Everybody wants to talk about Harbaugh, everybody wants to talk about what this season means for him, but I’m tired of that conversation. Let’s switch gears. I wanna talk about the kid he’s got coming in from England.
A.J. HAWK: Ah, right. Let’s talk about Jude Bellingham.
PAT: Jude Bellingham. Eighteen years old. Birmingham, England. One of the most interesting recruits in the country. I mean, this kid didn’t grow up under Friday night lights in Texas. He played for the NFL Academy overseas, Michigan ships him across the Atlantic, and now everybody in Ann Arbor is waiting to see what the hell he can do.
A.J.: And he already knows Haaland.
PAT: That’s the best part.
Erling Haaland’s already there. Already established. Already kicking ass and taking names in the Big Ten. And apparently these two crossed paths a while back through the Academy system in Europe. So the kid’s not walking into that locker room completely alone. He’s got a guy there.
A.J.: Assuming Haaland likes him.
PAT: Oh, come on. Look at ’em. Two gigantic European freak athletes teaming up in the Big House? Seems like a match made in heaven!
—
Jude stepped onto the field, cleats sinking softly into the artificial turf.
Every move he made these days, whether rolling out of bed or showing up for Day One of practice, felt monumental. Like the entire world was watching.
He took a deep breath, eyes closed, and tried to center himself amidst his rapid heartbeat. He was standing in Ann Arbor, in the fucking Big House, handpicked by one of the most esteemed football coaches in the world. He had officially made it.
His new team ran drills in scattered groups across the field, various members of the coaching staff leading individual squads, players divided by position. Jude squinted, scanning the stadium for a particular head of blond hair, but came up short.
Then, as though controlled by divine timing—
“Jude Bellingham!” said someone, approaching him from behind.
Jude’s resulting smile was automatic, and he turned around to face him, though he didn’t need to see the face to recognize the voice. His distinctive accent and easy cadence blew his cover immediately.
“Erling Haaland.”
Jude allowed himself a moment to take him in. It had been two years since they’d last seen each other. Jude hadn’t thought it possible, but somehow, Erling had grown even more massive since then. His lean muscles from the Academy had solidified into something more substantial.
Their bodies had always reflected their positions. As quarterback, Jude’s had a frame light enough to afford him free maneuverability on the field but muscular enough to handle the brunt of violent pass-rushing collisions. As tight end, Erling’s was bulkier, his sheer mass built to absorb contact and block defensive lineman, but perfectly balanced to maintain speed for agile route-running. Erling still had room to grow even stronger, of course, but as it was, his body was a display of pure athleticism. Even more so than it had been back in England.
His smile, though, big and carefree, and framed by full, pink lips… his smile was the same.
“You made it!” He pulled Jude into a tight hug, patting his back a few times excitedly. “Welcome home.”
To an outsider, such an embrace may create the false impression that the pair knew each other well. In reality, Jude and Erling had only spent a few short weeks together training at the NFL Academy in Loughborough before Erling had been nabbed by Michigan in 2019. That had been years ago.
They had kept in touch, though, having exchanged numbers prior to Erling’s departure. And when Jude was deciding between his multiple college offers, Erling had plenty of input on the subject.
Jude still remembered the first time Erling had texted him. He hadn’t quite believed it. He’d been a fan of the star tight end since before he was a star. Since he was just starting his career after departing Norway, physically absurd but still relatively raw with regard to game technicality.
If Jude was being honest, he may even admit that he’d idolized Erling Haaland when he was younger. As he matured, that idolization had simmered into something less deified. It had transformed into deep respect and admiration for the man. Erling had become his role model. A blueprint for his own path in the world of American football.
During one of the few times at the Academy when Erling and Jude had actually shared the field, Jude had grossly underestimated the speed of his opposition, and he was tackled before he could do anything to stop it. In the ensuing chaos, he had managed to drop the ball, tragically fumbling in front of what felt like the entire world. Of course, he’d only really cared that Erling had seen the fiasco. It had been humiliating.
