Page 33 of Everything In Between

TWENTY-SEVEN

hayes

Jersey

Good luck today, MVP

Her text comes through right as I’m boarding the team bus to head to the stadium.

We’ve spent the last two weeks apart, but she flew into Milwaukee last night, planning to spend a few days here with me and my parents before having to fly back tomorrow for her recording session on Christmas Eve.

I had to stay with the team in our team hotel, as we usually do the night before home games, so I didn’t get to see her last night. And I’m missing her, desperately.

Hayes

Cheer loud for me, okay? I wanna hear you down on that field.

Jersey

You got it, #18.

With one last lingering look at the screen, I power the phone down and focus on my pregame routine, shifting my mindset on the way from the girl of my dreams to the Dallas Rampage—a team known for their impeccable and ruthless defense.

All last week I focused on footwork, perfecting my avoidance skills, knowing their linemen will be out for blood today. We’re nearing playoff season, so the stakes are high. I have my eyes set on the number one seed.

That Super Bowl ring will be ours.

By the time the team makes it to the stadium, I’m dead set on giving today my all, even if it kills me.

Beckett meets me at our neighboring cubbies in the locker room and we change out of our suits into our warm-up jerseys. When we hit the field, my focus zeros in on running through drills and getting my muscles and mind prepped for the battle ahead.

We lose the coin toss to the Dallas Rampage, so right from the start, I’m exiled to the sidelines, watching the first play shake out. My blood thrums through my veins as the adrenaline spikes. I’m itching to get out on that field and get that ball between my hands.

While I won’t turn down getting first dibs at the ball to start the game, I’m more content with getting the ball first in the second half—in fact, I prefer it.

By then, I’ll have a feel for the game, a feel for the team.

And if we’re leading, it allows us to keep that momentum, or if we’re trailing, it tells me how much work we have to take lead.

It doesn’t always shake out the way I want it, but that’s part of the game.

The Rampage came to win today, that’s for damn sure. Already, by the end of their first possession, they’ve scored the first touchdown of the game—a scoring drive with their tight end sneaking past all of our defenses.

I knew going in this would be a tough game, but the pressure amps up as I pull on my helmet to take the field. We’ve gotta keep up, otherwise they’ll stomp all over us.

In the huddle, my offensive lineup looks to me for direction, wondering which play we’ll attempt first to give us the best chance to get points on the board.

My brain whirls all over the plays we’ve been practicing and I finally settle on one I know will work.

After a quick glance down at the band on my forearm to make sure I read it right, I look up to see my teammates watching me expectantly.

The heat of my breath swirls in the chilly air as I call, “Let’s go boys, Steer Right, Tether Flex, Flip Zebra, Can 42 Slide on one. ”

The team breaks and we get into formation. I position myself a few yards behind Quentin, geared up for the pass.

I give the call, and the ball is snapped right into my hands and the play begins.

I bound back a few steps, staying on the balls of my feet so I can maneuver around the pocket as Beckett and the rest of the strong side of the offense holds the defense.

My eyes track my teammates, waiting for the perfect opportunity for the pass.

While my eyes are down the field, in my periphery, I see someone barreling toward me. I dodge away from them, my footwork paying off as I spin away and gain a few yards down the field.

That was close.

That would have been a nasty hit with how fast he was coming at me, combined with the size of him. A quick burst of relief fills me before I push it away.

My vision tunnels, and finally, I see my chance.

Beckett darts across the field, wide open

When the ball leaves my hands, I know Beckett going to catch it. I get tackled to the ground the minute the ball leaves my hands, but I catch sight of Beckett gaining yards off the pass.

Wilson, Dallas’s most notorious defensive lineman, crawls off me and I pop back up, my eyes going to the scoreboard to see the replay.

Instead of the replay, there’s a picture of Jersey’s face up on the screen and my breath catches in my throat. She’s got her hands cupped around her mouth as she cheers.

My lips twitch in the corners and I draw my eyes away, staring at the field so no one can see what I simp I’ve become at the sight of her.

Beckett runs up next to me and claps me on the shoulder. I glance up to see him giving me a worried look. “What?” I question.

“Head in the game, man.” His voice is level. “You know I’m happy for you, but let’s finish this.”

I clench my jaw. I know he’s right. I have to focus on the task at hand. “Right.”

It’s imperative that we clinch this win to keep our seed in the playoffs, keep our home field advantage, and do our damnedest to get to the Big Game.

The first half flies by, and by the time we come back out for the third, we’re down one touchdown, the taste of revenge hot on our tongues.

The clock is ticking down, nearing the end of the third quarter, and we waste no time taking the field and huddling up.

On our next possession, we take the ball all the way down the field to the fifteen-yard line.

I glance at the clock, and a sense of satisfaction washes over me when I see we’ve got the right amount of time left in the quarter to get one last scoring drive—exactly what I was aiming for.

Keeping sight of the clock and running strategic plays to keep us on the field longer and exhaust Dallas’s defense.

I wave my teammates forward, choosing to line up right away instead of going for the huddle and allowing Dallas’s defense to regroup and rally.

The stadium is going absolutely nuts, willing us to get this next touchdown and tie up the game, but the noise settles as we approach the line of scrimmage. Time to focus.

I confidently stride over to my position at the back of the line. I yell my play, “Charlie 32!”

The ball is snapped, and my eyes dart around for the player I’m searching for.

But he’s not open.

The Rampage has double teamed him, seemingly in the know of what our plans were.

Quick to find a new option, I scan the field, but no one’s there. I clench my jaw and weigh my options.

I take a step, deciding to run it myself, but it’s too late.

A defensive player sneaks away from our offense and comes barreling toward me. I do my best to sidestep him, but his momentum is nothing to be trifled with.

Before I even know what’s happening, he’s launching himself at me and taking me down.

As I fall to the field, my left leg gets caught in his, and his momentum is still too much to force him to stop or to reposition. When we land, my leg twists at a sickening angle and something deep inside my knee pops.

I swear and fall to the ground, knowing in my soul that I won’t be getting up from this one.