18 - Elizabeth
Elizabeth
“— and here come the Highlanders!”
The announcer said the name in such a way that it dragged across the stadium and made us look like we were something mythical instead of mildly sleep-deprived and recently hitchhiked.
We burst through the tunnel in a wave of smoke that wasn’t ready to fully commit. The one cannon misfired while the other coughed. For the first time, the problems didn’t faze Ethan. He was laughing, like, actually laughing.
“Do you realize that we actually hitchhiked to a football game that’s three hours away from our home base?” I asked as we ran side by side.
“That must be what added to the mystique,” Ethan shot back, grinning.
“It’s some amazing mystique.”
A lineman slowed past us and smacked Ethan’s backplate. “It’s time to focus! Get your head in the game.”
“I am focused,” Ethan said, winking at me.
We reached the forty, and I knew we were going to split off, but I wasn’t ready for the time we’d spent together to end.
So I grabbed his wrist, unsure of how that was supposed to help, but I just needed another moment with him before he disappeared into the huddle.
He leaned down automatically, and suddenly I remembered the ritual. My stomach dropped.
“I don’t have a granola bar,” I blurted out. His eyebrows lifted. “I forgot… I don’t have one.”
The offense was lining up behind him, and someone clapped sharply.
I swallowed hard and looked up at him with pleading eyes. “But one play at a time.”
He stared at me for half a heartbeat, then he closed the distance between us. His movements were quick and sure. Then his hands slipped up my neck and over my jaw as he placed a firm kiss right on my lips. It was fast, yet it also brimmed with heat and breathy uncertainty.
“That’ll do,” he called out as he ran to his spot on the field, and was gone before I could react.
I stood there stunned until someone hissed, “Elizabeth!’
“Right,” I said, still breathless. “Defense.”
The first drive landed, and it was a lot steadier than I thought it would be. There was something different about the guys and I think Ethan’s attitude played a major role in that.
“Highlanders ball at twenty-five,” the announcer called.
There was a snap. Quick out and to the right. It lasted for a whole five yards. Another snap, but this time there was an inside hand-off. They went three yards before a cloud of rubber pellets surrounded them. Third and two, the line shifted.
Ethan crouched under center, voice low but clear. “Hard count.”
He said it only once. There was no jump, just a snap and a quarterback sneak. Bodies collided as the pile surged forward.
“First down, Highlanders!”
Our sideline erupted with cheers, and for a moment I actually thought that we’d won something. Ethan popped up from the scrum with his helmet smudged and jogged back without celebration.
For the next play, the pressure quickly came off the edge.
The defensive end slipped past our tackle as if he’d been invited.
Ethan barely got the ball away before he was driven into the turf.
I felt the force of his crash in my ribs, but he didn’t seem too bothered by it.
He just rolled, pushed himself back up, and shook his hands.
“You good?” Lucas asked as he jogged back.
“Fine,” Ethan scoffed. “Watch that edge.”
The drive stalled after that. We punted, and Fitchburg answered with surgical efficiency. They had short passes, clean routes, and a draw that sliced right through our linebackers.
“Touchdown for the Fitchburg Falcons!”
Their crowd roared as ours became quieter. Ethan stood on the sideline with his helmet on, watching every snap of the extra point as if he were memorizing it. The second drive came; there was a snap, and the guys dived into play-action.
Ethan rolled left, scanned the downfield, pump-faked once and then took off when no one bit. He slid just past the marker, and I couldn’t stop myself from calling out his name. He jogged back to the huddle, breathing harder than he had been.
“Nice wheels!” someone yelled.
Ethan shot back, “Don’t get used to it.”
With the third and long near midfield, Ethan tripped right and Lucas split wide.
There was a snap. The pocket held for three full seconds, and it felt like a gift.
Ethan stepped into the throw. The spiral cut through the lights, tight and clean.
Lucas leaped in between two defenders and came down hard with the ball pinned to his chest.
“Complete at the thirty!”
The sideline detonated. I grabbed the nearest person and jumped with excitement.
Ethan ran past Lucas and slapped his helmet. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
Two plays later, we were in the end zone. 7-7. The stadium felt like it was balanced on the edge of a knife, but Fitchburg didn’t panic. They adjusted, and they started sending delayed blitzes.
On our next possession, Ethan barely escaped a sack. He spun out of the defender’s grasp before dumping the ball off to the running back.
“Smart play by Ethan,” the announcer said.
It wasn’t only smart. It was measured, and he wasn’t forcing it.
