This wasn’t about him.
It was about the team. The school. The game. He’d worked his ass off for this moment — years of early mornings, late nights, no drinking, no distractions. No dating. Just discipline.
He jogged to the sideline, falling into formation with practiced ease, heart still hammering.
Then, out of the corner of his eye — just a glimpse.
Messy blonde bun. Navy T-shirt. Maroon skort.
Ali.
His stomach flipped. He hadn’t meant to look for her, but he had.
He faced the field again, jaw tight, hands flexing at his sides.
Focus. You’ve got a job to do.
The clock was bleeding down — just seconds left.
The scoreboard showed a three-point deficit, the crowd’s roar edging toward panic and hope all at once. Dylan wiped the sweatfrom his brow, helmet still off, breathing steady but fast. Every muscle was wound tight. This was the moment you dream about — or dread.
Coach Busby’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and calm. “One play. Give it everything.”
Dylan jogged back to the huddle, locking eyes with his teammates, their faces fierce and ready. He could feel the weight of the entire team — the hard work, the sacrifices — pressing down on him like the humid night air.
The snap was clean.
He dropped back, scanning the field through the clamoring noise, searching for an opening. The defense was swarming — desperate, relentless.
His heart pounded in his ears as he took the snap and stepped up, dodging a rusher’s outstretched arm. The line held, just barely.
Time slowed.
He pumped his arm and launched the ball high, the Hail Mary sailing in a perfect arc toward the end zone.
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.
The stadium lights caught the ball’s gleam as it spiraled through the air — a fragile, shimmering thread between victory and heartbreak.
Then, chaos.
Players leapt, hands stretching, bodies colliding under the glowing night sky.
And in that chaos, Dylan’s eyes found one thing — Ali’s face in the crowd, wide-eyed, breath held.
The ball came down, tipped, caught — a game-winning touchdown.
The crowd exploded. “BLEED THE BLUFF!”— it was their victory rally cry. Captain Rip, the Southern pirate and Riptide the Shark were running into the end zone with MBU flags.
Dylan lept into the air, hands lifted to the sky, adrenaline crashing through him like a tidal wave.
In that moment, everything else faded.
The fight. The discipline. The doubt.
Only the victory. Only the team.
And somewhere in the roar — a whisper of her.
