Page 179 of Colliding with Ten

“I know.”

We stayed on until her breathing changed. She was fighting sleep.

“Go to sleep,” I said.

“You first.”

I listened to her breathing even out. When I was sure she was asleep, I stayed on for another minute, then ended the call and sat in my living room, looking at the city through the glass wall. Ayla was still the best part of my day, and no matter what happened in this game, I didn’t want to lose her.

The conference championship game against the Hawks drew 60,000 fans two hours before kickoff. The bass from the speakers vibrated through the tunnel floor, moving with the noise of a city anticipating this game all week. On the Hawks’ sideline, in purple and gold, holding pom-poms, stood the woman I’d been falling for since first laying eyes on her. But I couldn't think about that now. I had a game to win.

Both teams respected each other, but the rivalry remained. We intended to beat each other to hell for sixty minutes. The first quarter was a war of attrition. The Hawks played aggressively, routinely sending extra rushers on passing plays. I got hit hard, but blitzing was a gamble because sending extra men after the quarterback left players open downfield. By the second quarter, I was finding holes before they fully formed.

The Hawks adjusted at halftime. They dropped back into coverage, cut off deep passes, and dared us to grind it out on the ground. Our running back, Tre, found seams. When they committed to stopping the run, I hit Jace on a crossing route for twenty-two yards and a touchdown.

The lead changed four times. Every time we scored, AJ answered. He was playing the best football I'd ever seen from him. Twice, I watched him operate from the sideline. If his defense could hold, he had a chance. But his defense couldn't hold Jace.

In the final minutes, two fingers touched my temple, and I flicked them down, signaling my guys to lock in. This was it. I took the snap. Jace ran a post route, but a defender was on him. A window opened for a throw. If I missed, the Hawks would have the ball and the win.

I threw it. The ball left my hand on a spiral that felt right. But there were no guarantees. The crowd was on its feet, anticipating where Jace would be when the ball arrived. Almost the entire field and sideline stood up to watch. Football, at its highest level, was about trust, and I trusted no one more.

Jace caught it in stride, forty-two yards downfield. The safety arrived too late. Jace cut and sprinted down the sideline, leaving the defensive backs trailing as if running in sand.

Touchdown.

The stadium erupted. We led by four points with seconds on the clock. Jace dropped to his knees in the end zone, and three of our linemen piled on top of him. That play ended the Hawks' season.

I was in the middle of the field, looking at the scoreboard. Then I looked across at AJ, helmet in hand, helpless. Although we still had to kick the extra point and then hand the ball back to the Hawks, he knew that only a miracle could save them now.

We kicked the ball back, but in those final five seconds, our special teams ended the run on a short gain. The clock hit zero, and the world spun.

Cannons blew confetti of bronze, blue, and gold into the sky. We were conference champions. Players ran and grabbed each other. Jace found me and hugged me, lifting my feet off the ground.

"We did it!" he shouted into my ear. "We did it, brother!"

Barrett was next, then Simmons, and the offensive line celebrated.

Coach Reeves grabbed my face and pressed his forehead against mine. "One more game."

The ring and championship were one game away. I'd been chasing this since I was six, and the feeling was surreal.

Players from both sides crossed paths, some embracing, while others walked off with their helmets in their hands. I was still in the middle of the celebration when I saw AJ Callahan coming. His eyes searched for someone. When they found mine, I understood that he was looking for me.

I met him halfway. He extended his hand first. We shook hands, both of us looking the other in the eye.

“Good game,” he said.

“You too. You made us work for it.”

He nodded, but then looked like he wanted to say something else. “Take care of her.”

He said the words close to my ear, where no one else could hear them. I held his gaze, knowing what this meant to him.

“I will.”

He nodded, released my hand, and walked into the tunnel without looking back. The awareness that had lived in the periphery all game, which I kept pushing down because I had a job to do, came to life.

Ayla was on the Hawks’ sideline when the players and coaches walked off with their heads down. The Flight Crew had gathered close to the tunnel entrance, their uniforms still dazzling, but their faces showing the loss.