We drove downfield in six minutes. The defense tried to jam me inside. I bounced wide and took eight on the edge. On second and two, Booth called a counter left behind Noah’s pull. I followed him through the gap and cut right when the safety over-pursued.
I didn’t score, but I got us to the five.
Booth pulled me for the red zone package. I tapped Jordan’s helmet as I passed him. “Finish it.”
He winked. “Always.”
We scored two plays later on a corner route. The stadium lit up. The crowd went off. First blood.
Back on the bench, I grabbed my water and adjusted my pads. Ivy passed by and gave me a quick nod. Sloane stood farther back, tablet in hand, watching. She didn’t smile. But she didn’t look away either. I nodded, needing her to nod back, to acknowledge I was okay, that I was fine.
She chewed the corner of her lip and continued staring at me with that mask in place, before she nodded. That was all I needed. I was ready and pumped to kick ass in this game.
Second quarter started with us up 7–3.
My lungs burned harder than usual. Nothing I hadn’t felt before, but I logged it. Back of my head. Quiet note.
Jordan threw a towel at me between series. “You got the edge on 29. You see it?”
“Yeah.”
“Then hit it.”
Noah pointed at the tablet in his lap. “You’re bouncing too wide.”
“I’m reading the safety.”
“Read the end too.”
“Got it.”
Back on the field. Booth called a stretch play left. I motioned pre-snap. Quinn adjusted. It became a trap. I hit the hole low and fast, spun out of the first hit, dropped my shoulder, and picked up another first down.
The crowd gave it up again. I didn’t celebrate. Just handed the ball to the ref and got back in the huddle. My body was keeping up, and sure, my chest ached a bit, but it was the adrenaline. I wanted to win.
Next play was a pass. I stayed in for protection, picked up a blitzing linebacker, and felt the jolt up my arm as we collided. It rattled my shoulder, but I held. Quinn got the throw off. Incomplete, but safe.
Time-out. 2:13 left in the half.
We regrouped on the sideline. Booth leaned in. “Next series, you’re back in for the two-minute.”
“Copy.”
William handed me a bottle of water. “Heart rate?”
“High,” I said. “But not spike high.”
He nodded, didn’t ask more.
I breathed slowly. In through my nose. Out through my mouth.
I was still in this. I was so fucking proud of myself. I was having a hell of a first half, like my body knew this was my purpose. And to know Rachel was there…it felt good.
We started the third quarter on offense. Still up by three.
Coach Booth kept the tempo tight—short huddle, fast formations, two-step reads. I was back in, flanked right, reading the linebacker on every snap. The first play was clean. Inside zone. I got five. It should’ve been seven, but I hesitated for half a step.
I felt it then. My chest tightened in a way that wasn’t sharp but wrong. Like I hadn’t recovered enough from the last episode.It was the heat. Or adrenaline. Or the fact I hadn’t played a full half in weeks.
