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His chest throbbed and stuttered, but he tore across the grass without looking back or doubting himself, focusing only on the end zone ahead. His whole being bent toward the line with his feet racing to catch up. His heart was a scorching fist behind his sternum. Closer, nearly, almost.

Tyler hoped the pounding he heard was just his straining pulse, not the footsteps of some massive Dallas defender bearing down on him. Almost there. When he was a couple of yards away, within striking distance, he glanced back as Odell wound up and let loose a long, arching, perfect pass right into the cradle of his arms, if he could get them there in time.

The crowd stood frozen in the stands.

Finally the Cowboys on the twenty-yard line realized what was up and took off, cutting diagonally toward him. Come home. The ball sailed through the air as Tyler closed the gap to where the ball would be, angling toward everything.

At the last possible moment, Tyler twisted to see two Cowboys barreling at him just as Odell’s Hail Mary pass started its descent. Summoning his last inch of strength, Tyler leaped upward, reaching-straining-stretching for the ball….

The crowd jumped up and down, the lights flashed, and the ball spun through the air directly into Tyler’s outstretched hands. He tucked that beautiful little nugget against his chest and rolled just before the two Cowboys could slam into his legs, a second too late. He hit the ground on his front, stunned but steady. The ball cradled against his chest had saved him. “Hey, buddy.”

Finally, pressed against the ground in the perfect silence, he began to hear his breath and his heart, which seemed to still be beating. Three-three-three. His fingers still worked, and his feet. His face too. He smiled, and then the smile got bigger. I love you, Joshua.

The deafening applause and cheers shook the stadium as Tyler pulled himself up and got his legs under him. He had done it—scored his last touchdown for the Swells. His shouting teammates sprinted toward him, leaning forward, mouths wide, while the Cowboys could only look on in mute defeat. Even if the Swells lost the game in the last quarter, he hadn’t.

Tyler shook his head in joyful disbelief. “And won for all.”

All over the field, his exuberant teammates were jumping and celebrating the impossible play. On the sidelines, McBride stood smiling and shaking his head. Odell saluted and bowed to him. The crowd was hugging and snapping pictures.

“FAN-TAN-A! FAN-TAN-A!” Their raw chanting shook the stadium. He could feel the rumbling coming up through his cleats.

The glare of the stadium thrown up at the clouds overhead made it look like sunrise. So still. So bright. He closed his eyes, and his heart was so full it hurt to breathe. Standing in the end zone, overwhelmed by the roar of the crowd, Tyler felt a swell of gratitude and love for Josh.

Tyler almost thought, He should be here, but then he shook his head.

“I should be there,” he whispered.

He looked down at the ball in his hands, then back up at the sky, bright as dawn, wide as heaven.

He lifted the ball over his head and then slowly, deliberately knelt to set it down on the ground. He stood up with his arms raised… and walked away.

Tyler headed off the field, shedding his jersey and pads as he went, along with “America’s Tightest End,” “Captain Fantastic,” and all the other dumb crap. It was time to just be Tyler again and go home.

When he reached the tunnel, his cleats clicking on the tiles, he turned and waved one last time—to the boisterous crowd, to the cameras and blazing lights—and disappeared into his own future.

Chapter Nineteen

WINTER IN southern California meant rain… or at least most of the rain they got during the year. In Cinnamar, they got showers from the mountains and the runoff kept the lawns green.

Truth was, Josh didn’t like driving in crappy weather, and already that morning he’d had to dodge a couple of news vans and a cluster of sleep-deprived jerks who had camped outside his driveway all night.

He’d watched Tyler’s insane game last night, the epic fake out and that perfect, miraculous pass. Truth be told, he’d gotten nervous that Tyler had stayed on the field longer than his five minutes, but then he’d made that beautiful touchdown and exited stage right in one piece. Tyler had called him from the locker room right after, breathless and triumphant, but he hadn’t made much sense in the moment. His mood ranged from manic to mellow to pissed to proud.

All that mattered: Tyler was alive and negotiations with the Swells were ongoing, even if he didn’t seem to know when his next game was or what came next.

Josh knew the sports press hoo-ha would die down and they’d lose interest eventually, but the constant sense of anxious anticipation sucked, especially when they got up in his face. By now he’d gotten the hang of it; getting to school just meant moving fast and treating them like ugly scenery.

Fun? No. But manageable.

The wet streets hissed under his tires as he threaded through the early morning streets. Soccer season was upon them, and that wasn’t his turf. A little breathing room and spare time sounded pretty sweet.

He might even get a couple of weekends off so he could finally get to San Diego.

Tyler had ended their call last night in a funny mood, almost dazed but super affectionate. Whatever was bugging him about negotiations with the Swells was starting to intrude on every conversation they had. Were they trading him after all? Something worse? Josh didn’t want to push him, but he also knew that Tyler didn’t like overthinking any of this.

Instead of dealing with whatever the trouble was, Tyler had wanted another full blow-by-blow of the Musketeers reading and again asked when Josh might have a couple of days they could escape somewhere.

What the hell?