Afterwards, Jude had made his way to the locker room, tail between his legs. He’d ruminated on the mistake as he changed out of his sweaty practice gear, mentally reprimanding himself for committing such an avoidable error.
That’s when Haaland had arrived.
“Bellingham?”
“Yeah?”
“Oh, good,” he huffed. “Thought you might’ve already left. You forgot your bag out there.”
Erling handed it to him, and Jude took it by a strap, transferring the pack to his shoulder.
“My bad. I’m a bit scatterbrained today. Thanks, mate.”
“It’s no problem.” Erling leaned against one of the rows of lockers. “Just thought you might want it since your phone’s in there. It started ringing. That’s how I came across it.”
Jude internally cringed, going suddenly still. “Did you—”
“Hear the ringtone? Yes. The NFL on Fox theme, right? Very nice, Jude. Though I’m partial to the NFL Network theme myself.”
“What?” Jude asked, his embarrassment fast forgotten. “There’s no way. That’s a poor one, innit? Of all the options, the NFL Network? Really?”
“I’m sorry to disappoint,” Erling responded, amused. “What can I say? The tune’s got a ring to it.”
Jude could not even pretend to agree.
“By the way, I meant to ask you earlier—Coach told me your favorite team is the Jets. Is that true?”
Erling barked out a startled laugh. “Definitely not. He was just messing with you. The Jets? Please. I would hope you think better of me.”
“Sorry. Didn’t realize it was a joke. Especially now, after learning about your music taste. Thought you might be their one and only supporter.”
“Nope.” Erling shoulders shook with laughter. “Never been a huge fan of losers. Bad music, yes. Losers, no.”
“Do you have one, though? A dream team? One you’d pick if you actually got a choice?”
“Hmm…” Erling crossed his arms over his chest as he deliberated. “I guess I always kind of thought Minnesota might be a good fit for me. I’ve never been to the States myself, but my dad says Minneapolis reminds him of home. Very Scandinavian. Also, being a Viking just seems right, you know?”
“Ah. That makes perfect sense,” Jude agreed, smiling. “They’d be lucky to have you.”
“Thanks.” Jude nodded, closing the door of his locker. “So what about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Where would you want to play? If you could choose, I mean.”
“Oh,” he responded. “I never really… I guess I haven’t thought much about it. I don’t really consider myself at that level yet. The thought of being drafted by anyone is a bit unbelievable at the moment. I mean, did you see that fumble?”
Erling frowned. “One fumble during a practice drill does not make you a bad player, Jude. You know that, right? It’s practice. It’s the best place to make mistakes.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s just hard to imagine, I think. Getting that far. Having a team want me. I just don’t think I could play at that level yet. Not with how I’m playing now at least.”
Erling stared at him for a moment, an odd look on his face. Jude shifted his weight uncomfortably under his gaze.
“What?” he finally asked, no longer able to withstand the silence.
“You could play anywhere,” Erling answered. “For any team. At any level. You’re incredible. Don’t let a minor misstep convince you otherwise. And definitely don’t sell yourself short. You’re too good to be worried about whether you belong here.”
Erling sidestepped out of Jude’s space and bid him an abbreviated farewell, muttering something about a meeting. He exited the locker room, leaving Jude alone once again. He hadn’t moved since Erling last spoke.
You could play anywhere.
Jude had never dared to believe that. But Erling had known him for a week, seen him play only a handful of times, and had already come to the conclusion.
Jude nodded to himself, as if the motion could somehow help him internalize the message. If Erling Haaland believed Jude could play anywhere, then he was inclined to believe it. Jude couldn’t question Erling’s ability to recognize skill, given that the man has plenty of it himself.
Anywhere. Jude could play anywhere.
The truth was that he had no lifelong dream to play for any specific team. He didn’t really care, so long as he was playing.
He threw on his jacket and headed for the door, mentally running through all thirty-two NFL teams.
The next time Erling asked where Jude wanted to play, he’d have an answer.
And have it, he did. Here Jude stood, sharing the field with Erling once again, years later and thousands of miles away from the Academy. Jude hadn’t even started officially playing yet, but he already knew that he’d made the right decision.
