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He wasn’t even their player, but he held a piece of them.

His heart pounded against his ribs—whether from nerves or excitement, he couldn’t tell—as the deafening roar of the crowd surrounded him, rattling his bones. Stepping onto the familiar field bathed in blinding lights, cameras flashing, felt so foreign after everything he’d been through. Violence. The terrible burden of their expectations bore down on him.

What would Josh say to him if they were jogging together?

Let all the craziness out of you. Take a breath. He felt the tension drizzle off him like sweat.

He jogged across the grass. For all the shouting, Tyler felt quiet, almost still… as though time had slipped. As though it were just before dawn and he was running beside the person who mattered most. For you, Joshua.

“’Bout time.” Odell grinned up at him and then over his shoulder at the stands. “Let’s give ’em a second to change their panties.”

Tyler took his position in the huddle, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He just needed to do his thing for five minutes while the cameras rolled.

Bracing himself as the first play was called and the ball snapped, he saw the Cowboys’ defense barreling toward him. Dodging a tackle, spinning away from a hit, he started to recall what had made him a star way back when. But he no longer cared about fame or glory. He only wanted to prove he still had the wins in him. Like a musketeer.

The sheer physicality of the game engulfed Tyler as he dodged malicious hits and dueled as nimbly as possible with the Cowboys’ defense. Sweat coated his brow, muscles straining with each canny play. He had forgotten what it felt like to play at this level, surrounded by pros who shared his passion for the game. And still he felt that odd stillness he associated with running with Josh. Time seemed to blur, melting past him in tackles and feints that kept him untouched. Panache.

In a heartbeat, Tyler saw a chance to take possession of the ball. Instead of pressing his advantage, he faked out the Cowboys by turning back the way he’d come and handed the ball off to Duchesne, who picked up nine crucial yards.

Now the Cowboys were grumpy.

The hits kept coming, each one more vicious than the last. Tyler’s teammates tried to run interference, often taking brutal falls on his behalf. He wanted to tell them not to sacrifice themselves for him, but there was no time. The clock ticked mercilessly on.

On the next play, he saw a massive fullback hurtling toward his flank. In that split second, Josh’s voice echoed in his mind: Brace yourself. Be strong. Planting his feet, he summoned all his strength and reversed the hit just before impact, sending the player reeling. En garde, Athos.

The Cowboys were out for blood now. The same three linemen swarmed him every play, but by some miracle, Tyler’s defense kept picking them off so he could slip past their grasp. The ref called penalties, but it did little good. The Swells offense was outmatched, and he was out of time.

On the next play, Tyler opted to block a linebacker coming at Odell from the outside.

That odd predawn stillness from the school track seemed to buffer him and focus him. He flashed on a memory of grabbing his father’s belt midswing, the smack of the leather as it hit his hand when he made a fist around it and pulled it free. At the last second, he braced and reversed again, almost flipping the player, who hit the ground with a nasty thud.

As the minutes passed, he kept hearing Josh in his head, believing in him more than he did himself.

The ferocity and danger of the attacks intensified as the Cowboys targeted Tyler with calculated brutality. A couple of the Swells ran interference, taking ugly falls for him, their bodies colliding with the turf in bone-jarring impacts that left them skidding across the grass. The clock seemed to slow further.

Boris had insisted he stay in play for five minutes, but this felt closer to seven.

His chest was agony now and his breath ragged. He’d almost bitten through his mouth guard.

He worried that if the Cowboys actually managed to bring him down, his chest would simply burst like a piñata and the medics would have to collect all his bits for the funeral. Whatever happened next, he needed to get off this field, stat.

He glanced at McBride and across to the receivers. En garde.

By now the Cowboys knew what he could and couldn’t do. His body was at its limit. A few more plays and they’d have him completely boxed in. Play by play, they’d gauged his stamina and range of motion. The Dallas coaches had probably assigned defense players to hit him at exactly the right heights to kneecap him permanently.

Game over.

Tyler signaled to Odell, who ducked his head in understanding and crossed himself. Hail Mary.

Odell turned as though about to cut left and hand the ball off, but at the last minute he froze, defying all the coaches’ orders to play it safe.

The crowd got quiet, waiting to see. Calvin and Duchesne trotted forward, then split suddenly and tore off in opposite directions.

My turn.

Twisting free of the grasping Cowboys, Tyler swung toward the startled box man at the line of scrimmage before looping back toward the goalpost. Big as Tyler was, they hadn’t expected a full sprint from a dead stop. I can run now. His arms pumped as he hauled ass, covering ten, twenty, thirty yards faster than he could remember moving since he was a kid. His legs burned, churning under him.

Thank God Josh had taught him how to run properly. All those miles, all those mornings… those dark blue eyes crinkled with a smile first thing. Hey, buddy. He ran like Josh was waiting on the other side of that line, arms wide for him. I love you. I love you.