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LIAM

T he energy in the stadium was electric, the crowd’s roar vibrating through my chest as I stood on the sideline, helmet in hand.

Fall Lake University had come alive for this playoff game, the stands packed with screaming fans waving banners and wearing every shade of our school colors.

We had a real shot at the championship—it didn’t get bigger than that.

Coach clapped me on the shoulder, his grin wide but determined. “Focus, son. One play at a time.”

I nodded, adrenaline already thrumming through my veins.

This game wasn’t just about getting into the championship.

It was about proving that I was more than my mistakes, more than my father’s doubts, that I was good enough to go into the professional league.

It was about Skye, Lily, and the life I was determined to build for us.

I took in my teammates, the ones who had cleared the grueling interviews to determine who was involved and who wasn’t after Coach Becket learned of the scandal.

Coach Mack and Coach Ramirez were absent.

The story hadn’t broken yet, thanks to Fiona.

She’d done what she could to keep things under wraps, at least until after today’s playoff game.

It was my chance, as well as my teammates’, to prove ourselves on the field while scouts watched.

The coin toss resulted in our offense taking the field.

The game was a grind from the first snap.

Michigan’s defense was relentless, but we were sharper.

I could feel the rhythm of the team clicking into place.

Kylian’s passes were lasers, precise and impossible to miss.

On a third and long in the second quarter, he launched a deep spiral downfield, and I pushed every muscle in my body to get under it.

The ball hit my hands like it belonged there, and I bolted toward the end zone, leaving defenders in my wake.

The crowd erupted as I crossed the line. My teammates mobbed me, their voices blending into the deafening roar of the fans. It wasn’t time to celebrate. We were there to win and immediately got back to work.

“Hell of a play!” Kylian shouted, slapping my helmet as we jogged to the sideline.

Our defense held the opposing team and in no time at all, we were back on the field. The roar of the crowd faded into the background as I stood on the line of scrimmage, my eyes locked on the defense. This was it—third and long, our playoff hopes hanging by a thread.

I braced at the scrimmage line, my knuckles whitening, but my mind wasn’t on the play.

It was on them. Skye. Lily. I could see Lily’s face, scrunched up in concentration as she colored at the kitchen table, the way she’d looked at me last night when I tucked her in, her small arms wrapping tightly around my neck like she didn’t want me to leave.

And Skye. Her voice soft and loving when she whispered good night.

I wasn’t just playing for me anymore. I was playing for them.

The ball snapped, and I surged forward, adrenaline pounding in my veins. I couldn’t let them down. Not now. Not ever again.

We kept the pressure on, and by the time the clock hit zero, the scoreboard flashed our victory in bold numbers:38–24. The Falcons were headed to the championship.

The field was chaos, teammates celebrating, the band blasting the fight song, and fans screaming from the stands.

Kylian was being interviewed by a reporter, but I noticed a scout for Tampa Bay and Buffalo hovering nearby.

I’d barely made it off the field when a man in a sharp suit appeared at the sidelines, clipboard tucked under his arm.

“Liam Cartwright?” he asked, extending a hand.

“Yes, sir.” My heart pounded.

“Jimmy Garrett, scout for the Baltimore Ravens.” His handshake was firm, his tone businesslike but laced with enthusiasm. “We’ve been watching you all season, and I have to say, today sealed it. We’re very interested. We’ll be in touch soon to talk details.”

The words landed like a bolt of lightning. It was the shot I’d been chasing since I was a kid. “Thank you, sir,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.

As Garrett walked away, my thoughts reeled. The Ravens—an actual NFL team—wanted me. I barely had time to process the moment when Mark Thompson with the Kansas City Chiefs approached, cutting through the crowd with purposeful strides.

“Cartwright,” he called, his voice carrying over the noise of the sidelines.

“Yes, sir.” I turned, meeting his sharp gaze.

He extended a hand. “Today confirmed what I already suspected—you’re the kind of player we’re looking for.”

I blinked, my brain scrambling to keep up. “Thank you, sir,” I managed, shaking his hand.