Erling nodded his head toward the field. “You ready?”
And so it began.
Jude’s first practice session as a Michigan Wolverine went fairly well, all things considered. He hadn’t committed a single clumsy fumble, which had been a genuine fear that had kept him up in the nights leading up to this highly anticipated day.
The practice schedule for NCAA football teams was highly regulated, each season starting with a mandatory acclimatization period. The players operated without full gear in this initial, helmets-only phase. The focus, for the first several practice sessions, was primarily on mental execution, pre-snap communication, and scheme installation. This period was also used as a time for coaches to analyze various strategies, routes, and player chemistry.
Jude had just finished up a hand-off exchange drill when he was directed to join the other quarterbacks, wide receivers, and tight ends midfield to work on passing plays.
On Jude’s turn at the helm, the pocket collapsed around him before the play had time to fully develop, forcing him out to his right. He searched for an opening, doing his best to keep his wits about him. He did not want to make a fool of himself on his first day.
That’s when he spotted him.
Erling.
Downfield, Jude found the blond midway through the route they’d been directed to run when he saw Jude scrambling. Seemingly without a second thought, Erling changed directions and broke away from his defender. He sprinted toward the open field, Jude tracking him closely as he waited for the perfect opportunity.
There was no official signal between them, no frantic pointing or audible directions given. Neither cue was necessary. Jude knew where Erling was going, and he acted accordingly.
He threw the ball before Erling had even completed his turn. Erling caught it in the endzone, as natural as breathing.
Jude exhaled a breath of relief, the sounds of his teammates cheering deafened by the thunder of his own heartbeat ringing in his ears. Across the field, Erling tossed the ball toward an assistant and smiled. Jude felt his own lips tugging into a reflective grin.
In the moments following the celebration, Jude overheard muttered discussions about the score being “one hell of an adjustment,” as well as questions as to how the hell Erling had known where to run.
Jude had no answer himself. In fact, he had wondered the same thing. It was as though Erling had read his mind.
—
That first time Jude threw the ball before Erling turned around during practice, it was an accidental success. A happy mistake. At least, that was what their quarterback coach had assumed. Jude, however, had known better.
At a game versus Northern Illinois a few weeks into the season, Erling had been running a route through the midfield, with two defenders trailing him and another closing in from the opposite side. He wasn’t open yet. In fact, he wasn’t even close to being open. Jude had maybe two seconds left before the pocket caved in on him.
He threw the ball anyway.
It left his hand while Erling was still looking downfield. Immediately after the release, a linebacker hit Jude hard, knocking him onto his back and driving the air from his lungs. On the turf, he listened as the stadium erupted into cheers. Jude stared up at the lights for a moment in a daze. When he managed to sit up, he spotted Erling thirty yards down the field, the pigskin tugged securely beneath an arm.
Later, during film study, the drive was put on replay for the team to examine. Jude watched the video as though observing strangers play. Like he and Erling were Madden characters and this was a scene used to promote the newest release of the game. He watched in rapt attention as film-Erling turned toward the line of scrimmage to catch film-Jude’s pass. By the time he’d fully turned, the ball had already been halfway there.
Their coach paused the film. Crossing his arms, he turned to the duo, who were sitting in their usual positions, side by side. They blinked at him innocently in tandem.
“What the hell was that?”
Erling looked at Jude. Jude looked back. Neither of them had an answer to the question.
By the end of September, the predictive throws stopped looking accidental. Jude learned to read Erling’s body language to anticipate the tight end’s next move. He dropped his left shoulder just slightly when he was about to cut inside. He took distinctively hard initial steps in a drive when he planned to throw off a defender with a quick change in route.
They stopped needing to speak between plays. Sometimes, Jude would need only look across the line of scrimmage, see the safety creeping forward, and glance toward Erling. The eye contact was enough to communicate their game plan. The ball would snap, and Erling would abandon the route they’d practiced all week and take off down the sideline instead. Jude would throw before he had any business throwing, and somehow, Erling would be there.
