Chapter Eighteen
Drew
Home game. Seconds on the clock, and we’re sixty yards from the end zone. One touchdown and the game is ours. The noise of the crowd is a jet engine revving up for liftoff. It rushes down the sides of the stadium and washes over me with a power that vibrates my bones. The hairs on my skin lift. My balls draw up tight. Go time.
Heart in my throat, I bend close to my guys to call the play. I can barely hear my own voice and use hand signals as well to make myself clear.
“Crabapple Betty. One.”
“Hut,” they shout in tandem. A clap of the hands and they break and get into formation.
A sea of fans in red surround us, cresting high like a breaking wave. Many swing plastic battle axes back and forth, their chant a rhythmic pulsing: Battle, Battle, Battle.
Before me is a stretch of endless green and a wall of hulking linemen twitching with the need to crush me. Grunts and stamping feet. Under the lights, it’s brighter than midday and hot as hell.
Adrenaline surges, and I tamp it down. Quick check toward Coach. Good to go.
“Hut!”
Dex snaps me the ball. Players burst into action. The thuds of flesh against flesh ripple through the air. Handoff fake to Gray, then I step back into the pocket. Footsteps pound. Linemen rush in when they realize the fake. My boys hold them off.
Rolondo is going deep, but a safety and a cornerback are all over his ass. I duck a tackle, cut right, duck again. Gray’s covered. Diaz worse. Energy pulses, the crowd screams. I check Rolondo again. He’s pulling clear with a burst of speed.
Everything slows down inside me. It’s just me and the spot ’Londo needs to be in. Breathe deep, pump my arm back. Fly!
An arm hooks my middle, I crash into the turf with a bone-jarring thud. My eyes following the ball as it arcs through the air. And it’s damn beautiful when my baby drops from the sky to land in the cradle of Rolondo’s fingertips like I’d personally placed her there.
Right in the end zone. Perfect.
The victorious roar is deafening.
“Yeah,” I shout, my voice lost in the chaos.
My guys swarm in, pulling me up, bouncing me around like a pinball.
“That’s what I’m talking about!”
My head rattles in my helmet from all the slaps.
“That’s right, bitches. Whoo!”
I jump high, punch the sky, then run toward ’Londo. He meets me halfway, bumping his chest to mine.
“That’s how you do it!” I slap his helmet, grinning wide. “Fucking beautiful, man.”
“Cuz my boy threw me a mutha-fucking rocket on a string,” he shouts back laughing and grabbing my jersey to hug me. “We own this!”
Stumbling back to the sidelines, we’re surrounded once again by the team. The band plays a victory song. The crowd screams for us. For me. And there is nothing like it. It’s like flying and falling all at once. Only one other thing in this world makes me feel a high like this, one person. And I’m going after her.