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The crowd roars. They slam their feet against the stands, pounding out a cheer that thrums through the stadium and echoes across the field.

It’s third and nine. There’s no breathing room in this game. Two minutes till halftime, and the score is still tied. We’ve traded leads every possession, it seems.

I take the snap from shotgun as three receivers race downfield. My heart pounds rocket-fast, but my nerves are cool. My brick wall of linemen buy me time, as they’ve done all day, holding off Dallas. I scan for an open target, but McCormick is swarmed by the secondary. Another receiver is flanked too. I find Jones, scrambling to break away from the cornerback.

“C’mon, man,” I mutter.

I’m waiting.

Fucking waiting, ready to throw the second he’s free.

A big-ass lineman busts through, but the center slams into the guy’s barrel body, protecting me as I launch the ball the instant Jones peels away from the coverage.

He doubles back, and those beautiful hands are ready. The ball soars, and he pulls it down pristinely, cradling it, then carrying it for twelve yards before he runs out-of-bounds, avoiding a tackle.

I pump a fist and point downfield. We run, line up for the first down, and we’re all business the rest of the way. I hand off to Harlan, who powers his way around the defense, gaining eight yards, and putting us squarely in field-goal range.

But hell if I want to go for three right now. I glance to the sidelines, briefly making eye contact with the coach. He gives a nod, and even though that’s his go-to gesture for nearly everything, I know this time it means go for six. A new wide receiver comes in, bringing the play with him.

After the snap, I’m in the pocket, and I throw easily to an open McCormick, who takes off like a cheetah. The rookie hauls ass twenty-five yards into the motherfucking end zone.

The crowd erupts.

My heart jackhammers.

I run to McCormick, clapping him on the back and congratulating him as we trot to the sidelines.

“You rock, man.”

“No, you fucking do,” the rookie says, with a baby-faced grin.

“Beautiful,” Greenhaven grunts as I grab some water and Einstein does his job with the extra point.

That gives us a welcome seven-point lead at halftime. I take off my helmet, turn to the stands, and my eyes find my family. My mom waves a number-one foam finger, and her boyfriend, Dan, plants a kiss on her cheek. Ford shakes his hips back and forth, calling out something unintelligible that’s clearly a compliment. Next to them, Trent and Holly are hollering happily, arms raised in the air. I give them all a huge thumbs-up.

My gaze drifts beyond my best friend to his sister, the woman I’ve known for most of my life, who’s smiling up a storm and cheering like this is the best day ever.

And so far, it’s pretty fucking good.

I give her a tip of the proverbial cap, then a lopsided grin. The smile that returns my way is priceless, like a shot of pure happiness in my body.

Ford drapes an arm around Violet and says something to her.

I turn away and head to the locker room with the team.