Initially, the coaches called it reckless. The complaints and criticism faded, however, as the mindreading continued to prove successful. Soon enough, plays were being drawn specifically to facilitate the connection. From that point on, broadcasts increasingly started reporting on the pair’s chemistry. An ESPN commentator called them the European Connection. Another announcer went with the Nordic Nightmare and was immediately chastised online because Jude was, very obviously, not Nordic.
Erling had liked that one, though. He’d thrown an arm around Jude’s shoulder when the clip played on a television in the dining hall.
“You’re my æresnordmann,” he’d happily commented.
Jude, knowing approximately four Norwegian words at this point, had no idea what it meant and requested a translation: His honorary Norwegian. Jude had a hard time finishing lunch, the way his immense affection had lodged itself somewhere between his ribs.
Both players pretended not to care about their growing reputation, and yet, both sent screenshots to each other whenever they came across a new clip covering their connection.
Their refusal to stop the mindreading came to a head one day in the film room. The offensive coordinator had rewound the same fourth-down play three times before turning toward them, expression critical.
“Haaland, you ran the wrong route.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You were supposed to break to the left.”
“He changed it,” Jude supplied.
The coach looked at him. “What?”
“I changed it,” Erling confirmed.
“You didn’t audible.”
Erling shrugged. “I didn’t need to.”
A silence settled over the room. Erling leaned back in his chair, looking unbearably pleased with himself. Jude got the overwhelming urge to kiss him, a long-standing impulse that had only intensified in the hours upon hours spent on and off the field with the man.
The coach pointed back to the screen, unamused. “Listen. There are eleven men on the other team whose whole job is to make sure you regret plays like that.”
Jude cleared his throat, hoping to dig him and Erling out of this hole. He would be greatly assisted in that pursuit if only Erling had the ability to stop talking.
“The corner was sitting on the out route,” Jude stated, as though the sentence meant anything to anyone other than the two players currently on trial.
“So what?”
“So Erling knew I wasn’t throwing it.”
“I did,” Erling confirmed.
Jude shot him a look to shut up, eyes conveying a clear message of ‘You are not helping.” Erling smiled innocently, scratching his head.
The coach looked from Jude to Erling, then back to Jude again.
“How?”
Erling glanced at Jude like the answer was obvious.
“He looked at me.”
Half the room laughed, but the coach did not.
“That is not a system.”
“It worked,” Jude contributed in their defense.
“That doesn’t make it a system!”
“It could be a system,” Erling offered.
Jude laughed before he could stop himself. The coach groaned in exasperation.
The play Jude looked upon most fondly came during their fourth home game of the season, a thriller against Rutgers. It happened during the third quarter. Michigan had the ball on third and twelve. After the snap, the pocket started to fall apart rapidly. Jude stepped backwards, avoiding one defender only to see another coming straight for him. He caught a glimpse of Erling running somewhere downfield but was unable to fully track him when surrounded by a wall of rivals.
This was a textbook scenario for dumping the ball to avoid a potential sack or steal. Jude, however, hesitated to do the logical thing, and instead kept the ball, debating on whether he was in the mood for a high risk, high reward play.
Just that week, he and Erling had argued over the very same play during practice.
“If they blitz, I won’t have time,” Jude had said.
“You’ll have enough.”
“You can’t know that.”
“Just throw it,” Erling had suggested.
Jude had barked out an incredulous laugh. “Throw it where?”
Erling had looked at him then, dead serious, not a hint of humor in his expression.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Sometimes, Erling infuriated him.
“That’s not how passing works!”
“Just throw it,” he’d repeated. “I’ll be there.”
Now, with a defender breathing down Jude’s neck and the audience screaming so loudly he could barely hear himself think, those words flashed through his mind. So, he threw. Not to Erling exactly, but rather, he threw vaguely toward the vicinity of the place he thought Erling might eventually be at some undefined point in time…
He was a dead man walking if this fell through. Harbaugh would absolutely slaughter him for the transgression. He might even slaughter him and Erling in a joint annihilation. At least he wouldn’t die alone.
