Benedict physically restrains me from crawling out of the boxto go confront that motherfucker, and Molly holds my hands to keep me in place as Erik does indeed drop back for a pass.
That hits number 88 in stride.
Camden doesn’t stop.
He runs the last few yards to the goal and then keeps going. All the way to the padded wall underneath the stands.
I scream so loud and long that I almost choke. On the field, the Founders jump and dance, celebrating the touchdown. Camden spends a few seconds doing his usual thing before he looks right at the camera and signs his nickname for me. Then he spins around until he finds the suite we’re in and holds up thumb, index, and pinkie fingers to sign “I love you.”
All of us in the box repeat the gesture, but it’s Paisley’s grinning face on the jumbotron that receives the biggest cheer.
The referees bring everyone back, and the Founders go for the conversion. For the first time in the game, they finally pull ahead.
I spend the rest of the half holding my breath, praying for the kick to go wide when San Francisco lines up for a field goal, but it sails between the posts, and I groan audibly with all the other Philly fans.
So with the Founders only one point away from winning the whole damn thing, my father starts praying the rosary, and I squeeze Molly’s hand tight as we watch our men line up for one final drive down the field.
Erik is sacked on the first play, and I can imagine how all the players’ adrenaline is sky-high. From here, I can see one of the coaches on the sidelines repeatedly batting at the air, palms down, as if ordering the team to settle down. Philadelphia needs to score here and run out the clock to win.
I’m dying inside.
My legs are barely able to hold me up.
Behind me, my father starts praying in Spanish.
Emmaline’s stopped drinking, and Felix is holding Mom up against the railing, like she might fall at any given moment.
And I get it.
“Here we go!” Benedict shouts through cupped hands. “You got it!”
The ball is snapped, and as the seconds tick down, Erik scrambles, evading a tackle, only to pitch it over to Camden, who is tackled out of bounds. Enough for a first down.
Molly closes her eyes, bouncing Kai in the carrier on her chest, muttering, “Please, oh please, oh please…”
For the next minute and a half, the Founders slowly but surely move the ball up the field, a few yards at a time, not risking any long passes that could be intercepted. Until they’re within field goal range, and Thad Reise jogs out onto the field.
His percentages have been amazing this season, but my muscles are clenched so tight as he lines up that my toe begins to cramp.
For how raucous this stadium was the whole game, it’s quiet now, tension rippling around the stands. Every single person is either hoping he’ll miss or make it.
The ball is snapped, put in place, and then lifted into the air. End over end over end and through the uprights.
That’s it.
Game over.
And I just about burst open with joy. The Founders have won the whole damn thing!
I scream and cry until my voice is hoarse, hugging and kissing every single person in the box before we are escorted down to the field, where it is utter pandemonium. Confetti covers every last inch. Hats, shirts, and towels with the Founders logo and championship title are distributed. It’s chaos.
But Camden finds us. He lifts Paisley and me up at once, each of us under an arm, and I think he might be able to move a mountain right now for how he’s feeling. He gives each of us a kiss on the cheek then sets us down, placing a hat on Paisley’s head. Tears spill down my cheeks as Paisley signs to her bigbrother that she knew he could do it, and he, in turn, tells her that he did it for her.
Then he pivots to me, a grin splitting his face, and bends to wrap his arms around my thighs, lifting me up in the air, so I can reach him better with his pads on. I brush his sweaty hair back from his brow, drag my thumbs across his flushed and damp cheekbones, wipe a smear of dirt off his jaw.
“How do you feel?” I ask, and he shakes his head as if he can’t even find the words.
“Like I’m floating.”
