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They’re using Brody as a diversion, I realized. As long as he’s out there, the Broncos have to double-team him, which is leaving Stark wide open.
Play after play, the Stallions moved down the field. With twelve seconds left, they had to use a timeout to stop the clock. They were on the twenty yard line. It would be an easy field goal for the kicker to tie the game.
But they didn’t send the kicker out. Not yet.
“They’re going to try one more play for the end zone,” I said, to myself or to Kayla or to any of the other girls whose eyes were glued to the game now. “If it fails, they can still kick the field goal to tie it. But if it works…”
They win the game.
The Denver crowd, realizing the importance of the moment, rose in a single voice of opposition. It was like the volume was slowly being cranked up by an invisible hand, louder and louder until I could barely hear myself think. The air itself seemed to tremble with the combined voices of seventy-six thousand fans who desperately wanted my boyfriend to fail.
“COME ON BRODY!” I shouted, my voice like a single raindrop against the greater sea.
The ball was snapped.
Two tight ends and two wide receivers took off toward the end zone. Dallas Lockett stepped back in the pocket, allowing his linemen to form a protective wall against the Broncos players trying to sack him. He looked to the left, toward Kincaid and Jackson, the wide receivers. Then he looked right.
His arm snapped back, then forward. The ball soared through the air on a graceful arc, like a bird who was oblivious to the war going on around it. Brody was well-covered by his defender, matching him stride for stride, but the ball was falling toward them. The defender turned back, reaching for the ball, his arms going up with Brody’s to grasp for it.
The two of them fell into the end zone together.
Time seemed to stand still in that moment while the two players were tangled on the ground. A touchdown meant a victory for the Stallions. An interception meant there would be no field goal, and the Broncos would win. I felt in my heart a maelstrom of emotions for the man I loved: fear and hope and regret and eagerness. The stadium collectively held its breath, waiting for the signal.
The referee hunched over the two players, stood up straight, and extended both hands in the air.
Touchdown.
Screams split the air, and I realized they were coming from my throat. I was holding my hands in the air to mimic the referee, screaming with relief and victory all at once.
Brody leaped to his feet and sprinted around the stadium, pumping his fist and celebrating. He circled the sideline and kept going until he was in front of me, hugging me like it was a collective victory rather than something I had just stood by and watched.
“I love you so much!” he told me.
The game wasn’t over, though. The Broncos still had six seconds left on the clock. They tried a hail mary play, hurling the ball deep downfield in a last-ditch effort to score, but there were too many Stallions defenders around, and the ball was batted harmlessly to the ground.
The Stallions had won.
Before I could process what was happening, Brody had returned to me and was lifting me into the air. He put me down, turned around, and then gave me a piggy-back ride around the stadium. All the rest of the players were meeting in the middle of the field to shake hands and wish each other a good game, but Brody was like my own private Stallion (literally!) giving me a ride around all the chaos.
I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the back of his neck, laughing and giggling the entire time.
When it came time to give the post-game interview on the field, Brody still didn’t let go of me. He walked right over to the camera crew and the reporter with the microphone and kept me on his back while delivering his remarks.
“Stark was doing a fantastic job in the first half,” he said. “They didn’t even really need me, but you saw how it turned out. That double tight end formation really threw a wrench in the Broncos defense, and we were able to exploit it.”
The reporter laughed and said, “I can’t help but notice that you aren’t alone here. Care to introduce us to this person?”
“Who, this old thing?” He grinned over his shoulder at me. “This is the woman you asked me about two weeks ago. The woman I love. She’s out of my league, but somehow I managed to trick her into falling in love with me.”
“I don’t know who this man is!” I said when the reporter shoved the mic in my face. “He stole me from the crowd!”
“She’s got a sense of humor, too,” Brody said with a chuckle. “But this woman’s the only reason I didn’t trip over my own shoelaces tonight. She’s my rock. She always has been, I just didn’t know it until this past season.”
Brody finally let me down so he could continue the rest of the interview without me. I stood around and soaked in the atmosphere. The Stallions had won. They finally beat the Broncos when it really mattered.
Fans were crowding all along the railing of the stands, shouting player names: Kincaid, Dallas, Brody, Stevie, Stark. I ignored them until someone shouted, “TAYLOR!”
At first, I assumed there was a player on the Stallions named Taylor that I had never heard of. But then I saw someone waving by the railing. I slowly walked in that direction, my confusion growing with every step.