A fraction of a second after the throw, Jude was driven into the ground. For a moment, there was nothing but pain and thuds. Then the noise gave way to cheers, the stadium erupting. Jude remained on his back, staring at the bright September sky from his spot on the turf, and started laughing.
He didn’t have to look to know that the ball was caught and who was holding it. He sat up, groaning with the effort, and found Erling through the chaos about forty yards downfield. Even from that distance, Jude could see the smug grin on his face.
See?
Jude shook his head, muttering, “what a guy…” under his breath. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t have a matching grin himself.
—
October had rolled around before Jude knew it, and he was now a mere week out from arguably the biggest game of the season. Definitely the biggest game of his life. Michigan versus Ohio State. A rivalry spanning decades.
The game was so highly anticipated and widely viewed each year that, somewhere along the way, it had lost all logical identifiers and became known simply as “The Game.”
Jude had known that the rivalry existed before joining the team, but he hadn’t been aware of the source of the feud. Or, rather, he hadn’t been aware of the literal history between the two states that had created this lasting conflict.
Anthony, one of Jude’s teammates and a Michigan local, had provided a truncated backstory to him after practice one night. Apparently, Michigan and Ohio had border conflict issues predating the Civil War, and the fallout had left a permanent geographical grudge between the two states and its peoples.
Jude had found it interesting but didn’t care much about the historical context of the contention. Winning was what mattered to him. And this game was the highest stakes one of their season so far.
The Ohio State game was also, annually, Michigan’s final game of the regular season. The outcome of the matchup determined Big Ten titles and playoff spots. Its importance could not be understated.
Neither could Jude’s anxiety about playing as QB1 in quite probably the most intense game of his life.
“Jude,” Erling said, putting down his pencil and turning to face him with a flat expression. “Please stop. You’re thinking so loud, it’s hurting my ears.”
Jude laughed at the dramatics. Not that Erling was exactly wrong about the current extent of his overthinking.
The two were studying in Erling’s dorm. In addition to their upcoming, cataclysmic game, they also had an approaching final exam in their shared English Composition class. College athletes were so multifaceted!
“Sorry. I’m a bit anxious.”
There was no need to specify the source of his anxiety. The Game, being the caliber it was, had the tendency to pervade every space and every conversation anyone had these days.
Plus, Erling sort of always knew what Jude was thinking anyways.
“Mmm. I can tell. Dunno why you’re so stressed, though. You’ll do amazing.”
Jude groaned. “Erling, not everyone is as cool under pressure as you are. Just be glad you’re a robot athlete and not a lowly human with actual stress hormones like me.”
Erling let out a cackle and stood up, making his way to the desk Jude had set himself up at. Study time was now over, it seemed.
“I’m not a robot,” he clarified, as though Jude might truly believe otherwise. “But I’ve played with you, and I know your talent. You’re incredible, Jude. So I know you’ll do well. That’s all.”
“That’s all, huh? I appreciate the praise, but is it really so simple to you? No nerves at all?”
Erling shrugged. “I get the pregame jitters like anyone else. Feel it in my stomach, you know? But I never doubt myself. Or you, for that matter. So I have no anxiety about how we’ll perform.”
Jude felt his heart squeeze in his chest.
Or you.
Maybe Jude didn’t have to worry so much. Maybe Erling could be confident enough in the both of them to secure this win.
“Come on.”
“Huh?” Jude stared at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Where are we going?”
“Away from here. Let’s do something fun. Get your mind off things.”
Jude considered this briefly, accepted his likely exam failure, nodded, and closed his textbook.
“Alright.” He stood from his chair, following Erling toward the door. “But let’s stop by my room first so I can grab a jumper. It’s fucking brutal out there today.”
This week had been an uncharacteristically cold one for Ann Arbor this time of year. The persistent, gray cloud cover conjured up by the lake effect had plummeted temperatures into the mid 40s.
“Here.” Erling handed him a folded hoodie he had produced from a pile atop his bed. “Wear this.”
