Page 97 of Playing It Forward

Coach Knox blows the whistle again. "Let’s go!"

The offense resets. I clap my hands. "Blue eighty! Blue eighty! Set!"

The ball slaps into my hands. I drop back. Tanner breaks left. Corbin cuts across the middle. Gage cuts toward the sideline before breaking back inside.

I plant and throw. Fire explodes through my shoulder. My pass sails anyway. Perfect spiral. Right into Tanner's hands.

The guys cheer. But I barely hear them. Because my shoulder is screaming. Again.

I breathe through the pain and glance toward the stands. Terri is laughing while Charlie is gesturing wildly with his hands. One hand rests on her stomach. It’s a completely unconscious move. Protective and natural as if she’s already a mom.

The pain fades away, and a strange calm settles over me. For years, I've been terrified of the day football ends. Terrified of who I'd be without it. Terrified of becoming my father. Terrified of losing the thing I've spent my entire life chasing.

But watching Terri laugh in the stands...watching her protect our little mermaid without even realizing she's doing it...for the first time in my life, I can picture a future that doesn't start with football.

My shoulder isn’t getting better. At some point, I have to stop pretending and start playing it forward.

Coach Knox blows the whistle again. "Allen!"

I turn back to the field. To the game I love. The game that's given me everything. For the first time, it doesn't feel like enough.

Knox points toward the huddle. "Run it again."

Great. More shoulder pain.

The ball hits my hands. I drop back. The rush closes in. Gage slips into the flat. Corbin breaks inside. Tanner streaks down the sideline.

Everything slows. Not because the game changed. But because my head finally did.

For the first time in months, I stop worrying about my shoulder. Stop worrying about retirement. Stop worrying about next season. Stop worrying about March.

I just play.

Tanner is covered. Corbin is covered. Gage isn't. Three-yard checkdown. Everyone groans.

Gage turns up field, cuts outside, and picks up twenty.

Knox blows the whistle. “That's what I'm talking about!”

“I was open,” Tanner complains.

I roll my eyes. “You weren't open.”

“I was emotionally open.”

“You’ve never been emotionally open.”

He grimaces. “I’m trying.”

My eyes widen, but before I have a chance to ask Tanner what the hell he’s talking about, Beck asks, “How'd you know to throw to Gage?”

I shrug. “The defense gave it to me.”

“Coach said the same thing.”

“Coach is usually right.”

“You seem different today.”