I bounced on my toes, loosening my shoulders and scanning the defensive line the way Tori once told me she scanned an opponent in the cage — not for what they wanted to show, but for the slip they didn’t mean to give.
Coach was barking out plays from the sideline and the quarterback was calling the cadence. But it was the familiar thrum under my skin locking everything into place. That itch right before contact.
At the snap, I pivoted cleanly, slipped past the linebacker and planted myself for a short post route. The quarterback threw the ball straight at my chest, which I caught and tucked securely against my body.
Then I turned upfield and fucking sent it. I took a hit on the opponents' 20-yard line but managed to stay on my feet long enough to drag two defenders an extra five yards.
The shrill sound of the whistle, accompanied by cheers, hit me at the same time as the relief of having actually done something right for once.
Someone slammed my back. “You’re a tank, Aussie!”
I was breathing like I’d swallowed a lawn mower, but adrenaline sang through me.
God, I wished Tori had seen it too.
We jogged into the tunnel at half-time with a three-point lead. Marcus appeared beside me, sweat dripping down his smug face.
“You’re having a good game,” he admitted. “Didn’t think nepotism could hit like that.”
“Thanks.” I raised my eyebrows at him. “Didn’t think a bloke with your IQ could talk and breathe at the same time.”
A couple guys choked on their drinks but Marcus smirked. “Doesn’t matter. You’re gone after this year.”
Hearing it out of his mouth hit harder than it should have.
I forced a shrug. “No shit, Sherlock. Always was gonna be that way.”
But as I walked past him into the locker room, my chest tightened.
We kicked off the third quarter and Coach wanted me on defense again. Our opponents ran a sweep play, and an overwhelming urge to sprint straight at the runner took hold of me.
But Tori’s voice cut through the noise once more, prompting me to slide sideways, read the block and wait for the cutback.
The runner hesitated for just a moment, but it was enough to allow me to slip cleanly under the block, sliding in at the perfect angle to collapse the lane. Another tackle under my belt!
Tane yelled, “That’s it, Kai!”
I grinned widely through my mouthguard as I jogged up to him, and we jumped in the air and smashed our chests together.
By the fourth quarter, my legs were burning, my lungs felt scorched, and I was running on pure instinct. But even though I was exhausted, something in me felt … steady.
For once, I wasn’t failing to catch up. Maybe — justmaybe— I actually belonged here.
We won by ten, and when the final whistle blew, I was sweaty, filthy and bruised. I tilted my head up to the sky and all I could think was:
Tori would’ve said I kept my hips too high on the last tackle.
And then,
I wish she were here to say it.
As we walked down the tunnel to the locker room after the match, my body throbbed pleasantly. Sweat was drying coolly on my skin and I just felt good … until an elbow jabbed into my side.
“Good game, Sunshine.”
“Cheers.” I was too tired for a verbal spar. Not that verbal sparring was ever my forte anyway.
Then he quietly added, “Still … guys like you … you come and go.”