Jude unraveled the sweatshirt to discover one of Erling’s many pieces from their extensive team gear collection. It was navy with the Michigan logo centered across the chest. The back was adorned with Erling’s name and jersey number, the bright yellow ninety-nine emblazoned there with a vinyl decal.
Jude swallowed. This was totally normal. Just a friend borrowing a friend’s sweatshirt. For warmth. There was nothing weird about the offer, and there were definitely no secret intentions underlying the gesture.
“Thanks, mate.”
He put it on, then tried to ignore how much he enjoyed the signature, earthy scent of Erling that now engulfed him. Jude was no small man himself, but Erling was massive. The sweatshirt didn’t completely swallow him, but he could’ve benefited from a size down.
“Søt,” Erling said, a fond smile on his face.
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s get going.”
The two proceeded to walk across the hubbub of campus, passing by plenty of other students and visitors on their route.
Ann Arbor was beautiful in the fall, yes, but that was a gross understatement. It was like the entire city was washed with an autumnal palette, rich reds and oranges and yellows and browns as far as the eye could see.
When Jude had first arrived in Michigan, summer in full swing, he’d thought it must have been the greenest place in the world. The grass was shockingly vibrant in its coloring, and a credit to the university groundskeeping staff, which also maintained sprawling gardens across the entire campus. Flowers in every shade imaginable bloomed with verve in their meticulously tended beds.
Looking at the place now, it was almost unrecognizable. He’d never witnessed such a drastic change in landscape, though each version of this city was stunning in its own right.
“You like it here,” Erling surmised, drawing Jude’s attention away from rows upon rows of jack-o-lantern covered porch steps.
Jude loved how much Americans loved Halloween. No space was spared from the various spiderweb and cauldron and black cat decor pieces strewn about the town.
“I do,” he confirmed. “I really do.”
“Me too.”
They continued to meander down the main drag of the university, passing one campus landmark after another: first, the art museum, then the university president’s house, then Clements Library. Occasionally, the back of Erling’s hand would brush against Jude’s in their stride, the contact sending sparks of electricity up Jude’s arm.
“By the way, are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”
“It’s a surprise,” Erling said ominously.
Jude found his answer fifteen minutes later, when the pair arrived at a modest campus restaurant dubbed Pizza House. Jude followed Erling into the brick establishment, taking in his surroundings as Erling greeted the hostess. Inside, the building was deceptively larger than its outer appearance had let on. It was decorated like many other American dive bars Jude had occasioned in his time stateside, but the warm wood and vintage elements created a charming atmosphere. Jude and Erling were seated in a booth near the bar. The restaurant wasn’t unusually busy at the moment.
“So. I take it you were craving pizza?”
Erling laughed. “Always. But that’s not why I brought you here.”
“Well, go on then, Mr. Mysterious. Out with it.”
Erling leaned forward as if preparing to tell Jude the secret of the universe and not the reasoning behind their current choice in dinner venue.
“What if I told you that this is where the legend himself came to clear his head when he was in your exact position twenty years ago?”
“What legend?”
Erling sat back, arms crossing against his chest. “Brady, obviously.”
“Tom Brady?” Erling looked at him like he may have suffered a particularly severe TBI in their last game. “Right. Tom Brady. Got it.”
“That’s it?” Erling asked, unimpressed. “I’ve just told you that the GOAT used to eat here, and all you’ve got is a ‘got it?’”
“My bad.” Jude held out his hands placatingly. “Didn’t mean to offend. Just wasn’t expecting it. This doesn’t seem like his kind of place is all.”
“It’s true, I swear. In fact, he came here so often, he ended up befriending one of the dishwashers on the staff. They’re still friends to this day!” Erling informed. “Whenever I come here, I feel like I can still sense his presence lingering in the air. Greatness has a way of sticking around, you know.”
Jude did his best to stifle a laugh. “You are ridiculous, mate.”
“Anyways, the point is—Brady once sat here with the same stress and doubts that you have right now. But when it came time to perform, he locked in. No outside voices. No inside voices either, for that matter.” He looked at Jude pointedly. “Just determination. Determination and confidence in himself and his team.”
