He’d nodded at me and thanked me with a monotone voice during the first quarter, but that was it.
Not the time.
It was third and two, and we were down by seven. Plenty of game left to make a difference.
Michigan’s quarterback had the ball, dodged left, then right, thensmack.Callum tackled him, causing the ball to fumble. Callum picked it up and took off. Holy shit.
He’d scored a few touchdowns in his career, but this was massive. This was on live TV. There had to be tons of NFL scouts at this game between Central State and Michigan. Oh my god.
He’s gonna score.
Abe grabbed my arm as he muttered,“Oh shit. Oh shit. Yes. This is happening!”
“Touchdown, Central State Wolves!”
The sound of the crowd was unreal. Like a pack of howling wolves combined with the force of a tornado. Goose bumps exploded down my body as breath left my lungs. My Callum caused a fumble and scored.
“O’Toole with the sack and touchdown, bringing the game closer.”
I watched as we scored an extra point with the touchdown, unable to function or move, or breathe really, as we tied the game.
“This might be the best moment of my life.” Abe fanned his face and grinned. “Ivy, how are you so fucking calm?”
“I have no idea. I’m not sure I’m breathing.”
“Okay, that tracks.”
The teams switched out, and I scrambled as players needed water. My gaze only sought one person, but he stood down the line, gripping the sides of his pads.Look at me, Callum. Please. Give me this.
Dean came up to him and bear hugged him, then pulled him in a deep conversation. It was selfish of me to want this reassurance from him in the middle of a game. I asked him to be distant and didn’t quantify how much—we could talk about it after. Yeah. That made sense.
For the rest of the quarter, I busied myself with whatever I could to not think about Callum. But then everything changed at the start of the fourth.
Defense was out there, Callum’s calm and efficient demeanor contagious on the field. The play started, the familiar sounds of grunts and pads and cheers. But instead of Callum breaking through, they caught him.
It played out in slow motion, almost like an old-fashioned TV show. Two of Michigan’s O-Line hit Callum right in the chest. He flew back, his head snapping as he landed with a dull thud.
I gasped and dropped the water bottles. My feet were wet, I thought, but wasn’t sure. The oxygen left my lungs as a second player landed on top of Callum’s leg.Oh no.
“What the fuck?”
“This is bullshit!”
“Get off him, what the fuck!”
Fact: a panic attack can feel like you’re dying.
My pulse roared in my ears like a train as sweat beaded my entire brow. Callum wasn’t moving. Flashes of blue and orange blurred in my vision. Henry was on the field, I thought. Maybe Abe. The guys on our team yelled, each voice distorting in my mind.
Callum had to be okay. I loved him. We were together.He has to be okay.I had to get to him. I could push my way through the crowd, even though my strength wasn’t the same. I could help him. Make sure was okay. But I was frozen to the ground, unable to fucking move. He had to be. I refused to believe any other outcome.
Their coach yelled and threw his headset on the ground, pointing his fingers across the field. Spit flew out of his mouth.
I was a narrator of my own life, a total out-of-body experience. The guys on the sidelines roared insults at Michigan as the intention of the other team was clear:take no mercy.
My heart stopped beating until Callum lifted his head. If he didn’t get up, I had no idea what I’d do. Not breathe again? I stood frozen in time, rooted to the field in utter agony. I clutched my stomach, terrified of even breathing. I had to get to him. Fuck this job. I lunged forward, but Luca held out an arm to stop me.
“He’ll be okay.” Luca stood next to me, his face grim with his signature glare. “That dude has enough pettiness that he’ll get up just to talk shit to the other team.”
