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“You’re gonna shine out there, Jake. You’re a star, man. Remember that.” He grins, running his hands through his brown hair, longer across the top.
I’m distracted, lost in thoughts about the call from my brother, and I fucking hate that I have to lie to my friend about the phone call, but I can’t talk about it now… not here.
“I’m fine. Just nerves.” I push on a fake smile, the lie tasting bitter.
Before I know it, I’m stepping onto the football field with the team. The stadium lights are like beams in the night, throwing long shadows.
The crowd bursts out in cheer, and my adrenaline kicks in. The band is playing while cheerleaders explode on the field, their dance and enthusiasm infectious. The girls are fucking hot in those skin-tight shorts, but I’m keeping my focus on where I’m going and fighting to shove the thoughts of my mom’s health into the recesses of my mind.
Coach Anderson’s gathering us all, and Tyler’s starting the game while I’m benched. The ass thumps his chest, and I roll my eyes. His bragging burns, but I know it gives me time to sort out my damn mind. Tyler throws me a smug wink, and I want to shove my fist into his face.
The game kicks off, and I’m on the edge of my seat, cheering my team on, needing them to win. I just need to join them…
Just let me on, Coach.
Tyler’s commanding the field, his confidence and arrogance in full display. He’s good. I’ll give him that. He’s weaving through the defense, calling plays with precision. I watch every team member’s skills to see who excels at what.
Then it happens. One second, we’re about to score; the next, Tyler’s losing his shit, acting like a fuckhead, raging and shoving others on the field, then flinging his arms in the air as he rants about something.
“Tyler, off the field!” Coach yells. The offensive coach is breaking the guys up.
I’m on my feet from the bench, muscles tense.
Ryan’s there, driving his hands at his chest to get Tyler to back down, but it’s not working.
Suddenly, Coach is shouting my name, and I’m up.
Fuck yes!
I sprint onto the field, adrenaline surging. Tyler’s storming off, cursing, and I meet his gaze as we pass, then flip him my middle finger. I hate the guy, but right now, I’m about to play, and that’s all that matters. My heart’s racing because, despite everything, this is where I’m meant to be—under these lights, on this field, and with the ball in my hands.
I’m fucking ready.
Coach is barking orders, and I take my position. The ball is heavy in my grasp as nerves dance in my muscles, but I’m no longer the clumsy football player I was back in high school. I clawed my way up to being the captain of the team back then, and now I’m going to keep growing.
The game kicks off again, and I’m fully aware that our team is behind; the score is 20-7. Every second passing feels like a missed opportunity, but the more I’m running, playing, trying to get us ahead, the worse we seem to be getting.
Even after half-time, the team’s struggling.
What the hell?
Gasping for air, I stare at the clock. It’s almost time out, and we’re still behind. This is the worst game I’ve played.
The clock’s ticking down.
Ryan’s making a break downfield, and my heart lurches. This is our moment.
I make the split-second decision to release the ball. The ball leaves my hands, soaring through the air. Even the crowd falls silent, watching it spiral through the air.
In that heart-stopping moment when I think we stand a chance to catch up before time’s out, the ball’s intercepted by the opposing team, The Thunderhawk. They snatched it first.
Fuck!
Half the crowd cheers for them while my gut tightens, and my heart is racing.
Time’s called, and before I know it, the game’s over.
We’ve lost.
