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Prologue—Robbie

The crowd grew briefly silent as we all waited for the snap. I closed my eyes, holding one finger up to gauge the direction of the wind.

Refocusing my gaze, I breathed out, turning all of my focus to the position of the football. The noise in the stadium increased as the ball was set up in front of me. I took one step, two steps, and connected my toes with the ball, eyes staring at the spot between the goalpost where I wanted the ball to go. A hush fell as the ball listed to the left.

Had I made enough allowance for the wind? I prayed to the gods of football that I had.

The ball sailed through the goalpost, barely missing the left upright, and the crowd went crazy as the referee confirmed what we’d all seen: field goal! That was three points for my team. Getting those three points with only ten seconds left on the game clock meant that my team had moved into the lead for the first time the entire game.

My team had just won our division and we were heading to the playoffs!

My teammates surrounded me, hugging me, thumping me, and finally pushing me up onto someone’s shoulders. I didn’t notice who it was because I was trying to breathe through the pain. That last kick had aggravated a chronic hip issue that had gradually been getting worse for the last few months.

It was my last season in the NFL. I just needed to gut it out and play through the pain. I needed to help my team through the playoffs, so I could finally get the Super Bowl ring I’d dreamed of ever since I first held a football when I was four years old.

As I limped into the tunnel, our head coach caught up with me, slapping me on the shoulder.

“Nice job Mason,” Coach Grange said warmly.

Well, warmly for him. The man wasn’t exactly effusive. He was hard as nails but an excellent coach, and I’d idolized the guy since I was a kid. He was a linebacker back then, before moving into coaching after he retired from playing – a path I planned to follow as well, but on a smaller scale.

“Thanks Coach.”

He leaned closer, his eyes on my feet as I tried not to limp.

“We need to fix your hip and get you through the playoffs. We don’t have a chance without you, son.”

I nodded. We both knew it wasn’t sentimentality – I was the best kicker we had. One of the top three kickers in the NFL, in fact. Our team’s back-up kicker was on injured reserve, and the other guy was a rookie who’d fold like a cheap suit if he played in a high-pressure game. The team was depending on me to help the Cougars get to the big game for the first time in franchise history.

“I’m sure the physio guys will figure something out,” I reassured him.

He shook his head. “I’ve been talking to them about it, and we all agree that we need to call in the big guns. I’m bringing in Violet.”

Violet

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer yet.”

My father spoke to me like I was a stubborn toddler refusing to eat her vegetables.

“I don’t need to hear your offer. The answer will still be no.”

My mother’s eyes pinged between me and my father, knowing better than to get in the middle. We were both stubborn as hell.

“They say you worked a miracle on that gal who plays soccer,” Dad told me with exaggerated patience. “I heard that their team won the championship because of you fixing that gal up. I need you to do that for Mason.”

“That ‘gal’ is Joy Farris, the best soccer player in the world,” I said firmly.

My father had one disappointment in life: me. Or more specifically, the fact that I’d been born a girl. Forty years later and he still wasn’t over it. Sadly for both of us, I was an only child, he’d never gotten the son he wanted. His dream of a son who could carry on his football legacy had been crushed.

“You mean she’s the best female player in the world,” he corrected me.

My blood pressure rose to a dangerous level. “No, I don’t mean that at all.”

After spending his entire career in the NFL, my father had somehow never caught up with modern times. I doubt he even knew what the “me too” movement was about. I loved him, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t like him very much. He was a throwback to another era where men were men and women stayed home and made babies.

Although right now he didn’t want me making babies. He wanted me to work a miracle on his favorite player, the one who just might help them finally get to the Super Bowl.