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But these girls?this kind of friendship?are a part of a sisterhood.

I can tell in just the few minutes I stand here watching them banter.

They’re the type of friends that share a pint of ice cream after a breakup or a bad day.

The ones that finish each other’s sentences.

That share clothes and do each other’s hair and makeup before a big night out.

The kind that knows all your flaws, your deepest, darkest secrets, yet love you anyway.

God, I want friends like these. Desperately.

It’s not lost on me that the only real best friend I’ve ever had in my life was Damon. He was everything to me. Until he wasn’t. And I only have myself to blame.

“You can come sit, you know.” Brynn nods toward the empty chair beside the sofa, and I flush when I realize I’ve been standing in the same spot for the last five minutes, staring.

“Um, yeah, thanks. Sorry.” I try to hide my blush as I take the empty chair she motioned to, smiling when the girls start arguing over which of the Griffins has the best ass in their uniform, when Charlotte suddenly jumps up from her spot on the sofa and shushes everyone.

All eyes turn to the screen where she’s pointing. “It’s time for the coin toss! It’s starting!” she yells.

Silence envelops the room, and my heart skips a beat as the dark-haired, green-eyed quarterback steps up next to the referee.

His eyes, sharp and intense like polished gems, focus as he shakes hands with the opposing team’s captain while the referee talks.

I quickly scan his appearance, trying to gauge his thoughts or emotions, and remember that there was a time when I could read him perfectly, even if I can’t now.

A dark blue arm sleeve covers his right arm—his throwing arm?while his left remains bare, his biceps straining and swelling beyond the fabric of the sleeves.

His weight shifts from side to side, energy vibrating from him as he drags a hand over the dark scruff of his jaw.

The ref flips the coin, and Damon calls out “tails,” his voice rumbling through my chest like a solfeggio frequency, alerting my body to his presence and connecting to the deepest parts of me in ways that can’t be explained.

God, he’s beautiful.

A rush of heat skitters through my veins. Even hundreds of miles away and through a television screen, his effect on me is profound.

When the coin lands on the turf by the referee’s feet, he raises his arms, calls out “heads,” and I deflate.

“Shit,” someone hisses from beside me.

The other team decides whether to receive or kick. Normally, this wouldn’t be a concern, but given Damon’s recent struggles, I can’t help but worry that this might be some sort of bad omen for the rest of the game.

I sink lower into the chair, a knot tightening in my stomach.

Please don’t let this rattle him.

Because no matter how much I’ve screwed up and no matter how much he hates me, my heart is still tethered to that field—and to him.

And if Damon falls apart out there today, I’m not sure I’ll survive watching it happen, knowing I might’ve had something to do with it.

“Get rid of it. Get rid of it,” I chant under my breath as I watch Damon dance behind the offensive line, ball cocked, ready to find its target. “He’s taking too long,” I murmur as my heart rams in my chest, watching with bated breath as he searches for an opening.

“What’s he doing?” Brynn shouts just as a defender breaks through the line, and I know he’s in trouble.

Damon tucks the ball and veers to the right, readying to pass it off, but it’s too late. Another defender rockets toward him, flying through the air, his arms wrapping below his knees at the same time another comes from behind.

Damon’s body slams on the ground with bone-rattling force, and the ball slips from his hands.

I wince as the women around me groan in unison. With less than a minute left in this quarter, the Griffins are down by fourteen, and if the second half is anything like the first, we’re screwed.

Damon’s performance hasn’t been good. He’s missed passes, the trajectory of his throws has been off, and as a result, the defense has been relentlessly pressuring him.

My heart twists with every mistake, taking every blunder personally. He’s one of the best quarterbacks in the league, and it’s my fault he’s in his head and not playing his best.

I focus back on the television screen with my heart in my throat as Damon rolls onto his side, his chest heaving in time with his breath.

The medics sprint toward him, but he waves them off.

Sitting up with one arm wrapped around his side, he shakes his head and barks something at them that the camera doesn’t catch.

When he rises on shaky legs a moment later, I can’t help but notice the look of despair in his eyes, and I pray he hasn’t given up yet as he makes his way back into formation.

Sucking in a breath, I lean forward in my chair, hands steepled out in front of me. “Come on, Damon,” I whisper under my breath. “Come on.”

I watch as he takes the snap and drops back, eyes scanning the field.

My pulse quickens as I see Chris break through the defenders, running deep toward the end zone as Damon steps up, arm cocked at the same time a fullback breaks through the line, headed straight for him.

Shit.

Damon moves his feet and releases the ball, but it’s too early, too rushed, and the trajectory is off.

Chris must see it too, because his arms pump, body straining to run faster, to do the impossible as the ball rockets toward the sidelines.

He reaches, stretching as he launches into the air to try and snag the ball, but it’s an impossible catch. It spirals wide, arching a foot to his right into the hands of the opposition.

Remnants of the take-out pizza litter the coffee table, along with half a dozen half-empty seltzers, bags of chips, and cupcake wrappers. Everyone’s too preoccupied with the game to do anything but watch, enraptured as the Griffins make their comeback.

Only three minutes remain on the clock in the final quarter?one hundred eighty seconds determine whether AAU will make it to the final championship game.

After halftime, Damon jogged back onto the field with a fire in his eyes I hadn’t seen yet.

It only took one possession—one snap—for everything to shift.

In an instant, the boy I’d watched play since he was thirteen, the one who made magic out of broken plays and pressure, was back. Fierce. Focused. Unstoppable.

Now, we’re one touchdown away from a tied game. Damon returns from the huddle and gets into position, barking out orders to his teammates with the authority and determination of a drill sergeant.

