I remembered Dr. Morrison:The fear is information. Do it anyway.
I remembered Rosie:You're brave enough.
I remembered Max:No hesitation.
I struck the ball cleanly, watching it sail past the keeper's outstretched fingers into the top corner.
Goal. 1-1.
The celebration was explosive. My teammates mobbed me, shouting and laughing. But I was looking at the stands, at Rosie jumping up and down, tears streaming down her face.
I pointed at her, mouthing:For you.
She pressed both hands to her heart.
The game intensified. Both teams pushed hard, desperate for the winning goal. The clock ticked down, 80 minutes, 85, 90.
Three minutes of stoppage time.
Max got the ball in midfield, dribbling past two defenders. He looked up, saw me making a run, and sent a perfect through ball.
I was through on goal again. Just me, the keeper, and the weight of the entire season.
No fear this time. Just clarity.
I took the shot.
The ball hit the back of the net.
2-1.
The stadium erupted. My teammates rushed me, the bench cleared, and for a moment, there was only joy, relief, and triumph.
The final whistle blew seconds later.
We'd won. We were champions.
The celebration on the field was chaotic, players crying, hugging, and lifting the trophy. Camera flashes everywhere, reporters asking for interviews, Coach beaming with pride.
But I needed to see Rosie.
I pushed through the crowd, heading for the stands. She met me at the barrier, and I lifted her over into my arms.
"You did it," she sobbed into my neck. "You were incredible."
"We did it," I corrected, holding her tight. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."
"Dex!" Max was calling me back. "Trophy presentation!"
"One second," I called back, then turned to Rosie. "Wait for me after?"
"Always."
I kissed her, not caring about the cameras or the crowd or anything except this moment with the girl I loved.
"I love you," I said against her lips.
"I love you too. Now go celebrate with your team. You earned this."
