“Calm down, everyone,” I say. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine. What more could happen in just a couple of weeks?”
Famous last words.
Every breath feels like the calm before the break.
Are we strong enough to bend, or will this be it?
Hold on, hold on–don’t let go now.
Even if it’s hard, we’ll figure it out.
Something’s coming. I know you feel it, too.
Will it tear us apart, or make us bulletproof?
Hold on, hold on–don’t let go now.
Don’t be afraid, we’ll figure this out.
Hold on, hold on–don’t let me go.
Hold on, hold on–don’t leave me alone.
Hold on, hold on–don’t let me go.
Hold on, hold on–we’re stronger than we know.
THIRTY-TWO
LUC
AJ has my arm in a vice grip. We’re on the sidelines, sweating beneath our pads. The tension in the Superdome is thick, the hum of excitement and anticipation practically vibrating the turf below our feet.
We’re in overtime. Our line was able to stop the Viking’s last drive before they made it too far past the fifty-yard line, but their defense has been just as effective. Monty just called for a long-range field goal as a desperate attempt to end this game.
Blane Kiff, our top kicker, hasn’t had the highest accuracy in the league this year, but he hasn’t had the worst either. We have faith in him. All our hopes for this game are riding on his shoulders.
“Come on, baby. Come on. End this thing,” AJ chants, squeezing my bicep hard enough that I’m starting to lose circulation.
The line moves. The ball is snapped.
Kiff’s cleat makes contact, and the ball cuts through the air.
For a heartbeat the entire Superdome is silent. Time stands still, the ball hovering in midair. On the sidelines, the coaches, players, and trainers all lean to the side to get a good angle.
It’s true.
It’s good. We all simultaneously turn our heads to the officials, who hold their arms straight up in the air.
IT’S GOOD!
The stadium erupts. Cyclone logos flashing, gold towels whipping through the air, a sea of white and gold letting out a roar that jars my bones. We rush the field, a mob of crushing bodies, pads, and helmets clanking against each other. AJ is screaming in my ear, laughing and wailing, “We did it!!!”
We’re going to the Super Bowl! For the first time in the team’s history, the Shreveport Cyclones are headed to the big game. The biggest game.
The biggest stage.
I want to call him. The locker room is a chaotic mix of sweat and celebration, but there’s only one person that I want to celebrate this moment with. I keep glancing at my phone to see if Jesse has texted. I know he was watching. He always watches me. I know because I can feel his eyes on me when I’m on the field, or when the cameras pan the sidelines.
