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As we file back toward the tunnel, Marcus falls in step beside me. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You seem… distracted.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine. Let’s just win this thing.”

But he’s right. Iamdistracted. Every time I line up, I think about Olivia in that press box. Watching. Analyzing. Probably writing notes about how I need to stay focused.

Get your head in the game, Storm.

The second half kicks off, and I force everything else out. Just me, the ball, and my team.

We drive downfield. I hit Derek for a fifteen-yard gain. Tank bulldozes through for another seven. Marcus catches a slant for the first down.

Then I see it, the safety cheating up, leaving the corner one-on-one with our fastest receiver.

I call an audible. Derek looks at me, nods. He knows what’s coming.

The ball snaps. I drop back. The pocket collapses fast, but I step up, eyes downfield.

Derek breaks free.

I throw.

The ball spirals through the air, perfect rotation, perfect arc. Derek tracks it, hands extending, and—

Touchdown.

The stadium explodes. My teammates mob me, pounding my helmet, shouting. But all I can think is:Did she see that?

We’re up twenty-four to seventeen.

Portland answers with a field goal. Twenty-four to twenty.

Four minutes left.

We get the ball back, and Coach calls for a conservative drive. Run the clock. Get a first down or two. Make them burn their timeouts.

But on second and seven, I see the defense stacking the box.

I audible again.

“Storm, what are you doing?” Tank hisses.

“Trust me.”

The snap. I fake the handoff, roll right. The linebackers bite. Marcus slips into the flat, wide open.

I hit him. He turns upfield. One juke. Two. He’s got nothing but green grass ahead—

And he’s tackled at the five-yard line.

First and goal.

Two plays later, I punch it in myself on a quarterback sneak.

Thirty-one to twenty. Three minutes left.