58. Connor
CONNOR
SIX DAYS AND FIFTEEN HOURS LATER
“Touchdown, Waves,” the announcer echoes across the stadium.
“Battle, let’s go,” Del says to me as I prep to run on the field.
The pressure is on. Johnson completed a seventeen-yard pass to Bailey, who sprinted into the end zone to get the touchdown.
Leaving the game tied 20–20 with forty-five seconds left to play.
If I make this extra-point kick, we’ll be up by one, with barely enough time for Washington to attempt a response.
This is it, I think as I approach my starting position on the field. The Waves’ first Super Bowl is on my foot…
Just like Del’s been saying in our kicking team meetings, I refuse to lose us this game.
Not exactly the kind of thought to keep nerves at bay, but I secretly say a thank you to the football gods that this is a short extra-point kick and not a field goal.
Still, missing isn’t an option.
The crowd is going insane around the stadium, prompted not only by the critical moment but also by totally hyped music.
I shut the noises out, as I’ve done countless times over the last few years, and focus on that mission: getting the ball through those uprights.
The call of “HUT” triggers my body, and a second later, the contact is done. The Super Bowl in the balance…
The ball flying, flying, flying…
Until it goes right through the uprights.
I fucking did it.
“The Waves’ kick is good. They now lead by a score of twenty-one to twenty,” calls the announcer.
Ernie and the linemen crowd around me, banging on my helmet. “Fucking yes,” one of them shouts.
We jog back over to the sidelines, where the offensive guys are giddy. They’re almost certainly done for the day. It’s now up to the special teams crew to limit the damage of the punt return.
Rawley squeezes his arms around me as we watch the Washington returner catch the punt with bated breath. He manages to get it out of bounds after a twenty-two-yard run, stopping the clock at three seconds to go.
It’s a statistically unlikely spot for Washington to get a touchdown, but we need to make sure they’re not in a position to kick a field goal either. Keeping them this far away from the uprights, or having the last seconds run out—either method will work.
“No penalties, no dumb shit,” one of the coaches screams.
“C’mon guys,” Rawley says under his breath, willing our defense on.
It turns out no one has to worry.
After their center snaps the ball, there’s a half-second where the tension is sky high on the sidelines, but then we see a blue uniform break through the row of crimson guarding the quarterback.
It’s number fifty-five.
Landon.
The quarterback tries to scramble, but it’s too late. My brother tackles him with both arms like he’s been taught since age eight and brings the guy down.
Sack.
Clock at zero.
Game over.
The Waves are finally the Super Bowl champions.
The field is pandemonium by the time the ladies get down here. Grace, Avery, and Rori—who’s back from winning the Australian Open last week.
And of course, Eden.
She comes toward me with open arms.
“You did it, Connor. You did it.”
I give her a peck on the lips. “I can’t believe it. Fucking hell, I’m a Super Bowl-winning kicker.”
She hugs me tighter. “So proud of you.”
I kiss her again, this time on the top of her head. “Love you, Rosy.”
“Love you back.”
We glance around at the ecstatic crowd filling the field, taking it in, together. When we finally separate, she squeezes my wrist. “Let me go find Dad. Be right back.”
Grace comes over, squeezing me over my pads. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eden hugging her dad.
“Hi, champ. Johnson has to go do a zillion interviews, so I wanted to check on you.”
I grin at her. “This is the best I’ve ever felt, Gracie.”
Her eyes light up. “Good. You deserve it.”
Eden returns, smiling at Grace. “Johnson’s speech was perfect.” Named the MVP of the game, he’d stood up on a podium with the coaches and owners to thank the crowd.
“Thank you. I’m not even sure he’ll remember what he said,” she says with a laugh. “He’s so high on joy. Good thing the entire world recorded it.”
“Goldie, come join me,” a recognizable voice calls out from several feet away. Johnson standing with some of the Waves o-line and their families.
“He must want me to greet someone. I’ll see you guys in a little bit at the party?” There’s a post-game celebration at a club.
I can’t stop grinning. “Definitely.”
After Grace leaves, Eden grabs my hand. “I don’t think you’re going to have problems finding options to play in the NFL another year.”
“Hopefully. Worst case, this is the coolest football memory I’ll ever have.”
“Yeah, that’s for sure.” Her voice is filled with as much cheer as when she won her championship.
We kiss again, to much whooping and several whistles.
“I’m so glad you’re here to see it. And that everyone knows you’re mine.”