Jude’s eyes narrowed in scrutiny.
“Is that true, though? Brady’s Michigan record wasn’t all that impressive from what I recall. I mean, he was a sixth-round pick in the draft. A hundred-ninety-ninth overall.”
Erling stared at him for a moment in apparent disbelief at his blasphemy, then started abruptly searching through his pockets.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding my phone. I need to show you the 2000 Orange Bowl on YouTube. It’s life or death.”
Jude cackled at the gravity of his expression. “We are not spending the next three hours watching shitty footage of a thousand year old game.”
“A highlight reel, then?”
“Erling.”
“Jude. Three-hundred-sixty-nine passing yards. Four touchdowns. Zero interceptions. It was immaculate. You can’t seriously tell me you’ve fallen for the anti-Brady propaganda.”
Jude rolled his eyes. Honestly, he didn’t have a strong opinion on Brady one way or another, he just enjoyed messing with Erling. However, if he kept up his disparagement any longer, the big guy across from him might actually cry.
“Okay, calm down,” he caved. “I’m just winding you up. Continue, please.”
“Alright.”
Erling nodded, apparently satisfied with Jude’s surrender. He took a deep breath, preparing for his presentation. Jude afforded him his full attention.
“I brought you here to remind you that you’ve got this. The game, I mean. You’ll do well, I have no doubts. But also—I wanted to remind you that no matter what happens in the game, you also have this.” He gestured to the room at large. “A life. Outside of football. I know sometimes football feels like the end all, be all. It’s not. You’re an incredible, generational talent when it comes to the game, Jude. But you’re also an incredible person with a full life outside of the stadium. No matter what happens next week, you still have this. You still have friends and family and a bright future ahead. You still have me.”
Jude felt his eyes start to sting. This kind of thing seemed to happen with growing frequency these days. Just when Jude thought he couldn’t possibly grow fonder of Erling, the man did something like this. Something like going out of his way to bring Jude to Tom Brady’s former haunt, a speech of encouragement prepared, all in an attempt to get him out of his funk.
“So yeah. I brought you here to tell you that,” Erling finished. He tilted his head to the side, as though considering an addendum, then said, “And also because I want you to try a chipati.”
Jude laughed, feeling warm and tingly after Erling’s shower of compliments.
“No idea what a chipati is, but I appreciate your support. Really, I do,” he emphasized, feeling stupidly emotional. “Thanks, Erl.”
Erling smiled, body finally relaxing against the red pleather padding of his booth now that Jude had accepted his comfort. And comforted, Jude was. Erling had always had this effect on him. He was a balm formulated especially to soothe Jude’s worries. Not for the first time, Jude felt incredibly fortunate to have him at his side. Even if Erling would never reciprocate Jude’s hidden feelings, he was the luckiest guy on earth to have him as a friend. A best friend.
Their waiter arrived, and across from him, Erling enthusiastically ordered far too many chipatis for two people to share. Not that Jude knew what chipatis were yet. He could just tell it was an absurd amount by the look on the employee’s face as she scribbled down his order.
Jude felt his smile grow. He thought that maybe he could settle for friendship, so long as he got to keep Erling in his life.
One week until The Game. One week until Jude was put to the test on the main stage. He just hoped he had what it takes. He didn’t want to let anyone down, but he especially didn’t want to let Erling down.
Erling caught his eye again, the waitress having disappeared to deliver their egregious order to the kitchen. Jude could tell by his expression alone that he knew exactly what he was thinking. He reached across the table to pat Jude on the cheek affectionately. The contact sent a frisson of heat through Jude’s blood.
“We’ve got this,” he said simply.
His confidence in Jude was evidenced by the unfaltering delivery of his words, the steadfast determination of his gaze.
Jude nodded, agreeing. “We’ve got this.”
