Chapter 17
Lucas
My rush of adrenaline coupled with the knowledge that Mazzie was in the stadium was keeping me razor-sharp. In fact, I had been walking on air since the kiss of the century at the Wolf Howl last night. Good things were coming my way. I could feel it in my bones.
“Now, let’s give these fans a game to remember by winning,” Ryker shouted.
All of us clapped and grunted “Wolf Howl” before we got into formation.
The game was coming down to the wire, and we needed this win like we needed a bucket of ice water right now.
I bit down on my mouth guard, tuning out the voices, howls, whistles, and shouts.
The world shrank to shadows and glaring patches of sunlight thrown by the afternoon sun, which was sliding lower in the sky.
My pulse thudded along with the heartbeat of the packed house.
Across from me, number 42—a Hill Country safety with murder in his eyes—smiled as if he knew something I didn’t.
The snap was clean. I fought past the safety, cutting left then right, breaking free. As I slanted across the field toward the sideline, that safety was right on my ass, hands pawing at my jersey. I growled, pumping my legs harder.
Your name is Hellion on the field for a reason. So step up and show the fans and the scouts what you can do, what you’ve done in many other games without breaking a sweat.
Two more strides, and I broke down the field, hard and deep, looking over my shoulder. Ryker had the ball in his hands, so I sprinted harder, legs burning, adrenaline pumping.
But Hill’s safety was still on my ass. So I broke my route, angling inward then pivoting toward the sideline in another fake move just as Ryker let go of the ball. It seemed to hang in the air, wobbling as if in slow motion as I continued down the sideline and toward the end zone. A few more yards.
Come on, man. You can taste that touchdown. Run like the fucking wind.
By the time I looked up with my arms outstretched, the ball landed in my hands.
I tucked it against my body and ran the rest of the way to the end zone.
As I reached the goal line where the field crossed into scoring territory, my left foot came down then boom.
A brick wall barreled into me. I sailed a few feet through the air as though I was diving into second base, making sure to hold on to the ball.
I went down hard on my chest, and the air punched from my lungs as my helmet rattled around my skull.
The fans howled like wolves, or maybe that was the ringing in my ears.
I sucked in as much air as I could, climbing to my feet, exhilarated that we had converted the scoring play.
This touchdown was what we needed to get back in the game, although we needed the extra point to even the score and send the game into overtime.
But if we gambled on a two-point conversion, we could win the game.
The ref came over and took the ball from my hands as my teammates crowded around me in celebration of the touchdown.
Ryker beamed at me as we jogged toward Coach. Time to huddle and decide—play it safe with the extra point or risk everything on a two-point conversion for the win.
Suddenly, the noise level slowly died down as the lead ref, a stocky man, walked into the middle of the field.
“The touchdown is under review,” the lead ref said then went over to the sideline monitor to watch a replay.
No. No. No.
All of us on the team froze.
I spit out my mouth guard. “That was a touchdown,” I repeated over and over to myself and to anyone who was listening.
The atmosphere suddenly felt cold as my heart kicked my ribs like a caged animal desperate to escape. I replayed the catch. My left foot had come down in the end zone just as I was tackled. I swore it did.
The offensive linemen draped their arms over each other as if they were about to perform like the Rockettes on Broadway.
Ryker paced like a madman.
Erik, Vin, and Ajax were pressing their hands to their mouths. Other guys on the team sat on the bench, attention glued to the sideline monitor.
As for Coach, I understood why he was bald. The man had to have pulled out his hair during plays like these. I sure as hell was ready to pull out mine.
Weak chants piped up from the spectators. “Let’s go Wolves!”
I swiped a hand through my sweat-soaked hair. “That was a touchdown,” I continued to repeat over and over, shaking my head.
Our assistant coaches, clipboards in hand, stayed calm.
One excruciating minute then two seemed like fifty million years. Then the lead ref jogged back to the middle of the field.
Ryker sidled up to me, jaw tight, gaze lasered on the ref.
“It was a touchdown,” I said again. Maybe if I kept repeating it, I would make it so.
“After further review, the ruling on the field is confirmed,” the lead ref announced. “Number 11’s foot was in bounds.” He held up both arms, indicating a touchdown. “The scoreboard now shows 20 for the home team and 21 for Hill Country.”
Holding my head in my hands, I threw it back and thanked whoever was listening above.
The stadium went ballistic, creating a wall of sound around us as though the fans were protecting us from battle, and a battle it would be.
The band played, and above all that the crowd began to howl as if they were calling us home.
We hurried into a huddle with Coach and his assistants.
“It’s an extra point to tie and go into overtime,” Coach said.
“Two point conversion,” Ryker said to Coach. “We got this. This is our moment. That touchdown is our sign that we’re going to win this game.”
“Hell, yeah!” The players pumped out with confidence.
Coach shook his head. “It’s risky as hell. Their defensive line has been on point all game.”
Ryker regarded me quickly. “Coach, we do the Alpha Strike with a twist.”
I grinned at my best friend. He was always thinking of trick plays.
“I’m listening,” Coach said. “What’s the twist?”
Ryker took Coach’s clipboard and mapped out the play. “On the snap, I’ll fake left. They will think I’m running. Lucas takes off into the far-right corner of the end zone. Their cornerback might be quick, but he’s undersized. Lucas has the height.”
“The throw has to be high,” Coach said, sounding skeptical.
Ryker half smiled. “One of my favorite throws.”
The team got fired up.
“That means the offensive linemen need to protect you at all costs,” Coach replied as he chewed on his lip.
“We got this,” I added with confidence. “You know we can do this.” He’d been wary of my performance this season thus far, so I said, “I got this, Coach. Once that ball is in my hands, it will be glued to me until my feet land on the ground.”
Coach lifted his ball cap and scratched his head. “Lose, and you’ll be running ten miles after practice until the end of the season.”
Everyone agreed, bobbing their heads. Erik and Ajax chimed in with, “Hell, yeah.”
The ref blew the whistle.
The fifty seconds on the clock would be the longest seconds of our lives. Sure, we had several more games to play this season. But we hadn’t lost a homecoming game in years, and we weren’t about to today.
The stadium fell silent as we got into formation on the three-yard line. Two teams hungry for a win. Two teams playing their best. Two teams ready to celebrate.
I crouched down, digging my cleats into grass. Nine feet to victory.
The cornerback across from me had that same determination on his face that I knew I had on mine.
“Gold 80! Gold 80!” Ryker shouted. “Set. Hut!”
I exploded off the line, feigning left then right. I spun around and tore into the right corner of the end zone as I looked over my shoulder. The ball spiraled from Ryker’s hands.
Time slowed. The cornerback leapt in the air as I jumped, stretching to my full height, arms up and extended toward the late-afternoon sky.
The ball landed in my hands as if I’d willed it so.
I pulled it tight against my chest as I came down on both feet and landed firmly in bounds.
No replay necessary. And in that breathless second, before the crowd exploded, I thought of her—Midnight.
The reason I hadn’t spiraled, fumbled, or played like shit.
The next several minutes were a blur, the noise level in the stadium breaking the sound barrier.
My teammates threw themselves at me, shouting “We won” over and over again.
“You did it, Lucas,” Erik said as he helped me up.
“No, man. We did it. There’s no I in team.”
He chuckled as Ryker emerged through the wall of crimson-and-gold jerseys with a grin the size of the United States.
We both hugged.
It didn’t matter to me if we didn’t win any other game this season. I had my football feet under me again. I had my confidence back. And I owed the win to my lucky charm, Mazzie Meyers, and I was about to show her how grateful I was that she’d blown into my life like a wild midnight storm.