“Not just your athleticism, though that’s impressive,” he continued, his voice steady and confident. “Your ability to read the field, adjust under pressure, and connect with your team —that’s what separates the good from the great. And you, Cartwright, have greatness written all over you.”

A grin broke across my face, wide and uncontainable. “I appreciate that, sir. It means a lot.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said with a wink, his tone warm. “We’re putting together a plan to meet soon. Keep your phone on, and we’ll reach out.”

“Yes, sir. I will,” I promised, my voice still shaking with disbelief as he gave me a nod and disappeared into the crowd.

Two scouts. Two teams. Two opportunities I’d only dared to dream about.

I couldn’t wait to tell Skye. The buzz of the moment hadn’t faded when I felt a familiar gaze on me.

My eyes found Skye near the social media tent, her camera slung around her neck, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

She was watching, waiting, and somehow, she already knew what had happened.

I crossed the field in a few long strides, skirting around Ares as he chatted with San Francisco’s scout, my grin breaking free. A wide smile tugged at Skye’s lips as I reached her.

“Not bad, Cartwright,” she teased, her voice warm.

“Not bad?” I repeated, stepping closer. “That was a playoff win. I think I deserve a little more credit than that.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “Fine. You were great.”

After a beat of silence, she stepped closer, her hand brushing mine.

“You really were great,” Skye said quietly.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” My voice was just as low. “You and Lily. You’re why I’m here, Skye. My motivation and why I’m doing all of this.”

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away. But then she surprised me, her fingers brushing against mine before curling around them.

“You were incredible,” she said softly, and for the first time, I believed every word.

I wanted to share everything with her, no more secrets, not more walls. Never again. “You’re not gonna believe the conversations I had with some scouts,” I said, breathless.

“Try me,” she teased, tilting her head.

I told her about the Baltimore and Kansas City scouts and the chance to make it to the NFL. Her reaction was immediate—her arms around my neck, pulling me into a tight hug.

“That’s amazing, Liam,” she said, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you.”

“We’re doing this together, Skye.” My voice held conviction. “The decision, the move, us being a family with Lily. I’m not going without you both by my side every step of the way.”

When she pulled back, her eyes shone, and the stadium’s noise faded for a moment. “I love you. And I want that too.”

Her words hit me deeper than I let on. I wasn’t just playing for me anymore. This win, this opportunity—it was for all of us. “I love you, Skye. I think I have from the moment we met all those years ago. I was just too stupid to realize it.”

L ater that night, after the stadium lights dimmed and the crowd dispersed, ESPN broke the news. The TV in the locker room glowed as anchors detailed the fallout from Joe’s arrest:

“Two assistant coaches at Fall Lake University—Steve Mack and Mike Ramirez—are under investigation for their involvement in distributing an undetectable performance-enhancing drug developed by graduate student Joe Riken. The scandal has rocked the football program but left Head Coach Thomas Becket untouched, with sources confirming he was unaware of the scheme and is aiding the police and university during the investigation. The university has fully cooperated with authorities, distancing itself from the accused and ensuring the team remains eligible for postseason play.”

The locker room went silent as players absorbed the report. Coach Becket had kept us shielded, working relentlessly to separate the guilty from the innocent. Despite the scandal, he’d made sure we could play clean—and win.

When the segment shifted to the victim—Kyle Jackson, the wide receiver whose death had sparked the investigation—a somber mood settled over the room. The scandal wasn’t just a betrayal of the team; it had cost someone their life.

My gut churned as the segment played. Coach Mack and Coach Ramirez had betrayed everything the team stood for.

But Coach Becket had worked tirelessly to protect us, to make sure we could step onto that field with our heads held high—that was what saved him from the university benching him for the remainder of our season.

It helped that the guilty parties were discovered—and Professor White and Megan Elwood had been cleared of any involvement.

I glanced around the room, seeing the same anger and relief on my teammates’ faces.

We’d earned this win, clean and fair, and no one could take that from us.

“Listen up.” Coach stepped into the center of the room. “What happened off the field doesn’t define this team. We play clean. We play fair. And we win because we’ve earned it.” His voice was firm, unshakable. “Now, go enjoy the win tonight. You’ve earned that too.”