The air seems to crackle with intensity as my gaze fixes on him and the ball snaps.

My heart hammers in my chest as he takes his time, dancing behind the offensive line.

He’s light on his feet as he evades a defender and pivots to his left before releasing the ball, launching it perfectly toward the end zone.

I barely register the cheer that erupts from the girls around me because all I can hear is my sharp intake of breath when the ball sails into Jace’s hands and he spins into the end zone.

Touchdown!

The room erupts. The girls leap to their feet, squealing with joy, and before I can stop myself, I’m right there with them—heart pounding, hands flying, caught in a blur of high-fives, laughter, and breathless shouts.

The energy is electric, contagious, and for a moment, nothing else matters but this win.

“Now, we just need to hold ’em and get one more!” Brynn shouts, holding up a finger.

“That’s right, baby!” I yell, turning back to the screen, heart pumping wildly as they pan to a close-up of Damon jogging off the field with a cocky grin that I feel everywhere.

After our defense stops Florida in their tracks, we receive the ball again, and Damon battles to take it down the field. With only thirty seconds to go, on the third down, they opt to kick a field goal.

West jogs onto the field, shakes out his shoulders, and takes a quick warm-up kick. Then the snap comes. In one fluid motion, he plants his foot and sends the ball arcing high into the air—clean, effortless, perfect. It sails through the uprights with laser precision, clinching the win.

“We’re going to the National Championship final!” Charlotte yells as she and Brynn perform a chest bump and the rest of us laugh.

“Avery, you have to come with us,” Brynn says, turning toward me.

Stunned, my mouth parts, but it takes me a moment to say, “What?”

“The game!” she says, beaming. “We already decided that if they won, we’re going on a road trip and getting a room. Jace and Chris get tickets and so do the others. I’m sure we can wrangle up a few extra, but you totally should come.”

I chew on my lip, wondering what Damon would think about me showing up at the championship game, already knowing he would hate it. But I find myself grinning and nodding along, ready to tell them yes anyway when a familiar baritone cuts through the room and I turn toward the TV.

A sports announcer stands in front of Damon, the mic just under him as they bark out questions loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd

My heart drums against my ribs as I watch Damon, sweat-drenched and triumphant, surrounded by a swarm of microphones and blinding camera lights.

“Damon, what an incredible fourth quarter comeback! Talk us through that final play,” the first reporter shouts, thrusting a microphone toward his face.

Damon’s smile—that perfect, crooked smile that had first caught my attention years ago—flashes across the massive screen. I can see the mixture of exhaustion and elation in his eyes as he lowers his face to the mic.

“Honestly, we practiced that play maybe twice.” He laughs, running a hand through his dark locks, damp with sweat. “Coach always says to prepare for the moment you can’t prepare for. When I saw their defense shift, I just knew.”

Another reporter jumps in. “You’re destined for the championship. Do you think you can make it all the way?”

I hold my breath, watching his expression soften. Damon is never one to be overly boastful and he’s never promised what he can’t deliver. It’s one of a million things I love about him.

“We’re taking it one game at a time,” he says with that humble confidence that makes my knees weak. “This team has heart, and we’re hungry. But championships aren’t won in interviews; they’re won through sweat and sacrifice.”

“God, he’s amazing,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the crowd’s ongoing cheers.

Brynn whips her head around so fast her blonde ponytail nearly smacks my face. “Oh. My. God. You’re totally into him!”

Heat floods my cheeks. “What? No, I—”

“You absolutely are,” Liz chimes in from my left. “I knew you seemed to be staring at the screen extra intently every time he was on camera.”

I sink deeper into my seat, wishing the couch would swallow me whole. The TV buzzes in the background all but forgotten as the other four girls turn to stare at me.

“How long?” Charlotte demands.

“How long?” I choke out.

With a roll of the eyes, Charlotte elaborates. “How long have you been crushing on him?”

I swallow. “It’s nothing. I just . . . well, he’s in one of my classes, and I’ve seen him come into Java the Hutt,” I say, because it’s not a lie, although it’s definitely not the real answer, either.

“And you have the hots for him.” Charlotte wiggles her brows, and I groan.

“So, now that we know you have a thing for the brooding quarterback,” Liz says with a smile, “what are we going to do about it?”

“Nothing.” I slash a hand in the air, imagining Damon’s outrage if they stepped in to intervene on my behalf. Not to mention what they might think of me if they found out the truth and heard his side of things. “There’s nothing to do about it.”

“Ooh.” Charlotte snaps her fingers, eyes bright. “You should come to the dance on Monday night.”

“Yes!” Brynn claps her hands together, violet eyes shining as she turns to me and explains, “I volunteer for a place called Helping Hands. It’s basically an after-school program for youths, and they were supposed to have the snowflake dance over winter break, but due to a problem with the hall, we had to reschedule.

Charlotte and I are chaperoning on Monday, and I asked Chris to recruit the boys, which means Damon will be there. ”

“I don’t know, guys,” I say, biting my lip. “I really don’t think—”

“Avery.” Charlotte leans forward, her expression suddenly serious. “When was the last time you took a chance on something that scared you?”

The question hits me like a physical blow. I open my mouth to respond, but the words die on my lips.

Isn’t that the whole reason I’m here? To put my heart on the line and take a risk?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, grateful for the distraction, but freeze when I see the notification from my father.

DAD :

Avery, just come home, and we’ll talk about it. Please. There’s more to this than meets the eye.

I lift my head from my phone, shoving it back into my pocket, and swallowing over the lump forming in my throat.

On the TV, the postgame interview continues with a second interviewer asking Coach Greene about our comeback, when he says, “Sometimes life gives you a second chance. You just have to be brave enough to take it.”