William flagged me down twenty minutes later, monitor in hand. “Vitals check.”
I followed him down the short hallway to the diagnostics room. He clipped the probe on my finger and pulled up the app on the tablet. “Resting HR?” he asked.
“Last night was mid-70s.”
He checked the overnight data. “Confirmed.”
He looked at me. “How’s your chest?”
“Quiet.”
He nodded but didn’t smile. “Good. Keep breathing steady. If you feel anything shift, even slightly, you tell me. No delay.”
“Got it.”
“Say it again.”
“I’ll tell you. Damn, Ivy gave me the speech too.”
“Because we’re good at our job and want you healthy, James. Nothing more than that.” He sighed, stepped back, and waved me on. “You’re cleared. Kick ass. I fucking hate Wisconsin.”
I walked back into the locker room. Most of the guys were already half-dressed. Helmets sat lined up on the table. Gloves were tucked into waistbands. The music was louder now—something old-school Ty always played to get hyped. I felt the rhythm of it in my teeth.
I sat and adjusted my pads. My hands shook a little as I pulled the straps tight. I kept my eyes on the floor as I adjusted. No one was watching me, but I felt like they were.
I pulled my jersey on and exhaled through my nose.
Booth gave the team talk. He stood in front of the lockers, same words as always. Control the line. Stay on assignments. Make your reps count. Trust each other. The usual stuff.
I stepped onto the field as the announcer called our names. My cleats hit the turf, and everything else faded. The crowd roared, but I kept my eyes on the far end zone. One play at a time. I was back. I could fucking do a backflip I was so excited. Nervous, yes, but ready. Exactly where I should be.
Jordan slapped my helmet as we broke into stretch lines. “Took you long enough.”
“Missed me?”
He grinned. “Don’t get dramatic, 22. Just do your job.”
Quinn jogged over from the other side of the field, bouncing in place like he’d already had too much caffeine. “No cramps today, old man?”
“Keep my lanes clean, and we’ll find out.”
He smirked and ran back to the huddle.
Coach Booth stood behind the O-line group as we ran warm-ups. He wasn’t yelling today. Just watching. Focused. Like he was ready to pounce if one of us slipped.
We won the toss. Took the ball.
The first drive was scripted. Eight plays. Fast pace. Mostly inside zone and short reads. I lined up left of Quinn in the backfield and waited for the snap. The linebacker stared straight through me.
Quinn called the audible. I picked up the change. Inside handoff.
Snap. Ball. Contact.
I hit the gap between Noah and Ty and broke for six. Clean. Crisp. Controlled. The sound of the collision hit a beat later, but I’d already planted and reset.
“Welcome back,” Noah muttered as we reset for second down. “No one runs like you do, my dude.”
The next play was a short pass. I blocked and peeled out wide. No throw. Quinn kept it. First down on a QB draw. Jordanran back laughing, shoulder-checking Quinn on the way. “Look at you being sneaky.”