—
The night before the Michigan-Ohio State matchup was brutal. Jude tossed and turned in his too-small bed, brain working overtime to produce terrifying game scenarios by the hundreds. At one point, he’d bolted upright into a seated position on his mattress, skin clammy from a fresh coat of cold sweat. He’d dreamt that he tore his ACL during the bloody coin toss. He would’ve laughed at the absurdity if he’d had any brain cells left to devote to humor. As it was, they were all preoccupied with anxiety.
Before he had time to second guess himself, he was halfway to Erling’s room. He gave himself one steadying breath before his knuckles were wrapping against the wooden door. Three, firm knocks in quick succession.
At first, he was met by silence. He considered knocking again, but then overheard the bedframe creaking under Erling’s shifting weight, then him padding to the door, then the door opening, and—
Erling.
He stood, hair mussed and falling in a pale curtain around his face. He was shirtless, clearly having just been pulled from a peaceful slumber. Jude almost felt bad. Then he remembered that they were playing in the same, much-anticipated, widely-viewed, highly-important rivalry game tomorrow and felt offended by the audacity of being able to rest at a time like this.
“Jude?”
“I can’t sleep,” he announced. Erling blinked, his head tilting to the side. “I keep thinking of everything that can go wrong tomorrow. Every play that can break down. Every mistake that can be made. Every way I can let the team down. Also, every way I can tear my ACL. I can’t even tell you the number of ways I might tear my ACL.”
Erling let out a laugh, the noise low and sleepy.
“Jude.”
“I’m…” he hesitated, the vulnerability of his coming admission not lost on him. “I’m scared.”
“Jude—”
“I know it’s stupid. I know Tom Brady handled the pressure a lot better. But—”
“Jude,” Erling repeated. He opened his arms wide. “Come here.”
Jude fell against his chest immediately. Erling wrapped his arms around him, and he was pulled into the dorm, the door closing with a soft click behind him.
They stood unmoving there at the entry for a while, Erling squeezing Jude tight. Jude clung to him. He’d buried his face into Erling’s neck, and all he could smell now was Erling, Erling, Erling. It was like a drug. The second the scent hit his system, he was a healed man. He never felt more grounded than when he was right here, safe and sound in Erling’s steady embrace.
“Come. Sleep with me tonight.”
Neither of them addressed the elephant in the room. This was weird. The two of them were attached at the hip. They spent virtually all their free time together—studying, and conditioning, and relaxing, and eating, and shooting the shit, and living. But all of that time spent at each other’s sides was easily explained by the two of them being best friends, and classmates, and teammates.
Sleeping together, even in its most innocent iteration, was categorically different. They couldn’t rationalize something like this by relying on their friendship.
And yet.
Jude nodded, wordlessly following Erling to his bed and patiently standing at his side as Erling arranged the pillows and blankets to best suit the bed’s new capacity of two gargantuan college football players.
Once satisfied, Erling took his place on the side of the mattress that abutted the wall. Laying on his side, he lifted the blanket up and nodded his head for Jude to join him. Jude slipped under the covers and, before he had a chance to agonize over his next move, he was pulled against Erling, manhandled without complaint into position. Erling ended up on his back, arm curled securely around Jude, and Jude’s head rested against the skin of his warm, bare chest.
Erling pressed a kiss to Jude’s curls. Jude’s eyes screwed shut, his mind too overrun by racing thoughts to process any potential implications of this new development.
“What if we lose?” he eventually asked, words diffusing quietly across Erling’s collarbone.
“Oh, kjære.” Erling’s embrace tightened. Jude’s legs shifted against his. “We’ll be okay. Even if we lose.”
The simplicity of the words unraveled some tangled, deeply-rooted ball of anxiety within him.
“But,” Erling added, voice rumbly with the remnants of his interrupted sleep. “We will win.”
Jude laughed, the noise coming out wet, and he refused to acknowledge why that might be. The unshed tears that had gathered in his eyes betrayed him, though.
“That simple, huh?”
“Mhmm. We’ve got this, remember?” he answered.
Erling’s unwavering confidence was reassuring. And incredibly attractive, though Jude tried to ignore that part. He nodded, then squeezed his arms around Erling’s torso.
“We’ve got this.”