Halftime came with us trailing 21-10. In the locker room tunnel, Ethan’s face was flushed but steady.
“We’re in it,” I heard him telling the offense. “We’re in it. We just need one drive.”
But when the third quarter opened, it was ugly. Three and out. Fitchburg marched again, chewing the clock as if it were their biggest competitor. Our defense bent, but they didn’t break, forcing a field goal. 24-10.
Ethan jogged back out, rolling his shoulder once before settling under center. I noticed that. There was a snap, and a quick slant, then complete. Another snap, a screen pass, but it blew up immediately.
Ethan clapped sharply once. “Reset!”
Third and seven. The noise in the stadium swelled, and Ethan dropped back.
The pocket collapsed from the inside this time.
He stepped up, absorbed the hit, and released the ball just before the defenders crushed him.
The ball zipped low, but it was catchable, and Lucas scooped it up inches from the turf. First down.
Ethan lay on his back for a second longer than usual before getting up again.
He flexed his throwing hand and rolled his shoulder.
I swallowed. They drove to the red zone.
Second and goal. Fade route to the corner.
The ball sailed just over outstretched fingers.
Third down. The defense broke up a quick slant at the last second. Field goal. 24-13.
Fourth quarter. The lights felt harsher now. Third and eight at midfield.
“This could be a turning point,” the announcer said, voice dipping low.
Lucas lined up on the left, and there was a single high safety.
The middle of the field stretched open. I saw it happen.
The snap came clean, and Ethan dropped back.
As if by some miracle the pocket held. Lucas cut sharply across the middle.
He was wide open, and the lane was clear.
Ethan planted, and I saw the hitch. It was just a fraction.
His shoulder dipped before he threw, and the ball left his hand wrong.
It wasn’t tight or driven. It wobbled and lost speed. Lucas reached back; the ball dipped and hit the turf. Incomplete. The sound from our sideline wasn’t loud. It was worse than that. It was quiet.
Lucas stood frozen for a second, hands still half-raised. Ethan didn’t look at him. He flexed his arm once and rolled his shoulder again, slower this time. Fourth down. We punted.
Fitchburg capitalized quickly after that. Busted coverage and a clean post route led to another touchdown. 31-13.
The final minutes dragged, but Ethan kept playing. There were short passes and quick reads. They weren’t forcing it, but the window had closed. The final whistle cut through the noise like a blade. Helmets came off, pads loosened, and sweat cooled too fast.
I found Ethan by the numbers.
“You had him,” I said. “But you let him go.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I did.”
His right hand flexed again, subtle but constant.
“Is it because of your shoulder?”
“Nah, it’s fine. It’s just a little sensitive after those knocks.”
He didn’t meet my gaze, and I could tell it was because he was lying to me. His shoulder hadn’t recovered, so each hit he took caused more damage. That was why he let the defender go, because he couldn’t hold him back. I kept quiet, knowing that he wouldn’t want to make a fuss out of it.
Ethan and I walked toward the bus with the team, cleats scraping against the pavement and exhausted sighs filling the space between us. The guys were exhausted, and no one could blame them. That was a grueling game, even though they thought they’d been through worse.
“We got closer this time,” someone muttered behind us.
“It doesn’t matter, dude. We still lost,” someone else answered.
Ethan stayed quiet, and I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. He acted like he didn’t care, but then again he had a habit of disappearing into himself when things didn’t go well.
Then, as casually as I’ve ever seen him. “I have a big biology test on Thursday.”
I blinked at him because I had no idea if he had actually said what I’d just heard. We had lost a game that was an end-of-the-world catastrophe for him a few hours before. And now, suddenly, he was thinking about a biology test? Could the day get any weirder?
He gave a faint laugh. “Would you be able to help me study for it?”
There was something softer under his question. It wasn’t football or performance related. It was just him asking for a study session.
“Yeah,” I said, not needing to think it over. “Of course I’ll help.”
He gave me one of those dazzling smiles he kept hidden for special occasions.
“Cool. My place tomorrow?”
I nodded eagerly, unable to find the actual words. This was a huge turning point for Ethan, and at that moment, I really wanted to believe that I had a role to play in that.
We reached the bus, and I felt a sense of sadness.
It was the same old busted piece of crap that forgot us at that gas station.
It was another complete game, another loss.
But something about that day was different.
When Ethan’s shoulder brushed up against mine as he climbed the steps, it didn’t feel like anything was ending.
It felt like it was just the beginning.